Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Someone is knocking on the bedroom door.  Incessant, inexorable, insistent.

Daniel groans, throwing his arm across his face.  He hears Armand huff in annoyance, and then Armand’s weight settles on his chest.  He rubs Armand’s back as Armand shifts fully on top of him, pressing a sleepy kiss against Armand’s jaw.  Fuck, he’s forgotten what night it is.

“Dads!” Ricky shouts with saccharine mockery and real excitement.  “It’s Christmas!”

“Sorry!” Jesse calls, injecting a sliver of remorse into their voice.  “She couldn’t wait!”

“Please do not call me Dad if you want to live,” Armand mutters against Daniel’s neck.

Daniel opens his eyes and grabs his phone from the nightstand.  “It’s barely dusk, kids.”

“We’ve turned the window lights and the tree on!” Ricky persists.  “And made coffee!”

Armand lifts his head, fixing Daniel with bleary eyes.  “We’ll need to hunt at some point.”

“Ah, hmmm,” Daniel says, feeling a twinge in his chest.  “So no killing, then.  Carolers?”

Resting his chin on his hands against Daniel’s chest, Armand nods.  “Which part of the city would be best for that, do you think?”

“We could skirt the edges of Rockefeller Center,” Daniel says, fully awake now.  “Kiddos might like to see the tree.  It’ll be mobbed.”

“Ideal setting for a lesson in drinking from half a dozen or more people each,” Armand muses, appearing to weigh the pros and cons.

“They made coffee, though,” Daniel reminds Armand, yawning, “so we might have to suffer through drinking some of that first.” He kisses Armand on the lips, lingering over it.  “We should give them what you picked out at Tiffany for them,” he whispers.

“So they can wear it hunting,” Armand whispers back, catching on.  “Excellent idea.”

“Glad you don’t take your rings off,” Daniel says, speaking at normal volume again.  “No need to remind you to put them back on.”

“No force on earth could convince me to do that, beloved,” Armand says, stroking Daniel’s cheek with his knuckles.  “Come on.”

Daniel doesn’t think much of Armand dawdling over getting dressed.  He meets Ricky and Jesse in the living room, and he’s assaulted with hugs.  It’s all he can do to prevent himself from getting blood tears on their shirts, because he’s thinking of any number of Christmases and Hanukkahs from when his biological daughters were small.  Biological daughters; he catches the distinction.  Welp, these are his fledglings now.

“What do you think about hunting at Rockefeller Center in a little bit?” Daniel asks.  “Armand and I thought you might like that.”

Ricky exchanges glances with Jesse as they bring a mug over from the kitchen.  “We hunted a little bit ago,” she confesses.  “And, um…”

“When we said we made coffee, that was bending the truth,” Jesse says, pressing the mug into Daniel’s hands.  “More where this came from.”

Daniel smells blood instantly.  He gulps half the mug before he realizes what he’s doing.  “Where the fuck did you harvest this?”

“We hypnotized a police station,” Ricky replies.  “Jesse had qualms about killing on Christmas, but whatever.  We drank from like half the personnel in the place, and then we decanted a mix from the other half into one of those clean, opaque milk jugs in your recycling bin.”

Daniel swirls what’s in the mug and takes another sip.  “I’ve never mixed a cocktail before, so to speak.  This is really, really good.”

Jesse points to the unassuming milk jug in question, on the counter next to a mug for Armand.  “I don’t know if he’ll like it, but…”

“I will like it because you went to the trouble,” Armand says, choosing that moment to emerge from the shadows of the hallway.  He’s carrying three snowflake-printed gift bags with bows stuck on them.  “I didn’t get any of you cards, so please don’t ask.  They stress me out.”

“I really don’t think we’re the kind of coven that bothers with cards,” Daniel says, patting the cushion next to him on the sofa.

“Thank fucking goodness,” Armand says, smiling wearily as he hands one bag to Ricky, one bag to Jesse, and then one to Daniel. 

“I bet Louis sends cards,” Ricky says, digging through the tissue paper in her bag, her eyes glazing like the Tiffany box she pulls out doesn’t compute.  “I thought all we bought was ornaments,” she begins slowly, and then shakes her head at Armand.  “You liar.”

“Yeah, he does that,” Daniel says wryly, dodging Armand’s smack as he rises to go pour Armand some blood into the mug on the counter.

“Which of them does what?” Jesse asks, untying the ribbon around their own blue box.

“Each one does their thing,” Daniel clarifies, returning to the sofa, handing Armand the mug.

Armand accepts the blood gratefully, taking a more conservative sip than Daniel’s first taste had been.  “Such dutiful fledglings we have.”

“Hey, quick question,” Ricky says, dropping the lid of her box on the floor as she stares at what’s inside.  “Are you fucking insane?”

Jesse sets the lid of their box aside and gasps into their hand.  “Shit.  Yeah, I’d…like to ask you the same question if it’s not rude.”

Armand shrugs with a smug smile, massaging the back of Daniel’s neck while Ricky and Jesse turn their boxes so that Daniel can see the matching gold necklaces, one with a ruby and two diamonds, the other an emerald and the same.  He’s an asshole, but a generous one.

“Why do you ask?” Armand ventures as Jesse helps Ricky put her ruby necklace on.

“Because these cost five thousand dollars each,” Ricky says, touching the ruby gently.

“Were you snooping when we were looking at these?” Jesse asks, putting on their own.

“I was nowhere near you two, for what it’s worth,” Daniel volunteers, opening his bag.

“Your covetous thoughts were audible throughout the entire store,” Armand says, amused.

“Daniel, watch out,” Ricky cautions, beaming as she straightens Jesse’s necklace for them.  “Yours’ll be ten grand or more at this rate.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered,” Daniel says, fumbling the lid off his much smaller box.  There’s another box inside, this one blue leather.  He removes and inspects it, realizing it’s hinged like a ring box.  “Is this something where you wanna do the honors, or…”  He hands it to Armand.

Armand folds the ring box in one hand, reaching for the chain around Daniel’s neck.  He pulls the reliquary out from beneath Daniel’s t-shirt, setting it against his chest.  “What’s ten thousand dollars when I spent over a hundred thousand on this?” he asks, mock scolding.

“We get it, you’re richer than God,” Jesse says impatiently.  “Open it.  I’m dying over here.”

“The Tiffany packaging is a ruse,” Armand says quietly, holding out the box so that Daniel can inspect the contents as he opens it.  “I ordered this online like you’ve done with all of mine.”  He sucks in his breath, eyes lowered.  “The setting is modern, but the carved sapphire is not.”

“Jesus,” Daniel says, pulling the ring out of the box.  He instinctively slides it on his left ring finger, and it’s a perfect fit.  “How old?”

Armand takes Daniel’s hand, inspecting the ring on it with a look of fond satisfaction.  “Mid sixteen hundreds.  Mughal Era carving.”

Daniel would never have thought to pick this huge stone for himself, what with its floral, mandala-like carving, but he’s choking up.  Instantly fucking taken with its cultural significance to Armand, with the fact that this is probably an actual Ceylon sapphire to boot.

“You’re lucky I’m not human anymore,” Daniel says as Armand kisses his ring.  “This fucker is heavy.  That’s gotta be…twenty carats, thirty?”

“Oh, it’s much higher,” Armand tells him happily, pressing Daniel’s palm against his cheek, nuzzling it.  “The site said forty-five to fifty.”

“Why a sapphire as opposed to any other stone?  I’m not criticizing, just curious.”

“Your eyes, for one.  But, no, it’s far more the fact that I turned you in July.”

“Thank fuck we’re not in public,” Ricky says, covering her face.  “So embarrassing.”

Jesse looks eager to info-dump.  “It’s corundum just like ruby, the main July birthstone.”

“I never liked being an Aries anyway,” Daniel says, leaning in to kiss Armand as deep and cloying as he can, because fuck Ricky.

“Your mortal birthday must’ve been in April,” Ricky says, fussing with her necklace.

“It was,” Armand says, finally drawing back, abashed.  He drinks the rest of what’s in his mug in order to dissipate his flusterment.  “Daniel’s month of turning makes him a Cancer, which…”  He makes a pleased face.  “That’s one of the most appropriate rebirth signs you could have.”

“Didn’t one of your old coven-mates do horoscopes based on dates of turning?” Daniel asks, adjusting the ring on his finger.  It’ll take some getting used to, because all he’s ever worn on that hand in the past is basic, standard gold wedding bands.  “Did she use Western astrology?”

“Yes,” Armand sighs, setting his empty mug on the coffee table before curling up in Daniel’s embrace.  “Jesse, please get Daniel some more.”

“No problem,” Jesse says, fetching Daniel’s mug, rushing to the kitchen counter.

Ricky shakes her head at Armand, half teasing, half reproachful.  “Medieval.”

“Respect your elders, puce.”

“Whatever you say, Mom.”

Daniel watches Armand blink at the switch in parental terminology that’s been cheekily applied to him.  His reaction is palpable, a jolt as if he’s taken some kind of blowback.  He blinks again, opening his mouth to scold Ricky, and then closes it.  He clears his throat.

“You don’t know when to stop, do you,” Jesse says to Ricky, handing Daniel his mug before returning to the loveseat, and then smirks at Armand while he’s still processing his tangled emotions.  “Allow me to apologize on my companion’s behalf, maître.”

“No more of this,” Armand says finally.  He looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but he finally settles on touched bewilderment.  “I would far rather be called Mom than…”  He vehemently shakes his head.  “I’m finished with the other word, in every context.”

“Wait, I can really call you Mom?” Ricky asks, disbelieving.  “Because…because I…”

“You call me Dad,” Daniel says, shrugging.  “And I didn’t get much choice in the matter.”

“Because she barely knew her mother,” Jesse says, hugging Ricky.  “S’what she’s saying.”

Armand stares at the fledglings, the whites of his eyes pink.  “Daniel,” he says, half joking, “shall I be your husband or your wife?”

Daniel shrugs again, sighing.  “That’s up to you.  I’m nobody to assign traditional marital roles given how well it went for me before.”

“I want to be your husband,” Armand says, “but I’ve also warmed up to being your princess, so…”  He sighs.  “I can be Mom.  Why not.”

“There’s no reason you can’t be Daniel’s husband, and his princess, and our mom,” Jesse points out, dabbing Ricky’s eyes with a tissue from the coffee table.  “Like…I could tell that hit you in a way you didn’t expect when Ricky said it.  That’s a neat thing to know, right?”

Armand closes his eyes, shakes his head, and pretends to be put-upon.  “It’s not a stretch after being resigned to princess.  It was good practice.”

“Let’s start packing for Night Island before I start sobbing again,” Ricky says, rising from the loveseat, exasperated with herself.  “We leave tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Armand confirms.  “My pilot will be arriving with the private jet to collect us at dusk tomorrow evening.  Pack everything you have with you.”

“Sorry, your what and your what?” Jesse asks, staring in bafflement

“We didn’t tell them about the jet, babe,” Daniel clarifies for Armand.

“I own a private jet,” Armand says flatly.  “It has a bed and everything.”

“Of course it does,” Ricky says, shaking her head as she leaves the room.

Jesse looks like that revelation is the best Christmas present yet.  “Wow.”

Daniel tightens his arm around Armand’s waist as Armand shifts to bury his face against Daniel’s chest.  He knows that Armand has hit his limit for being overwhelmed, which means they’ll wait to pack until later in the night.  When Jesse rises to leave, he nods.

“I’ve lost the plot, my love,” Armand mumbles against Daniel’s t-shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline, or an unlifeline, or whatever.

“Welcome to parenthood,” Daniel replies, pulling him as close as he can, stroking Armand’s tousled hair.  “It’s a goddamn trip.”

Chapter Text

An hour into their flight, Jesse and Ricky, who have seated themselves on the bed instead of claiming the passenger seats mid-cabin or the armchairs at the table, stop conversing with each other and pass out.  This is the first time Daniel has seen them asleep.

Armand glances away from his game of solitaire and stares at the fledglings with unreadable eyes.  Much like the night before, he can’t seem to decide how he feels about his increasingly parental role in their lives.  Daniel knows that this is the fastest Armand has ever come to love someone in a non-romantic context, so he’s understandably struggling with the weight of responsibility that isn’t tied to some fucked-up orders.  He looks after this coven, this family, because he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t, because he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Daniel continues to index the cave painting images that Jesse has given him alongside the images that Raglan James had accidentally included in his original Dubai data dump.  He has a spreadsheet cross referencing an array of elements: location of cave, estimated age of painting, materials used to paint, living figures depicted, objects depicted, unique distinguishing features, and so forth.  And while most elements repeat reliably, the dating baffles him.  They not only span around six thousand years, but never seem to be more than a century apart.

“I wonder if we look that peaceful,” Armand says candidly, laying down a few cards in satisfaction.  “When we sleep, I mean.”

Daniel looks up from indexing, meeting Armand’s gaze over the screen of his laptop.  “Given we sleep deeper than humans, I’d guess so.”

Armand tilts his head, playing another card.  “I’ll dig out that VHS tape of myself in the coffin.  It’s been so long since I’ve watched that I forget.”

Daniel realizes he doesn’t find the memory as disturbing as he might’ve when he was mortal six months ago.  “I didn’t like that at the time.”

“Yes,” Armand agrees, lips twisting in a fond half smile.  “I recall.  I didn’t understand your aversion, not least because we shared a bed so often.”

“You weren’t recording us.  I mean, you recorded us fucking, but that’s different.  But something about being recorded unconscious bugged me.”

“I still have the sex tapes, too.  I never dared keep any of those in any of my shared residences with Louis.  They’ve remained on Night Island.”

“Shit, we should watch some of them while we’re there,” Daniel replies, moving a pair of images side by side.  “As far from the kids as possible.”

Armand nods vehemently, realizing there’s nothing more useful he can do with his cards.  He gathers the deck into a stack.  “How’s work?”

“Headache inducing,” Daniel sighs, logging the set as having the criteria of bodily organs, both twins, flowers, and funeral pyre.  “Fucked.”

“You’ve already shown me some of the comparisons and your indexing system, but we should review everything together,” Armand suggests.

“Sure thing,” Daniel replies.  “Hell, all four of us should look at them together.  The more ex-Talamasca sets of eyes on these, the better.”

Just as Armand opens his mouth to respond, a message pops up on Daniel’s screen.  Armand’s facial expression changes as he watches Daniel react to the intrusion.  His lips tighten, and then he mouths, RJ? Nodding grimly, Daniel closes the images and reads the message.

Omakase: Where in the world is the Armand-Molloy coven headed this time?

Pulitzerootwo: Like fucking clockwork, there you are.  Molloy coven will suffice.

Omakase: So you’ve actually tied the knot?  That visit to Tiffany had me wondering.

Pulitzerootwo: That was just for holiday ornaments and gifts for the fledglings.

Omakase: Your incoming NYC mail tells a different story, though, doesn’t it.

Pulitzerootwo: I can buy my common law husband all of the shinies I want.

Omakase: It would seem he’s gotten you something, finally.  How’s it feel?

Pulitzerootwo: The same as it did when he got me that reliquary years ago.

Omakase: You’ve both been hitting the antiquities market hard.

Pulitzerootwo: None of these rings have been illegal plunder.

Omakase: Unlike the paintings. This may be your second honeymoon, but it won’t last.

Pulitzerootwo: What the fuck makes you so sure Armand is incapable of commitment?

Omakase: Without children in the picture, I’m sure he’d do admirably.

Pulitzerootwo: Oh, I see.  If you break us up, the kids run back to you.

Omakase: I was wondering how long it would take you.  You’re slipping.

Pulitzerootwo: God, I was stupid not to have caught your game sooner.

Omakase: Love dulls your senses and your wits as surely as the drugs.

Pulitzerootwo: If I was on love and drugs at the same time?  Maybe.

Omakase: If we can’t have Ms. Mayfair and Ms. Reeves back from you, or the script back from you, then we must have equivalent recompense.

Pulitzerootwo: That’s Mx. Reeves to you.

Omakase: Tiresome.  Back to recompense.

Pulitzerootwo: That would be Rashid and/or Sam, right?  That’s kind of what I gathered from our last delightful tête-à-tête.  Well, good news.

Omakase: You’re on the road again because you have a lead?

Pulitzerootwo: We’re on the road again because family time.

Pulitzerootwo: But, lucky for you, we’re gonna multitask.

Omakase: Knew I could count on you, Daniel.  Report back.

Armand leans forward, disconcerted.  “What the fuck does he even want?  Can we eat him yet?”

Daniel closes the chat window.  “Since I won’t give the kids back, he wants me to find Rashid.”

“I didn’t realize that was his current demand.  He must want the script back badly.  Suspicious.”

“Yeah, he said in the last unwanted conversation.  The man is both unreasonable and unhinged.”

“He did hint that Rashid might be with Sam.  So, maybe if we happen to find Sam in our travels…”

“That’s exactly what I told him.  We’re traveling for pleasure, but we’ll see what we can do.”

When they land on Night Island, Armand rises before Daniel can put his laptop away and goes to the bed.  He sets one hand on Jesse’s shoulder, making sure that they don’t startle as they wake.  Jesse sits up, rubs their eyes, and points to indicate they’ll wake Ricky.

Ricky gripes the whole way from the landing strip to the villa, asking why they have to haul their luggage, isn’t there a golf cart or something?  Daniel informs her that, yeah, there is, but carrying your own shit builds character.  That makes Armand snort and Jesse giggle.

Jesse is the one who pauses to stare out over the water at Miami in wonder.  While Armand keeps pace with Ricky, who’s trying to get where they’re going as fast as possible, Daniel hangs back with Jesse.  He remembers what it was like seeing this place for the first time.

“I’ve been to Florida before, but I’ve never wanted to spend an extended amount of time here,” Jesse says, turning from the city skyline to stare at the villa with its sprawling gardens, terraces, and glowing plate-glass windows.  Beyond that, the commercial area with its shopping arcades and hotel towers likewise catch their eyes.  “But this is…”  Jesse struggles to find words.  “Dystopia meets antiquity.  I love it.”

“It’s a lot,” Daniel agrees, urging Jesse on so that they can catch up with their companions.  “But yeah, me too.  Couldn’t believe he built it for me.”

Jesse sighs, staring ahead to make heart-eyes at Armand.  “He would do anything for you, wouldn’t he?  Then and now.  I can’t even with that.”

“You say that as if Ricky wouldn’t do the same for you.”

“She would.  It’s just…like you overheard.  Life goals.”

“Do me a favor and skip over some of our early shit.”

“Yeah, you guys…had a rough start in San Francisco.”

“I didn’t call it romantic in the book because that wasn’t relevant,” Daniel says, rushing to where Armand and Ricky are waiting at the side terrace entrance.  “Still, it changed me.  It changed us,” he continues, and then nods to Armand.  “More cautionary tales.”

Jesse drags their rollerboard to Ricky, making sure they both stand aside as Armand opens the sliding glass door.  “I really want what they have.”

“We’ll have it, hon,” Ricky says, cupping Jesse’s cheek as she kisses them.  “I promise you.”

“Please have the foresight to avoid our worst missteps,” Armand sighs, gesturing them inside.

“That’s what I said,” Daniel replies, waiting until the fledglings are inside to kiss Armand.  “Hey,” he murmurs.  “Welcome home, babe.”

Armand rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling at Daniel like there’s nowhere he’d rather be—except back in New York nesting, but they’ll have time enough for that.  Instead of telling everyone to leave their luggage in the dining area, Armand launches into a partial tour.  Daniel soon understands why: the next immediate stop is one of the guest suite.  It’s far enough from the one Daniel and Armand share that there will be no need to worry about being overheard.  Daniel is glad, because he and Armand haven’t had time to themselves in a couple of nights.

As soon as the fledglings are safely stowed, gaping and thrilled, in their new quarters, Armand pushes Daniel ahead of himself down the endless corridor.  They have one shoulder bag apiece, so those hit the floor as soon as Armand has slammed the bedroom door behind them.

“Take off your clothes,” Armand says impatiently, shedding his coat on top of his bag.  He kicks off his Chelsea boots, glancing up to make sure Daniel is in enough of a hurry to suit him.  “Faster, my darling,” he continues, out of the third or fourth vintage cotton sweater he’s stolen from Daniel in no time.  He sheds his jeans, underwear, and socks, and then approaches Daniel, who fumbles over unfastening his own jeans.

“Help would be great,” Daniel says sarcastically, holding his hands up and to his sides so that Armand can finish the job for him, “since I’m not doing this fast enough for your liking.”  He watches as Armand shoves his jeans and underwear off his hips, and then swears as Armand kneels in front of him to tug them the rest of the way to the floor. “This’ll come back to bite me.”

Armand sets Daniel’s hands on his shoulders, steadying him as he helps Daniel step out of his bottom layers.  Daniel threads his fingers through Armand’s curls as Armand leans forward to teasingly take the tip of Daniel’s erection in his mouth.

“Armand, I’m sure it’s not your turn,” Daniel rasps, closing his eyes so the sight of Armand like this won’t undo him before they’ve gotten started.  “Armand.”  He’s panting as Armand pulls off him, but he feels in-control enough to open his eyes again as Armand looks up at him, inquisitive.  “You’ve done this the last couple times in a row, you don’t have to—”

“I enjoy pleasuring you this way,” Armand says, glancing demurely up through his lashes at Daniel.  He presses a reverent kiss to Daniel’s belly, cupping Daniel’s dick against his face, rubbing his smooth cheek against Daniel’s skin there.  “I enjoy the way you taste, skin and blood both.”

“Fuck,” Daniel sighs, squeezing his eyes shut tighter.  “That’s, uh, fair enough, but I spent the whole flight thinking about sucking you off.”

“Oh?” Armand asks softly, his voice wavering as he continues to nuzzle and kiss everywhere but Daniel’s dick.  “Even while you were working on that spreadsheet?”  He sinks his fangs at the juncture of Daniel’s hip and thigh; Daniel jolts at the sting, opening his eyes wide.

“Sue me,” Daniel falters, scratching Armand’s scalp when Armand retracts his fangs and licks over the dripping puncture wounds, healing them with his own blood.  “I’m good at multitasking.”  He swears as Armand, dark lashes lowered, starts to suck him again.

Armand pulls off him after another minute, both hands skimming from the backs of Daniel’s thighs up to his ass.  He glances up at Daniel, coyly considering.  “Even while you were talking to Raglan James?” he asks, and Jesus Christ, there’s the bombshell.

“Especially while I was talking to that prick,” Daniel gasps, flat on his back against the mattress with Armand looming over him before he even knows what’s hit him.  “He didn’t flirt with me this time, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says, “but fuck, you’re hot when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Armand mutters, sliding a hand behind Daniel’s head.  He bends low even as he lifts Daniel’s head from the mattress, gasping as Daniel latches onto his neck and starts to drink.  It’s hot when you’re loyal to me in the face of distractions.  Always has been.

Daniel moans against Armand’s neck.  He rakes his fingernails from the small of Armand’s back up to his shoulder blades, coaxing Armand down to lie against him.  He spreads his legs wide so that Armand can settle even closer, flushing hot at the feel of Armand’s skin as he drinks.

Armand pulls back from Daniel’s mouth, grunting when Daniel’s fangs tear at his flesh in the process.  He’s already healed by the time he retaliates, biting Daniel’s neck with such savage intensity that he’d leave bruises if they were capable of forming and retaining them.

How about you fuck me, princess? Daniel thinks as Armand takes a swallow from him, grateful that this is the one way they can still communicate without speaking.  Shit, I thought about that, too.  Thought about how disgruntled RJ would be if you fucked me in front of him.

“Depraved,” Armand chides, disengaging from Daniel’s neck.  He punctures his tongue and heals those wounds, too; it’s unspeakably endearing how often he does that even though Daniel will heal in seconds the same as he does.  “I’d much rather send him the old tapes.”

“Uh, wow,” Daniel blurts, blinking up at Armand as he pants and squirms.  “Really?”

Armand licks a smear of blood from Daniel’s jaw.  “Far preferable to exhibitionism.”

“I would’ve followed up on that if you’d been the primary subject,” Daniel admits.

“Of the interview?  What do you mean by that?”

“You asked Lestat something like…here, now?”

“When we were at the opera?  You did want more details.”

“Yeah, but only once you were already going at it, right?”

Armand closes his eyes as Daniel rolls him over. “Yes.”

“You were also reticent when Louis…”  Daniel hesitates.

“Face down in the coffin,” Armand sighs.  “Yes, I was.”

“Santiago could see you through the office blinds.”

“You have a truly annoying level of recall, my love.”

“You don’t actually enjoy exhibitionism, do you?”

Armand stares up at Daniel with liquid amber eyes, relief radiating from his features.  “No,” he whispers.  “I do not.  And that means there’s another lie you can catch me in,” he continues, eyes fluttering shut as Daniel strokes his hair back from his forehead.  “Spot it in hindsight.”

“There’s no way you fucked Trinh, Quan, or anyone else in a movie theater unless you felt obliged like you did in those previous two instances,” Daniel says, kissing Armand’s eyelids.  “You said that shit about Now, Voyager during the interview to get a rise out of Louis.”

“Yes,” Armand says quietly, clutching Daniel’s nape and the small of his back.  “Initially, when he said he wished to invite you into our home, I did not stop him.  I knew you’d never leave without reducing us to ruin.  Even if I didn’t want the lie I’d told about being the one to save Louis’s life to come out, I still…”  He swallows, grateful for a moment of pause when Daniel kisses him.  “Contributed chips and cracks where I could.”

Daniel kisses him again.  He’s known for a while now that there’d be time delay on some of the finer details of their debriefing on Dubai, and this feels like the last shard that has been working its way out of Armand’s psyche for months.  He’s glad it’s in the open for Armand’s sake.

“Still wanna fuck me, boss?” Daniel asks, bumping his nose against Armand’s.

Armand laughs, squeezing his eyes shut on blood tears that he doesn’t seem to realize are there.  “The question is whether you still want that.”

“Then how about you let me suck you off?”

“I suppose it would be cruel to deprive you.”

“Hey, there’s the asshole I know and love.”

“Fuck off.  You said you’d been fantasizing.”

“You’ll still be fucking me, right?  Just—”

“Yes, Daniel, I get it.  Your face.  Crude.”

Daniel kisses and licks his way down Armand’s chest, pausing to linger over each of Armand’s nipples in turn.  He grazes his fangs on either side of each, reveling in how Armand shivers as he scores the skin.  Armand thrashes and sobs when Daniel bites the inside of one thigh, heals the punctures, and then repeats the same action on the other.  He’s a lovely, trembling wreck by the time Daniel gets his mouth on him.

Armand only manages to fuck Daniel’s face for about five minutes.  He comes down Daniel’s throat, the burn of his blood enough to make Daniel groan and rut against the duvet until he spills with a shudder.  They lie panting like that for a while before Armand complains about Daniel being all the way down between his legs.  Daniel crawls up the length of Armand’s body, sleepily nuzzles his cheek, and sprawls on top of him. 

“How many sets of bedclothes have we ruined,” Daniel mumbles, swiftly losing consciousness.

“Don’t know,” Armand slurs, winding his arms around Daniel before they slacken.  “Don’t care.”

Chapter Text

Night Island dazzles Ricky and Jesse, and it takes Daniel right back to those delirious first days in the villa when he and Armand spent a solid three weeks of nights in the bedroom.  At sunset on New Year’s Eve, Armand rouses Daniel early to ensure that they’ll be awake and ready with blood bags from the supply that Joaquín has procured for their arrival.  The fledglings find them in the dining room, wide-eyed.

After a handful of bags each, Jesse decides they’re partial to the AB-negative; Ricky calls them a snob and says O-positive is her jam.  Daniel doesn’t comment until he’s finished his own breakfast.  He knows they’ll mock him and make gagging noises if he admits that Armand’s blood is his favorite, having gotten a taste for it while he was alive.  When he says he’s partial to B-positive, Armand shakes his head with a smile.

When the fledglings press Armand to weigh in, he admits to a marginal preference for O-negative.  That gives Daniel a flush of pleasure as he finishes drinking, because that had been his blood type in life.  The fledglings don’t need to know that.  Meanwhile, it frustrates him slightly that there’s no way of knowing if his preference for B-positive blood means that Armand had that type when he was alive.  Fun to speculate.

They hit the shopping arcades after that.  Daniel stands idly by while Armand buys Ricky and Jesse new iPhones, watching fondly as the fledglings try to wrap their heads around the fact that these are the 14 Pro Max model with a terabyte of storage.  Daniel ribs Armand once they turn the fledglings loose in the hotel casino with a grand each.  He wonders if he’s risking the cold shoulder later, but Armand takes it in stride.

“You put every overbearing, overly doting Jewish mother I’ve ever known to shame,” Daniel says while they’re sitting in the open-air hotel courtyard, enjoying the night-blooming flowers and cool mist from the fountain.  “Including my own.  That takes some doing.”

Armand shrugs, leaning harder against Daniel’s shoulder, tugging Daniel’s arm tighter around his waist.  “Neither of them knew their mothers.”

“Yeah,” Daniel sighs, thinking of how eerily similar their upbringings must have been.  “Raised by middle aged to older aunts, passed around…”

“They didn’t know their fathers, either,” Armand points out, ragging on Daniel in his own right.  “You’ve filled those shoes rather nicely.”

“So we fast-tracked our way to preternatural parenthood.  They took a cue from the cat distribution system and got underfoot with big, round eyes until we caved.  You’ll never admit it, but Jesse had you from the second they came up to the table in Porter Square Books.”

“Ricky’s brashness caught your attention.  Although I can see how proud you are of Jesse’s research and investigative skills.  Heaven knows I was impressed with Ricky’s competency at only a month in the blood at that point.  At two months now, she’s terrifying.”

Daniel closes his eyes and inhales.  Vampiric memory retrieval is the best thing ever; he can remember what most of these redolent blooms are called.  Casablanca lily, datura, gardenia, moonflower, night gladiolus, tuberose.  The garden at Villa of the Mysteries.

“We’re not doing too shabby, are we,” Daniel says, turning his head as he opens his eyes.  He could gaze into Armand’s eyes forever when they’re this shade, almost as pale as the orange cestrum blossoms he missed out on his first inventory.  He leans in for a kiss.

“You’d have to tell me,” Armand murmurs, and then presses his lips against Daniel’s before parting them.  His fangs extend as he runs his tongue over one of them, flooding Daniel’s mouth with burning sweetness.  I hope that’s true, beloved.  I have much to atone for.

Daniel nicks his tongue as he licks over Armand’s teeth, mingling their blood.  I’m no expert, remember?  I fucked it up the first time.  And let’s not start with the self-flagellation, we’re having a nice night.  I wanna fuck here some Sunday night when everything’s closed.

You incorrigible romantic.  That can be arranged. Armand draws back, licking his lips.  He wipes Daniel’s mouth with his thumb and licks away the smear of blood.  “Do you know, I’ve never won more than a few thousand dollars in there the times I’ve bothered?”

“Stroke of genius, having half the lower floor of the hotel and the ground beneath it operate under Seminole ownership,” Daniel says.

“I know,” Armand replies.  “It was your idea.  I’ve hardly needed all of the profits from this place.  I’m happy to let them make a killing.”

That’s when the fledglings find them, shuffling up with dejected expressions.  Daniel remembers how it had felt the first time he’d ever lost hundreds of dollars on a slot machine.  His advice to Armand when Night Island was being built aside, he’d never gambled again.

“Two thousand dollars between the two of us when we started,” Ricky says, “and we’ve come back with twenty-five hundred.  Not much gain.”

“You’re still five hundred ahead,” Daniel points out, tugging at Armand until he follows Daniel’s lead and scoots with him to one side of the bench so the fledglings can squeeze in.  “That’s better than many experienced gamblers will manage in a session.  Who won the night?”

“I did,” Jesse says.  “We played slots until half an hour ago.  Only had five hundred left.  Fortunately, I recouped our losses and then some at one of the poker tables.  It would’ve been smart to mindfuck them from the beginning of the night, but slots felt fairer.”

“How many nights would you like to stay here before we head for Europe?” Armand asks, sliding one hand up and down Daniel’s thigh.  He’s not too put out by the teasing; this is his way of signaling that Daniel is so getting laid later.  “There’s only so much to see here.”

“Few more nights?” Ricky ventures, shrugging.  “The villa is the best thing here, TBH.”

“Where were you thinking we should stop first?” Jesse asks, eternally eager and curious.

“Paris,” Armand says, glancing reticently at Daniel.  “I know you dislike France, my love, but you said you wanted to see the townhouse.”

“Hey, I’m open to mitigating the bad memories by making better ones,” Daniel replies, and then hears Jesse exhale in relief.  “Let’s do it.”

Ricky checks her watch, and then elbows Jesse.  “Kiss 2022 goodbye.  It’s almost time.”

“Oh,” Jesse says in dismay, waking their phone.  “Guess we’re not watching the ball drop.”

“There are television screens everywhere,” Armand laughs, waving them off.  “Find one.”

Daniel watches the fledglings dash away, startled when Armand shifts to straddle his lap.  Not an exhibitionist, but willing to push the envelope in an abandoned courtyard.  And that’s when it dawns on Daniel that Armand has probably been psychically deterring anyone but the fledglings from encroaching on this tiny circle of lush and fragrant paradise.  Daniel checks his watch, and then slides his arms around Armand’s waist.

“I haven’t often enjoyed this holiday,” Armand admits, winding his arms around Daniel’s neck.  “Louis never wanted fuss and spectacle.”

“I’m not sure I’d call this fuss and spectacle,” Daniel says, sighing as Armand bends to kiss the scars on his neck.  “But it’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Armand whispers in Daniel’s ear.  “They’ll count down any second.”

Memories wash through Daniel as Armand briefly sinks his teeth to one side of the scars and takes a swallow, a flood he cannot and does not want to escape.  They’ve been here before, haven’t they?  This very courtyard, even.  This very bench.  They’d done this every time the year turned over, hadn’t they: eighty to eighty-one, eighty-one to eighty-two, eighty-two to eighty-three, eighty-four to eighty-five—

And then he’s running from something Armand has said.  The countdown hits midnight, but in the midst of human cheering, they haven’t even gotten to kiss.  He’s running, running until his lungs burn.  Running until he sees the pier, until he hears Armand scream his name behind him.  Red, everywhere red.  Miami’s lights bleed across the water as Armand catches him, catches the chain around his neck, and their world ends.

“Oh no,” Daniel says quietly, catching Armand’s face in his hands as Armand retracts his fangs and sits back.  “Fuck.  That was New Year’s?”

“It was our last one here,” Armand whispers, blood tears running down his cheeks.  “I was so selfish, Daniel.  I don’t know if you can forgive—”

Daniel hears the countdown end, so he kisses Armand for all he’s worth.  Slices his tongue on both of their fangs, sets loose a flood of emotion.  Even though you made me forget you, I never stopped loving you.  Nothing you’ve ever done or ever will do can convince me otherwise.  Only the fucking sun finally expanding to swallow this doomed planet could accomplish that, and even then?  I doubt it.  I will never stop loving you.

I’ll drink to that, Armand replies, his blood hitting the back of Daniel’s healing tongue like a promise.  I’ll love you even when I’m ashes.

The fledglings find them like that about twenty minutes later: still kissing, still clinging to each other, their faces a bloody mess.  Ricky hauls Jesse a respectful distance away while Daniel and Armand collect themselves, laughing at the mess they’ve made of their shirts.

Once they return the villa, Armand opens a bottle of Bollinger Vieilles Vignes Françaises 1979.  He explains that it was the one he’d been planning on cracking open the New Year’s everything went to hell, so that results in more laughter and more tears.  The fledglings listen as Daniel tells the story.  Jesse fetches tissues and fusses over a sobbing Armand; to Daniel’s shock, Armand lets them.  Daniel shrugs at Ricky.

The fledglings finally totter off to bed.  Daniel bundles Armand down the hall to their suite, undresses him, and puts him in the pair of pajamas that he’d dug from the storage tubs in Daniel’s closet.  He tucks Armand into bed before losing his jeans and crawling in beside him in boxers and his t-shirt.  He holds Armand, strokes his hair, and tells him he’s fine, they’re fine, the kids are fine.  That elicits a snort from him against Daniel’s shoulder.  It takes Daniel a second to remember the argument between Louis and Armand on the recording from seventy-three.

The next sunset, Armand seems back to…well, as normal as he ever gets, and Daniel loves him for it.  He makes everyone pack their bags inside an hour, announcing that the jet has been fueled and that Charles de Gaulle Airport is expecting them in nine hours’ time.  Since it’ll be ten in the morning when they arrive, they’ll need to stay on the jet until dusk.  De Gaulle’s ground crew are expecting this, too.

In flight, the kids have too many blood bags each and pass out early.  Daniel and Armand sip theirs leisurely for a few hours, reviewing the cave painting images and double checking what Daniel has entered in the spreadsheet.  Armand catches a dozen details he’s missed.

There are two coffins bolted down in the room just beyond the one with the bed.  They pick up the comatose fledglings, one each, and lay them in these long-unused places of rest.  If one of the crew were to open a window, unthinking, Ricky and Jesse would at least be safe.

Finally, Daniel and Armand make their way back to the bedroom.  They close every window, turn down the covers, and lie still in each other’s arms until the rattle and hum of the jet lulls them into early slumber.  When Daniel wakes, Armand is already on his iPad.

“Sunset is in an hour,” Armand informs him.  “I’ve opened the coffins so that the fledglings won’t be too disoriented when they wake.”

“I was just about to suggest that, babe,” Daniel says, relieved.  “Thanks for being a step ahead of me.  Might be a shock to them anyway.”

“They’re smart enough to understand we put them there to shield them from accidental incineration,” Armand reassures him.  “And they’re old enough, too.  As you’ve pointed out before, they’re only a year or two younger than I was when I was turned.”

“I’m not even sure I’ll enjoy it if a time comes when we have to do that for safety’s sake,” Daniel admits.  “I mean, if push comes to shove, sure I will.  You’d probably have to put up with me climbing into yours.  Claustrophobia with you is better than claustrophobia alone.”

Armand drops the iPad on the floor, turning to face Daniel.  “How did I not know that about you, my darling?” he asks, stroking Daniel’s cheek.

Daniel shrugs, enjoying the touch.  “You never suggested we fuck in a coffin.  I never asked if we could fuck in a coffin.  I’m not proud of it.”

“You can’t help being claustrophobic any more than I can help my…”  Armand pauses, hesitant.  “What did you call it?  Emotional dysregulation?”

“I shouldn’t do the armchair diagnosis thing.  I’m not a psychiatrist.”

“Oh, rest assured it was only Louis who objected.  I’m fascinated.”

“You’ve been poking around and engaging in some self diagnosis?”

“Yes.  I’m reasonably convinced that I’m on the Autism Spectrum.”

“Have you learned anything else about yourself?” Daniel asks cautiously.  There’s something else lurking in his mess of suspicions; it’s dicey.

Armand stares down at his hands.  “Borderline Personality Disorder was actually what I hit on before reading about Autism.  High comorbidity.”

“If it makes you feel any better, being turned didn’t fix whatever’s going on with me, so…”  Daniel shrugs.  “Anyway, you can’t cure any of this.”

“I know that,” Armand says softly.  “Medicating my blood bags may be an option.”

“Huh,” Daniel replies.  “Like alcohol and other substances in blood can act on us?”

Armand shrugs.  “I’m not at the point where I’d like to pursue the idea just yet.”

“It’s at your discretion,” Daniel says, tipping Armand’s chin back up.  “Got it?”

“Yes,” Armand replies, his eyes simmering with gratitude.  “I’ll tell you if…”

“There’s still a little while before sunset,” Daniel says, pulling Armand close.  “There,” he murmurs, stroking Armand’s hair.  “Just rest.”

Neither of the fledglings care about the coffins.  They don’t freak out about finding Daniel with Armand dozing in his arms, either.  The transfer from Charles de Gaulle to Armand’s nineteenth-century townhouse in Saint-Germain-des-Prés is uneventful—at least until Armand finds the front door open, something he hadn’t ordered his human staff to do in preparation for their arrival.  They walk into the receiving room where the electric fireplace is on, and Daniel can tell from Armand’s expression that it hadn’t been one of the things he’s just willed into illumination.

“Stay behind me,” Armand says in hushed alarm, pushing Daniel behind him even as the fledglings immediately obey.  “Show yourself!”

From the shadows of the hall leading into another part of the house, Marius emerges with that serene, infuriating expression on his face.  He’s followed by a vampire with long red hair and olive skin whose petite build and delicate facial features bear striking resemblance to Jesse.

Daniel steps from behind Armand, putting himself between Marius and the other interloper, whose identity he’s sure he’s sussed out, and Armand.  He’s co-leader of their coven, dammit, so he might as well make himself useful given chances of Armand melting down are high.

“I’m gonna have to stop you right there,” Daniel says before Marius can open his mouth to speak.  “You?  Get the hell out.”

“Of course,” Marius says, bypassing them to reach the front door, ignoring the fledglings as they step as far away from him as they can.  “I’m merely here as a facilitator.  My new acquaintance has been concerned about her grand-nibling.  I told her that I knew where you’d be.”

“Enter my house without permission again, and I will be forced to take action,” Armand snarls, causing the door to fly open, barely missing Marius’s nose as he pauses before it with his back to the rest of  them.  “That goes for any of my houses and Daniel’s, for that matter.”

“Oh, understood,” Marius says amicably.  He strolls out into the night, slamming the door behind him using the same trick that Armand had.

The red-haired vampire sighs, shoulders sagging a fraction.  “I had no idea that he wouldn’t inform you of our plans to be here when you arrived.  I’m sorry.  I’ve known of Marius for quite some time, but I never met him until a few days ago.  I was in Europe as it is, so…”

Jesse swallows hard, struggling against tears.  They run to their relative, accepting the offered embrace without hesitation.  “Aunt Maharet.”

“Ricky,” Maharet says kindly, nodding over Jesse’s shoulder as she hugs and pats Jesse on the back.  “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“You too,” Ricky says warily, letting her folded arms drop at her sides.  “No hard feelings.”

“Oh, Jesse,” Maharet says with feeling, releasing Jesse and holding them at arms’ length.  “I should’ve known you’d find a way without me.”

“Look on the bright side,” Jesse says, wiping their eyes.  “We won’t lose access to each other’s thoughts.  That was my maker with you just now.”

“And yours, too, child,” Maharet says, approaching Armand.  She holds up both hands in a placating gesture, and Daniel cautiously stands aside.

“Child?” Armand echoes with a short laugh.  “As far as we know, you’re decades old at most.”

“As far as Jesse knows, I’m decades old at most,” Maharet agrees.  “But I’m older than that,” she says hesitantly.  “Centuries.  Let’s leave it at that.”

“In five hundred and fourteen years, I’ve never once met you or heard your name spoken by another,” Armand says, taking her offered hand.

“I have a few centuries on you,” Maharet says wryly, nodding in acknowledgment when Armand kisses the worn gold signet ring with its black, unshining stone on her middle finger.  Her regal expression abruptly softens, and Armand draws back from her, tense.

“My past is nothing my companion and my fledglings don’t already know,” Armand says, hardening again, although he lets Daniel take his hand.  “This is Daniel Molloy, my partner in all things—including the leadership of this coven.  I never meant to take what is yours.”

Maharet offers Daniel her hand, so he shakes it.  “Thank you both for looking after them.  I have been…remiss in my duties as a guardian.”

“Been there, done that,” Daniel sighs, releasing her hand.  “Thanks for the second chance.”

Chapter Text

Daniel takes his best crack at picking Maharet’s brain while she has her reunion with Jesse and Ricky in front of the crackling fire, but it’s shut tighter than a steel trap.  Either she’s a lot better at concentrating on that than Marius is, or she’s a lot older than Marius is, which doesn’t seem likely to Daniel.  If she’s got several hundred years on Armand, then that would put her in the range of eight hundred to a thousand years old.  That hardly strains credulity given that Marius is pushing three thousand, and given Armand doesn’t know anyone older than Marius.

All that being said, Lestat has confirmed that Marius is harboring a couple of comatose elders in his creepy bunker.  How much older than Marius do you have to be in order to choose hibernation?  Humans have been on earth for three hundred thousand years, which begs the question of how much of that history is shared by vampires.  It also begs the question of whether vampirism is a natural mutation or solidly supernatural.

Armand presses Daniel up against the kitchen counter, bringing his ruminations to a halt.  Daniel pushes Armand’s coat off his shoulders, and Armand lets it puddle on the tile floor.  They’d come in here to make mugs of tea for everyone to hold, but this is much nicer.

Daniel kisses Armand’s neck, drawing a soft gasp from him.  He sinks his fangs, making it clear that he’d like to discuss something without the others hearing.  Do you trust Maharet? he sends, rucking up the latest sweater Armand has stolen from him.  I can’t access her mind.

She’s withholding information, Armand responds, shivering as Daniel runs both hands up his back.  If she won’t admit to how many centuries she really has on me, then who knows what else she isn’t telling us.  What I do trust is her care for Jesse, though.  Feels genuine.

Yeah, I got that much.  She seems to regret not being there as much as she should’ve.

It’s always possible that she has circumstances that have made her duties difficult.

Being Jesse’s legal guardian when they were younger may have been tricky, right?

Vampires often have difficulty maintaining proper legal status outside the bounds of a human lifetime or human lifetimes.  It’s not ideal.

I can try getting access to her thoughts one more time before we see her off.  Whatever she’s hiding, I don’t think it’s down to ill will.

Daniel disengages from Armand’s neck, making sure there’s not that much blood to lap away once the wounds have healed.  He kisses Armand on the lips again, digging his thumbs into the notches of Armand’s spine as he glides his hands back down to Armand’s waist.

Armand freezes in Daniel’s arms as scarcely audible footsteps approach.  He ducks his head, hiding his face in the curve of Daniel’s neck.  He doesn’t seem to be in the mood to deal with this intrusion, so Daniel peers over his shoulder in time to see Maharet avert her gaze.

That’s when he notices something odd about her eyes.  They don’t glitter the way a vampire’s should.  They’re bloodshot, as if irritated.

“They’re dying,” Maharet says quietly.  “I lost my sight before my transformation.”

Daniel wants to ask her to get out of his head, but he hadn’t been shielding.  “Ah.”

Armand straightens, turns, and blinks at her, his curiosity piqued.  “Are those human?”

“I take the eyes of a victim nightly,” Maharet confirms, finally glancing up at them.

“We can do that?” Daniel asks in disbelief.  “Say I was missing a limb, I could just…”

“It only works easily with eyes,” Maharet says.  “I’ve known those transformed after losing a limb, or losing their tongue, and there’s no recourse.”

“What if you took the eyes of a vampire?” Armand asks.  “Have you considered it?”

Maharet nods, but her expression is one of distaste.  “I feed on the evildoer, so the eyes are no loss.  I would not deprive one of our own kind.”

Daniel keeps one arm around Armand even as Armand turns fully to lean against the counter with him.  “Is everything okay with the kids?”

“I’d like permission to take them with me for the next week,” Maharet says with hesitation.  “As their coven leaders and therefore their guardians, I will honor your wishes if the answer is no.  However, I haven’t seen them since they asked me to do what I should’ve done.”

Daniel glances at Armand, who looks wary.  “What’ll you be doing in those few days?”

“Showing them around the city,” Maharet replies, and Daniel can sense no evasion in her words.  “And, knowing Jesse, taking them shopping.”

“That washes,” Armand sighs, relaxing in the curve of Daniel’s arm.  “How much longer will you be in the city?  What is your next destination?”

“I’ll be leaving for London in six nights,” Maharet says.  “I can either escort them back here at the end of this week, or you can meet us in the UK.”

Daniel looks at Armand, eyebrows raised.  “Not sure what our next planned destination is.  We were gonna play it by ear, but I guess we could…”

“London is a city familiar to both of them, so I imagine we would have made it there eventually,” Armand says, folding his arms.  “We’ll meet you.”

Jesse peers into the kitchen, followed closely by Ricky on the other side of the doorway.  “Oh my God, thank you!” they gush.  “You can trust her.”

“We’ll meet you in London within a night or two of your arrival there,” Armand says, glancing from Jesse to Ricky, and then to Maharet.  “Under no circumstances should you go anywhere near Talamasca headquarters.  Daniel and I don’t trust them not to track you apart from us.”

Maharet turns to the fledglings, alarmed.  “The Talamasca has been tracking you?”

“They’ve been tracking all four of us,” Ricky says with displeasure.  “Ask Daniel.”

“While I was in Dubai with…”  Daniel thinks twice about explaining the interview clusterfuck and its fortuitous outcome.  “While I was in Dubai with Armand and his ex, long story, I was accosted by a Talamasca agent.  He wanted to edit my book before it got published.”

“You were still human when you arrived in Dubai,” Maharet says, “and Armand’s ex was not yet his ex.  I harbor no acceptance for Marius now that I know what he’s done to Armand, but he filled me in on the details of both your history as lovers and your recent reunion.”

Armand steps in front of Daniel as Maharet takes a step closer to them.  “If you’re about to accuse Daniel of placing our community at risk, please understand that the risk to Daniel was always far greater.  It was my ex who invited him to Dubai.  I will not apologize.”

“I request no apology,” Maharet says calmly.  “Now that he’s part of our community, any consequences will be sufficient penance.  However, it seems to me that your ex may bear the brunt of them if he isn’t under an older or stronger associate’s protection.  Is he?”

Daniel can’t help laughing at that.  “Louis de Pointe du Lac is back with his long term on-again, off-again companion, Lestat de Lioncourt.”

Maharet tilts her head to one side as if thinking, and then nods, satisfied.  “Lestat is reckless in his own right, but has the devil’s own luck.”

“Humanity has written the book off as fiction,” Daniel says.  “Vampires have been turning up to my readings in droves, far from angry.”

“Your friend Louis is likewise lucky that the storm has blown over, then,” Maharet replies, and then beckons to the fledglings.  “Have the two of you hunted tonight?” she asks, and then turns back to Daniel and Armand.  “I’m more than happy to see to that once we leave.”

“We haven’t hunted,” Armand admits, gesturing graciously.  “By all means.  If the two of you don’t comport yourselves, then Daniel and I will hear of it.”  He realizes Jesse is about to ambush him with a hug, so he opens his arms in resignation.  “Please be safe.”

As soon as Ricky rushes to join Armand and Jesse in an awkward embrace, Daniel sighs and puts his arms around as many of the rest of them as he’s able.  He meets Maharet’s befuddled stare, shrugging as best he can.  Coven doesn’t really cover what’s going on here.  They call us Mom and Dad, for fuck’s sake, he sends to the older vampire, hoping his apologetic inflection comes across.  Not to diminish your role in Jesse’s life.

I diminished it myself, Maharet sends, offering him a wistful smile as the group hug disbands.  “Come along,” she says to Ricky and Jesse.

“Don’t forget your luggage!” Daniel calls after the three of them as they leave the kitchen.  “It’s next to the door!  Grab it on your way out!”

“Yes, Dad!” the fledglings singsong in unison.  There’s the sound of them dragging their rollerboards outside, and then the door slams.

Armand’s shoulders slump in relief as he turns back to Daniel.  “Is it selfish of me to be glad that I have you to myself for the next week?”

“Nah,” Daniel says, catching Armand around the hips, pulling him close.  “I want to get a head start on chasing off those bad memories.”

“Mine or yours?” Armand asks, nuzzling Daniel’s cheek.

“This city’s cursed for both of us,” Daniel points out.

“Do you want to hunt before we get started on that?”

“Did you tell your human staff to leave blood bags?”

“Yes.  There should be plenty in the refrigerator.”

“Then I wanna eat in and take you to bed, babe.”

Eating in only lasts as long as it takes Daniel to drain half a dozen blood bags.  Taking Armand to bed necessitates asking for the remainder of the tour, and the house is fucking gorgeous.  Daniel has never seen this much pristine antique furniture in one place, the canopied four-poster in the master bedroom included.  He pins Armand to the mattress before he can continue showing him around.

“You mustn’t want to see the rest of the house that badly,” Armand huffs, but he doesn’t make any move to prevent Daniel from undressing him.

“C’mon, I can see that any time,” Daniel says, tugging Armand’s bottom layers the rest of the way off his legs, amused at the sight of him naked except for his fancy patterned socks.  “Unless I misunderstood, you’ve never fucked anybody here.  We’ve gotta fix that, stat.”

“Nor have I been fucked here,” Armand points out, watching from beneath lowered lashes as Daniel undresses himself.  He only looks away to remove his own socks, and then fixes his eyes on Daniel’s bare chest, biting his lip with undisguised longing.  “My love…”

Daniel shifts to straddle Armand, pressing him to lie back against the pile of pillows.  He kisses Armand without nicking his tongue, faintly shocked that Armand’s fangs aren’t exposed.  Curious as to whether that’s intentional or not, he refrains from extending his own.

Armand moans into Daniel’s mouth, grabbing Daniel by the backs of his thighs.  If they’re going to do this without biting in order to spare the linens, Daniel understands why.  The furnishings here cost ten times the ones in the Night Island villa and in the Boston brownstone.  When Armand pushes up against him, Daniel grinds down with a few leisurely rolls of his hips.  If fucking doesn’t mean penetration tonight, then that’s fine.

“Mmm, princess,” Daniel mumbles between kisses, turning his head to nip at Armand’s palm where it’s cupping his jaw.  “What can I do for you?”

“What you’re already doing,” Armand says breathlessly, tossing his head against the pillows when Daniel ducks down to lick one of his nipples, and then the other.  “Use your tongue just about—” he gasps when Daniel alternates between licking and sucking “—everywhere.”

“Just about everywhere?  That’s kinda vague.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you sucked me off, or…”

“Or what, princess?  Gotta use your words.”

“Or eat me out!  Unimaginative, my darling.”

“It’s just that I, uh…I’d like some clarity.”

“It’s kind of you to ask, considering…”

Daniel presses his lips over Armand’s sternum.  He inhales, turning his head to press his cheek against Armand’s slow, steady heartbeat.  “I wish that fucker had even a shred of respect for your boundaries,” he says vehemently.  “You’re steady today, but if that weren’t the case—”

“I would want you even so,” Armand gasps as Daniel kisses his way down to Armand’s belly.  “That’s not always the case, but…tonight it is.”

“Then let me take care of you,” Daniel says, relishing the way Armand trembles when he laps away the blood beading at the tip of Armand’s dick.

Armand is loud while Daniel sucks him, louder than he’s been since the fledglings have started spending more time in residence.  It’s fucking intoxicating.  Armand’s breathy moans escalate to sobs that he doesn’t even try to muffle or swallow when Daniel replaces his mouth with his hand and dips down to work his tongue inside him.  Even though Daniel can’t recall the last time he did this with anyone, it’s making him painfully hard.

“Daniel,” Armand whimpers, as Daniel grabs him by the hips for better leverage.  “Ah, ah, ah…”  His thighs are already shaking, poor thing.

Daniel withdraws his tongue and licks up the underside of Armand’s erection, pressing a kiss against it before sucking the head back into his mouth.  If they’re trying not to fuck up the linens, he’ll make this nice and neat, although he realizes too late that he’s been leaking blood on the duvet like an idiot.  That’s not enough to make Daniel stop sucking, because not only is Armand close, but it’s doing just as much for him, too.

Armand wails and comes down Daniel’s throat after less than a minute, his fingernails digging into Daniel’s shoulder blades with impressive restraint, not quite enough to draw blood like he usually would.  He fucks Daniel’s face, though, shakily riding out the aftershocks.

Daniel swallows around him several times, and then makes sure to lick him clean.  Armand’s weak exhalation and sudden, boneless sprawl makes him think maybe he’ll be finishing himself off tonight, which is fine by him.  But that thought is fleeting as Armand rolls him over.

“Hey, hey, Armand, you don’t have to—” Daniel manages as Armand shifts to straddle him, but Armand has already summoned a bottle of lube from somewhere in the room, and he’s squeezing some into his hand “—fuck.”  He shuts his eyes as Armand slicks him, panting hard.

“I know,” Armand murmurs, bending down to kiss him.  And then he’s repositioning himself, sinking down on Daniel with a satisfied sigh.

Daniel can’t hold it together for long with Armand riding him like this, bearing down against him with leisurely, but demanding rotations of his hips.  He clutches Armand’s thighs, staring up at him in helpless adoration.  He jolts with a sharp groan, spilling inside Armand.

“I can see the argument for condoms even if we can’t get pregnant or contract STIs,” Daniel says after a while, watching Armand grimace as he lifts up.  The duvet cover is a lost cause at this point, so he easily foresees them staining and ripping it at will over the next week.

“Black,” Armand sighs, prodding at Daniel until he sits up enough to let Armand pull down the bedclothes.  He crawls under, draws Daniel into his arms, and then tugs them back up.  “Much though it offends my decorating sensibilities when other colors may look best…”

“Black or red,” Daniel agrees, glad that Armand has also taken point on turning out the lights.  “Although a combo might look tacky.”

“Mmm,” Armand hums contentedly, winding his limbs around Daniel.  “That’s true.”

Daniel runs his fingers idly through Armand’s curls, yawning.  “You know, Paris…”

“What about it?”

“Isn’t so bad.”

“That’s the sex talking.”

“Isn’t sex the point?”

“Of…Paris, you mean?”

“Yeah, like…romance.”

“People live here, Daniel.”

“Way to kill the mood.”

“Fuck off.  I did not.”

“Fair.  I’m tired, too.”

Armand combs his fingers through Daniel’s hair, sleepily nuzzling his ear.  “Thank you for being here with me.  I know that it’s difficult.”

“That shit with Alice happened years ago,” Daniel yawns.  “I was digging in my heels just to piss off you and Louis.  I want to be here.”

“And I want to share this with you,” Armand agrees.  “I may have been…”  He hesitates, and then snuggles closer.  “Abducted and brought here, but I did come to love this city.  We…”  Armand hesitates again, clinging even tighter.  “We were here together once before.”

“Explains a lot about why I brought Alice here,” Daniel muses, finding it tricky to keep his eyes open as his thoughts slow.  “Chasing what I lost.”

“We spent a month in Montmartre,” Armand says.  “I hated Sacré-Cœur after what happened with Louis, but you adored it.  And I adore you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Daniel replies, giving Armand a soft, slow kiss on the lips.  “Let’s go there tomorrow night.  Help me remember.”

Armand smiles against Daniel’s jaw, tracing Daniel’s lips in the darkness to feel if he’s smiling, too.  “You know that I will.  Rest, beloved.”

Daniel drifts off to the sound of Armand’s voice, glad that word holds no horrors for them now.

Chapter Text

Daniel knows he’s in for a night of Armand playing the over-enthusiastic tour guide when Armand kisses him until he’s half awake, strokes him attentively from chest to belly until he’s more than half hard, and then jerks him off while whispering the closest he ever gets to filthy nonsense in Daniel’s ear.  Can’t help yourself, can you, beloved?  Pretty hypocrite.  Beautiful boy.  Always as desperate for me as I am for you.

“Shit,” Daniel gasps.  He writhes and comes in Armand’s fist, his thighs shaking.  “No, can’t, never could, love you, fuckin’ love you, fuck—”

“What a hopeless romantic,” Armand murmurs dryly.  He smears each pulse of blood across Daniel’s belly, laughing low in his throat.

“Hey, look who’s talking,” Daniel says, panting as Armand finally brings his hand to a standstill.  “Took you all of five goddamn minutes after torturing me for five days straight to decide that was enough.  You’re nowhere near as kinky as you wanted Louis to think you were.”

“Hindsight is futile,” Armand sighs, making a face as Daniel twists in his embrace, pressing the mess right against him.  “But there’s a distinction to be made between my torturing you out of mindless fury in which desire played little part and your getting turned on by it.”

“Sure,” Daniel mumbles as Armand kisses him.  “Got you to come around before all was said and done, though, didn’t I.  Those kisses.”

Armand draws back from the kiss, the corners of his eyes crinkling even if he doesn’t smile outright.  “Thank you for…being patient.”

“Patient how?  Neither one of us is what I’d call patient,” Daniel says, cupping Armand’s cheek as Armand closes his burning eyes.  “Hey.”

“For perhaps not delivering as much of that in our early days as you would’ve liked,” Armand manages, sucking Daniel’s thumb into his mouth when Daniel presses it against his lips.  “Or even in the months since I turned you.”  He whines, bucking his hips against Daniel.

“I may be a vampire now, but I got most of that shit out of my system by the time I was…I dunno, sixty?  Turns out that like seventy percent of what turned me on was the biting and the blood,” Daniel tells Armand, clutching the small of Armand’s back, coaxing him.

Armand trembles when Daniel sinks his fangs in his neck.  He only needs a few minutes of rutting against Daniel’s belly before he moans, shudders, and makes the mess worse.  “You know I would do anything,” he rasps with feeling as Daniel withdraws his fangs.  “Anything.”

“I don’t want you to do just anything for me,” Daniel points out, rubbing Armand’s back while he rides out the aftershocks, adorably overstimulated.  “I want you to do what you’re comfortable with, what…we can agree we both want on a case by case basis, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Armand exhales, nuzzling Daniel’s neck before he bites, takes a swallow, and then heals Daniel’s wounds before they heal themselves.

“Okay, so,” Daniel says, leaving Armand to lie there with one arm thrown over his eyes while he goes to get something to clean them up.  “I know you decided we’d speedrun the evening fuck because you’ve got big plans.  Where are we going tonight besides Montmartre?”

“There’s a convenient walking route I thought we might take,” Armand says petulantly.

“Babe, I wanna take it,” Daniel reassures him, scrubbing himself off before bringing the wipes over to the bed.  He cleans Armand’s chest with slow, thorough strokes, which earns him a content hum.  “What do you want us to hit once we get our asses to the Right Bank?”

Armand removes his forearm from his face.  “I want to fly us from here to Sacré-Cœur, which will be the start of our route. However, if you don’t—”

“Nah, gotta bite the bullet sometime,” Daniel says, wiping a smear of blood off Armand’s chin.  “Just don’t be offended if I refuse to look down.”

Armand gazes at Daniel with that fond reverence that he’s still not sure what he did to deserve at any point in their relationship.  “Fine.  Deal.”

“There, princess,” Daniel says, tossing the handful of wipes in the trash next to the bed.  “Now, get your ass up and put on something nice.”

“If you’re making me wear anything dressier than one of your sweaters and those jeans you’ve been enjoying, then you’ll have to ditch the leather jacket and whatever unserious t-shirt you had in mind this time,” Armand taunts, rolling off the opposite side of the bed.  “Thoughts?”

“I remember what it’s like to have bastards like Lestat giving me the side-eye for not being formal enough every other time I’ve been here,” Daniel says, folding his arms as he watches Armand throw open the walk-in closet and…holy fuck, the shit in there is vintage.

“You were saying?” Armand asks, giving him that smug little smile as he holds up a collared shirt and pair of slacks that match some of what Louis had described Armand as wearing during the forties and fifties.  “Don’t look so shocked.  You glazed over imagining me in these.”

“Right, just let me unpack the equivalent staples from my own wardrobe,” Daniel retorts, crawling pointedly back under the covers, turning his back on Armand while he laughs and clacks through some more hangers.  “Asshole.  I don’t know how you thought this was gonna go.”

The mattress dips, and Armand has draped his arm over Daniel’s side before he knows it.  “Hush, my darling,” he coaxes.  “Come and see.”

Daniel doesn’t know what kind of miracle workers Armand’s human staff must be to have accomplished this.  Surely blood bags are easy in comparison.  At least a third of the closet is taken up by vintage pieces in Daniel’s size.  And like…not nineties bullshit, either.

“Let’s wash first,” Armand laughs, pushing him out of the closet and toward the bathroom after he’s spent a solid five minutes staring in awe.

“Why bother if we’ll be windblown by the time we hit the ground,” Daniel gripes, but Armand gets a blow job in the shower for his trouble.

By the time they leave the house, Armand has seen to it that they both look like extras on the set of Jean Cocteau’s Orphée.  There may be a better comparison, but that’s the only French film made around the right time that sticks out in his memory.  Armand doesn’t waste any time in wrapping his arms around Daniel as soon as they’re outside.  He kisses beneath Daniel’s earlobe and breathes, Ready? Daniel isn’t, but he nods.

At this altitude, it’s freezing.  Daniel rests his head on Armand’s shoulder for the first few minutes, emphatically not over the sensation of the ground dropping out from under him.  He shouldn’t be such a coward about this, but one thought of Louis’s long recovery after Lestat had dropped him and he cringes in abject terror.  Armand murmurs lazily in his ear about how breathtaking the city is stretching for miles below.

“Fuck off,” Daniel mutters against Armand’s wool overcoat, but he’s also feeling sheepish enough to crack one eye and…oh.  Suddenly, he’s mad at himself for not having kept his eyes open as they’d risen in the first place.  From this high, the streets form grids and pinwheels of flame.  He recognizes half a dozen major monuments at a glance, which, fuck, once his eyes pick out the basilica, it’s all he can see.

Daniel closes his eyes again on the descent.  “You might get me to like this.”

“Of course I will,” Armand preens.  “I can get you to like anything.”

“Asshole,” Daniel replies, but he sounds besotted this time.  “Are we…”

“Our feet will touch the ground in about thirty seconds,” Armand says.

The landing doesn’t jar them; Daniel isn’t even sure why he’d expected it might.  Armand hadn’t made it hard on him in the Gardner Museum, so there’s no logical reason this should be any different.  He opens his eyes still watery from the cold, catching the traces of blood before they can ruin the clothes on which Armand must’ve spent a fortune.  He almost does a double-take when he realizes where Armand has set them.

Instead of finding himself at the foot of the stairs leading up to Sacré-Cœur, he’s on the paved terrace immediately in front of the basilica, looking out over Montmartre.  He turns, raising his head slowly as the pale travertine façade looms over him.  He’ll never forget this.

Armand slides both arms around Daniel from behind, resting his chin on Daniel’s shoulder.  “You look at it with the same awe as you did when we were here in eighty-one,” he says.  “It was even the same time of year.  We arrived in mid-December and left in mid-January.”  

“Did I even know that was the way I looked at it?” Daniel asks, grabbing Armand’s hand as his arms fall away.  He backpedals, dragging Armand with him until their backs run up against the wrought iron railing.  “I was still just a dumbass kid, comparatively speaking.”

“Perhaps not,” Armand replies, lowering his eyes, “but I saw no reason to make you feel self-conscious when you were speechless.”

Daniel grabs Armand’s tie, pulling him in for a kiss.  He’ll argue that romance is the point of Paris until he’s…well, blue in the face isn’t a consequence anymore.  He’ll make Armand kiss him this heated and lingering in as many places around the city as it will take to win the argument.  Armand makes wrenching sound, and Daniel wonders if he’s fucked this moment up by prompting the wrong kind of flashback.

“Daniel,” Armand gasps against his mouth.  “Daniel.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Daniel murmurs, stroking his cheek.

“Why do you sound forlorn?  I was only going to say—”

“I kind of assumed I’d put my foot in my mouth.”

“I was going to say how happy this makes me.”

“Then I’m doing a damn sight better than Louis already,” Daniel quips.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Armand scolds, mock offended.

“Plenty,” Daniel tells him.  “There’s more where that came from.”

The next stop Armand has in mind is the Palais Garnier.  They walk at a human pace, arm in arm.  It’s enough to make Daniel feel like this is some vampire retelling of Casablanca, which, you know.  It’s gross, sappy, and the kind of shit that his film nerd, theater kid of a husband eats up with those wide, dazzled doe-eyes.  The Place de l'Opéra is well lit at this hour, throwing the statue of Apollo high overhead into sharp relief.

Armand has been working overtime to ensure that none of the nosy humans who, will miracles never cease, recognize them won’t intrude on their kiss-a-thon.  Daniel wouldn’t mind if it was more than just kissing, but Armand still takes pleasure in being seen by others.  He’s not about to do what previous lovers have done to make Armand feel obliged.  Plus, he’d be lying if he were to claim he doesn’t enjoy the incredulous stares.

“Where to next, boss?” Daniel asks, refusing to let go of Armand just yet.

“I have no desire to show you Les Innocents again, but…Père Lachaise?”

“We didn’t hit that up the first time around?  You’ve been holding out.”

“You didn’t hit that up when you brought Alice here?  Tragic oversight.”

“Ouch, you’re giving as good as you get tonight.  Really impressive.”

“Haven’t I learned from the best?” Armand replies, tugging him along.

It’s a longer walk from there to the city’s most famous burial ground, but even at a mortal’s average speed, it’s nothing to a pair of vampires who sound like British tourists at best and American ones at worst.  The only thing exempting them from the nastier variety of stare is that Daniel is famous now, and Armand, previously famous only in the art world, is now famous by extension.  He’s warmed up to the notoriety.

Scaling the walls of Père Lachaise is simple in theory, but Armand pulls Daniel into their…Daniel has lost count of how many kisses it’s been, and then flies them over to a soft landing on the grass amidst the graves.  They’re alone now, but Daniel doesn’t want anything more than Armand is willing to give.  Armand glances around as if even he has forgotten where he is in a place that he should know by heart.

Armand finally spots something at a distance, grabbing Daniel’s hand.  “Ah, this way.”

“You’d better not be showing me Wilde first,” Daniel says.  “Least interesting guy here.”

“Not sporting of us, maybe, but I couldn’t agree more,” Armand laughs breathlessly.

Seeing in the dark will never, ever get old.  As they approach what looks like a miniature cathedral cloister with a pair of tomb effigies beneath its pointed roof, Daniel wonders fleetingly if Maharet has never known what it’s like because she’s dependent on the vampire equivalent of disposable contact lenses.  The thought flees as soon as he realizes what he’s looking at, some photograph or another he’s seen in a magazine.

“Hang on,” Daniel says, draping his arms over the wrought iron fence surrounding the mausoleum.  “This is…Armand, this is a maudlin turn.”

“Peter Abelard and Héloïse d’Argenteuil,” Armand says.  “Yes.  I confess to a certain amount of…”  He shrugs.  “Call it theatrical superstition.” 

Daniel lifts one of his arms, wrapping it around Armand’s shoulders.  “Funny, but…”  There it is, the wistful lump in his throat.  “We can’t even say…”

“Can’t even say unlife goals, to quote Jesse,” Armand sighs, too serious for the fucking hilarious callback that’s just come out of his mouth.

“I mean, if we ever become the kind of vampires who need to sleep in a crypt out of necessity,” Daniel says, “then we could evict these two easily.”

Armand can’t keep a straight face after that.  He laughs so long and hard that, what can you do, they’re both ending up with blood tears on their nice coats.  His gasping stops and starts would have him doubled over if Daniel didn’t have both arms tightly around him now.

“They might not even be there,” Armand wheezes, clinging to him.

“Even better,” Daniel says.  “Shame to let a good grave go to waste.”

Chapter Text

Daniel isn’t tired of nightly forays into Paris by the end of a week, but he can tell that Armand is getting restless.  He knows the probable cause, too.  His own worrying about the fledglings is no more than a twinge at the back of his mind, although he realizes that placing that much trust in a vampire he barely knows just because she’s easily a thousand years old or more and blood related to one of the fledglings might be foolish.

They’re lounging in bed at sunset on their sixth evening, and Armand is so distracted that he can’t even seem to focus on his iPad while Daniel responds to an overdue email on his phone.  At least half of Daniel’s own growing unease is that Raglan James has been silent.

“We should head to London,” Armand says, sitting up.  He grabs the iPad, tapping around for about thirty seconds.  “We’ll be there in around two and a half hours as long as we don’t miss the seven thirty-four out of Gare de Lyon.  We’ll pack as light as we came, of course.”

“What, and leave behind the vintage shit you got me?” Daniel asks, feeling oddly bereft.

Armand leans over and kisses him.  “I’ll have my staff send as much home as you wish.”

“Which home?” Daniel asks, but he’s already on his feet to get dressed and start packing.

“I can split it between New York and Night Island.”  Armand is thoughtful as he shrugs into another of Daniel’s faded, but sturdy old cotton sweaters; Daniel has given up on trying to retain any of them for his own use.  “Daniel, I was thinking.  About the house in Boston…”

“The fledglings will probably wanna go back, yeah,” Daniel agrees, ahead of Armand as far as the state of undress remaining.  He shoves his feet into his boots.  “I don’t think it’s necessary to send any of our Paris wardrobe there.  We left modern stuff in the closet anyway.”

“That’s not what I was about to say,” Armand continues, fastening a pair of 1950s slacks that look great on him with the sweater.  “I’m thinking of having it transferred into their names, joint ownership.  I’ll remove most of the stolen artwork, of course.  Too much risk to them.”

“I’m not on the deed, so that’s all your decision,” Daniel says, stuffing clothes and toiletries haphazardly into his bag.  “If you’re asking for my input anyway?  You should do it.  We can always buy another place there if you want a residence for sentimental reasons.”

Armand packs more methodically than Daniel, concentrating on clearing the bathroom before he returns to the closet for his clothes.  “Maybe I do,” he admits.  “We may have had our first meaningful night together just outside of Naples, but we didn’t…”  Armand shrugs as Daniel crosses the room to him, sets down his bag, and takes him in his arms.  “We didn’t share a bed until that night at the Copley.  It means…a lot.”

Daniel kisses Armand, stroking his bed-tousled hair.  “Whatever my princess wants.”

Armand smiles, his eyes warm beneath lowered lashes.  “So you’ll help me choose?”

“Sure.  I have opinions about neighborhoods other than Beacon Hill,” Daniel replies.

They hunt before catching the Eurostar, but it’s strictly for Daniel’s benefit, as Armand doesn’t feel the need for anything after killing a few nights ago.  Daniel continues indexing Talamasca files while they’re on the train; Armand plays Minecraft.  They get into St. Pancras around ten o’clock, and Daniel starts listening to psychic babble as soon as they’re clear of the station.  Armand removes Daniel’s phone from his back pocket.

“What are you doing?  You have your own phone.”

“Hush, Daniel.  Your contacts are better organized.”

Daniel watches Armand make an unhappy face as he taps the screen and holds the phone up to his ear.  The person he’s calling picks up almost immediately, and Daniel isn’t sure how to feel about how quickly Louis’s bright Hello? becomes a put-upon sigh as Armand speaks.

“This isn’t a social call,” Armand says curtly.  “Have you sold the house in Regent’s Park?”

“The mansion,” Louis corrects, his voice easily heard from Daniel’s short distance away.  “You mean the mansion in Regent’s Park.”

“We barely ever stayed there.  You barely ever stayed there.”

“I mean…yes?  You’re right about that.  It’s on the market.”

“I’m in London right now, Louis.  What are you asking?” 

“Two hundred and fifty million.  You wanna crash there?”

“A hundred and twenty-five, then.  Let me buy out your half.”

Jesus fuck, Daniel thinks dizzily.  That’s pounds sterling.

“How many of the Gardner pieces are still in your possession?  Saw some in the brownstone when we were there for Jesse’s turning.”

“All of them.  You can’t have Galilee back.  Or the Vermeer.”

“Unfortunate. Why not the Vermeer?”

“Because Daniel really loves that one.”

“Okay, so…no Galilee, and no Concert.  I want all of the rest.”

“Fuck off.  What does that have to do with me buying you out?”

“A hundred and twenty-five million pounds, plus the Gardners.”

Daniel can’t stand Armand’s expression of pain, but it’s fleeting.

“You can’t have the Saint Elizabeth that Daniel and I took recently.”

“I understand that, Armand.  The three Daniel loves are off limits.”

“Babe,” Daniel whispers, “what the fuck are you doing, you don’t—”

“Ninety-five plus eleven of fourteen Gardners, final offer,” Armand says.

Louis sighs on the end of the line.  “Whatever.  Deal.  Wire it tonight.”

“The money?  Of course.  But you’ll need to get the artwork yourself.”

Daniel hears someone grab the phone, followed by a hum that isn’t Louis.

“That will be no problem,” Lestat says sweetly.  “We’ll be sure to visit the niblings as often as we can, especially when you’re otherwise occupied in that tacky coastal backwater with regrettable politics.  Say hello to what’s left of the London coven for me.”

Daniel gently extracts his phone from Armand’s hand.  “Good night, guys,” is all he says, and then hangs up.  “You didn’t have to do that!”

“I wasn’t about to subject you to any of the hotels here, even the luxury ones,” Armand says, threading his arm through Daniel’s.  “Come on.”

So, when Louis had said mansion in Regent’s Park, what he’d really meant was the fucking Holme.  Last Daniel had checked, the famous property had been owned by Middle Eastern royalty.  In retrospect, that’s probably what Armand had bewitched major media outlets into saying.  He stares out across the park’s boating lake with its tiny, tranquil islands, hard pressed to believe they’re in the middle of a major city.

Armand breaks the lockbox on the front door with a thought, extracts the key ring, and lets them inside.  He doesn’t give them time to do much more than drop their luggage, and then leads Daniel back out into the mild, but chilly dusk.  He bundles Daniel close.

“How do you feel about a short flight?”

“Fuck yeah, bird’s eye view.  Where to?”

“Someplace I haven’t been in years.”

Daniel hadn’t been expecting a club in Camden, because last he checked, Armand doesn’t tend to have much fun at bars.  The name of the place, POLIDORI, is emblazoned above the front doors in violet neon.  Both bouncers are vampires, which intrigues Daniel instantly.

Once they’re inside, Armand wrinkles his nose at the strobe-lighting and crowded dance floor.  He drags Daniel along the wall until they reach the side farthest from the bar.  His assessment of the place doesn’t seem favorable, although Daniel has seen far less classy clubs.

“Last I was here, it was a cabaret owned by the London coven,” Armand explains, taking stock of what most of the vampires back here are doing.  It runs the gamut from mildly risqué groping to not-so-discreet fucking.  “I wasn’t aware it had undergone a drastic makeover.”

Daniel swallows as Armand backs him right against the wall.  He’s not opposed to blending in this way, but he can’t help but think this isn’t Armand’s speed.  “It’s not the turn of the century anymore,” he says, gasping as Armand presses up against him, kissing his neck.

“Nonetheless, it’s one of the last holdouts of vampire culture here,” Armand murmurs against Daniel’s ear, licking it.  “Daniel, I’m fine.”

Daniel slides his arms around Armand’s waist, encouraged by Armand’s hum of pleasure.  If Armand wants to make out in a vampire bar in order to cope with the objectionable sensory details, then he’s no one to argue.  They don’t even manage to do that for very long, because Daniel’s fang-deep in Armand’s neck when a vampire with piercing yellowish gray eyes and fair, wavy hair approaches them wearing a sour expression.

“Heartwarming to see you eschewed the conventional standards of youth and beauty when you made this one, maître,” says the vampire, in a sardonic Irish lilt.  “He’d be your first, if I’m not mistaken?  Not but what various desperate fans over the years didn’t beg for it.”

Armand jumps, pulling back from Daniel’s teeth in his neck, blood seeping into the cotton of Daniel’s old sweater.  He turns around, shielding Daniel with his body as if he suspects this other lone survivor of Louis’s long ago arson might try to take his happiness from him.

Daniel wipes his mouth on his hand, and then waves.  “Hi.  You must be the Vampire Sam of Théâtre des Vampires and Talamasca fame.”

Meanwhile, Armand grabs at Daniel behind his back until Daniel takes both of his hands, squeezing them reassuringly.  “Yes,” he says.

“Not Talamasca,” Sam says vehemently.  “No more.  Lost more than a handful of my precious archival scripts, I promise you that.”  He turns his gaze back on Armand, reproachful.  “Nothing to say for yourself, maître?  Must be damn fine in the sack, to’ve turned him.”

“If you’re having a go at me for breaking my one hard-and-fast personal rule, by all means,” Armand spits.  “But if you attempt to harm Daniel, you’ll be ashes before you can follow through.  I may be his maker, but he’s my equal in all things.  We’ve built a life.”

“Life, unlife,” Sam sighs, his bitterness abruptly falling away.  “Aren’t we all equals now in this brave, batshit new world.”  He holds out his hand.

Tentatively, Armand releases one of Daniel’s hands.  He grasps Sam’s, shaking it once up and down.  “I have no quarrel with you.  If anything, I…”

“We need answers,” Daniel explains, stepping between Armand and Sam since this is his wheelhouse.  “The Talamasca’s riding me hard about that script you gave them, which they gave Rashid, which Rashid gave me.  They’re under the impression Rashid might’ve retrieved it after things went south with Armand’s ex in Dubai, long story.  Has a guy named Rashid made contact with you, by any chance?  Paid you a visit?”

“Ah, hell,” Sam says with a jaded twist of his lips.  He turns and waves toward the bar, which Daniel and Armand haven’t even investigated.  “Come on over, darlin’, why don’t you?  Let Kira and Finn take over, they won’t mind!  And if they do, they’re as good as sacked!” 

Daniel watches as the strobe-lit dancers behind Sam part to let someone push their way over from the bar.  It’s Rashid, all right, dressed in a tailored black dress shirt and, startlingly, jeans.  Once he’s at Sam’s side, he offers Daniel a nod like the ones he’d used while serving in Dubai.  But there’s a familiar bronze luminosity to his dark skin, and his eyes as they lock on Daniel’s burn pale chartreuse ringed with evergreen.

“Now, I know what you’re about to say,” Sam says self-deprecatingly to Armand as he sets a calm, but possessive hand between Rashid’s shoulder blades.  “There’s no trauma bond like being ex-Talamasca and having worked for you…and Mr. du Lac, come to it.”

“Called it,” Daniel says under his breath, pleased.  “Fucking called it.”

Armand steps up beside Daniel.  “Easy, my love.  Let’s not be smug.”

“Called…what, exactly?” Rashid asks, eternally polite.  “Did I miss—”

“That we’re an item,” Sam replies, patting his back.  “Bless your heart.”

“If I ever see Mr. James again…” Rashid sighs.  “He’s a marked man.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Daniel agrees.  “At this rate, we’ll have to draw cocktail straws.  We’re not gonna be merciful if we get to him first.”

“Nor should you be,” Sam cautions.  “Nor should any of us be.  The man’s tracking us to some nefarious end, fucked if I know what.”

“You need to be cautious,” Armand tells him gravely.  “He’s been asking Daniel for the script.  When it turned out Daniel no longer had it and that Rashid was the likely custodian, he asked us to find Rashid.  He also had…some idea that if we found Rashid, we’d find you.”

“Yes, I did retrieve the script after you and Mr. Molloy vacated the penthouse,” Rashid confirms, “and yes, I have indeed restored it to Sam.”

“Do you get the impression it’s procedural?” Sam asks.  “The London motherhouse can’t stand it when items from the archives go walkabout.”

“Could be,” Daniel replies.  “But given they’re keeping tabs on us, alarmed at the uptick in our numbers…”  He shrugs.  “There’s no telling.”

“I have yet to understand why they feel our population increase merits such a dramatic designation as the Great Conversion,” Rashid admits, thoughtful.  “They’re tracking a quarter of us at best.  A colleague estimates our numbers worldwide at three to four thousand.”

Armand blinks at that, just as startled as Daniel feels.  “I wouldn’t have put our numbers quite that low given the cacophony it’s possible to sift through.  On a planet of nearly eight billion, surely even ten thousand of us would be no cause for concern.”  He glances at Daniel, mystified.  “But four thousand?  That’s not a drop in the bucket; that’s a drop in the ocean.  We’re much needed predators in an overpopulated ecosystem.”

“The very conclusion I’ve reached,” Rashid agrees.  “I don’t hesitate to kill mortals.  Vampires, on the other hand?  I hesitate. We need the numbers.”

Daniel can tell that their chat is making Armand feel even worse about his prior fledgling-culling habits than Daniel had made him feel about them in the late seventies.  He realizes Sam is giving Armand a patronizing look, and Armand looks desperate to change the subject.

“Last we heard, you were working as a DJ with flashy theatrical gimmicks,” Daniel says to Sam, diverting his attention away from Armand.  He’s beginning to realize that, after Lestat, this guy would make a compelling interview subject.  “What’s changed since then?”

“Made so much bank with occasional shows over a couple of decades that it didn’t seem worth the fuss anymore.  I missed writing, so…”  Sam grins.  “Got out of the biz, bought this place from the previous vamp owners, shortened the name to Polidori. Leaves me more time to scribble.”

“From what I read, you’ve got talent.  Had anything open in the West End lately?”

“Sadly, I haven’t.  There’s still far too much interest in gaying up Shakespeare.”

Armand bristles.  “I’d argue too few directors have sufficiently queered Hamlet.”

“Writer to writer, want a suggestion?” Daniel asks, entwining his fingers with Armand’s, willing Armand to trust him on what he’s about to say.

Armand squeezes Daniel’s fingers, running his thumb over the back of Daniel’s hand.  It’s about as clear a silent signal as Daniel usually gets.

Sam looks miffed until Rashid elbows him in the side.  He huffs wearily, his expression softening as he nods at Daniel.  “Fire away.”

“Two words for you,” Daniel says.  “Vampire Casablanca.”

“Eh.  Too Second World War,” Sam sniffs.  “I won’t touch it.”

Daniel shrugs, glancing sidelong at Armand.  “Modernize it.”

“Go on,” Armand prompts.  “I know where this is headed.” 

Sam’s eyes track over Daniel and Armand.  Daniel opens his mind, telegraphing everything: the Divisadero incident, which Sam may know from the book; how he’d caught Armand following him shortly thereafter and earned his memories back; how they’d exchanged blood on that first proper date in Pompeii; their second date at the Copley where they’d consummated those vows made in Villa of the Mysteries.  The twelve years following in which they’d traveled together and built Night Island.  How it had all come tumbling down at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s 1985.

“And now their reunion in Dubai.  The aftermath,” Rashid says, having taken it all in, too.  He squeezes Sam’s wrist.  “Armand’s intense, brooding Ilsa walked away, leaving him in the wreckage.  His dashing, incorrigible Renault swept in to salvage his damaged heart.”  He breaks into a mischievous smile as Sam glances at him.  “Since I was on the inside and saw everything, might co-authorship be on the table?”

Sam grabs Rashid’s face and kisses him, which, honestly?  It’s hot.  Daniel hears Armand’s wondering intake of breath.  Abruptly, he recognizes it from the moment when they’d watched Matrix Resurrections when he’d realized his ship was going to get a happy ending.

“You bet your gorgeous arse,” Sam says, patting Rashid’s cheeks as he withdraws from the kiss and smirks at Daniel.  “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

“I prefer Fake Rashid,” Daniel replies, which prompts Armand to smirk right back at Sam.  “Anyway, we can talk royalties once there’s a draft.”

Rashid wears a dubious look for the first time since his arrival.  “If it’s thoroughly fictionalized enough, then do we really owe you anything?”

“Louis gets a share of the royalties from the book even though I wrote it,” Daniel replies.  “It’s events from his life.  This would be ours.”

“Seeing myself cast in a more redeemable light on stage might almost be enough to forfeit any financial claim,” Armand says tersely.  “Almost.”

“From what I can see it is something approaching a redemption arc,” Sam replies, mulling the idea over.  Gradually aware of Rashid’s annoyance, he turns to his companion and skims knuckles along his jaw.  “Don’t worry your pretty head.  I’ll see to it you get paid.”

It’s at that point the crowd parts again erratically as a pair of figures darts toward Daniel and Armand.  Daniel dodges, but Armand intercepts.

“Mom!  Dad!”

That the fledglings have managed to successfully cloak themselves from detection for this long is impressive.  Armand clutches Jesse and Ricky so tightly against his chest that Daniel can only conclude he’s genuinely relieved to see them.  Given the radio silence, so is Daniel.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Sam says, and then whistles.  “After how things went the first time ’round, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“I’m not Claudia,” Ricky says, on the offensive before Daniel can speak.  “Jesse isn’t Madeleine.”  She glances at Armand, her eyes hard, but fond.  “He’ll never fully atone for it, but he’s our coven leader.  So’s Daniel.  We’re…ugh.  We’re a family.  Gross, but true.”

“These are our fledglings,” Armand says, fixing Sam with a protective, predatory glare.  “May I introduce the Vampire Ricky Mayfair and the Vampire Jesse Reeves.  They have been under our protection ever since my ex decided he didn’t have the heart to take responsibility for being Ricky’s maker, albeit under the terms of a transaction.”  He lets Jesse stay in his arms even after Ricky breaks away, closing his eyes.

As Ricky steps back to stand beside Daniel, bumping shoulders with him, Daniel realizes Jesse is shaking.  He’s more sure than ever that this kid probably has a diagnosis from their pre-turning days that would match Armand’s if only he’d ever gotten one, or if he were to get one.

“Aunt Maharet said the two of you were heading this way, so she parted ways with us here,” Jesse mumbles against Armand’s chest.  “I was anxious, I wanted her to stay, but she said she had someone to meet in another part of the city.  Ricky spotted you from the bar.”

“That extreme an age is no guarantee of conventional wisdom in our world,” Armand sighs, hands on Jesse’s shoulders, holding them at arms’ length now.  “Have you fed this evening?  Are you hungry anyway?”  He looks at Ricky.  “I’ll take you out while Daniel handles this.”

Neither Sam, nor Rashid can decide how to react to what they’re witnessing.  It’s eliciting the choicest schadenfreude that Daniel has experienced in months.  They’re staring at Armand as he continues to fuss over the fledglings at half volume now, starting to lead them away.

“Daniel, my darling,” Armand says, glancing over his shoulder.  “You’ll be all right?”

“Yeah,” Daniel replies, so fucking proud that none of this is an act.  “Go ahead, babe.”

Rashid breaks into a devious, full-on grin at Daniel as soon as Armand and the fledglings are gone.  “I’m glad my faith in you was warranted.”

“You fucking tamed that one in just under a century?” Sam demands, flatly incredulous.  “Started when you were twenty, no less?  And human?”

Daniel rubs his face, watching as the club doors shut behind his whole world.  “Nah.  He’s even more dangerous now we have kids.  Drinks?”

Chapter Text

All things considered, Daniel is having a fairly pleasant time chatting with the London coven master and his companion.  Sam is funny in an understated, old-fashioned way, so quaint that it swings back around to relevancy.  Meanwhile, Rashid is warm, relaxed, and downright approachable now that he’s no longer working a job he’d probably hated.  Daniel wonders if he could make friends with these guys.  He wants to make friends with these guys, and not just to keep tabs on them when they write his and Armand’s story for the stage.

Mere seconds after having that thought, there’s a flare in Daniel’s mind that rises above the background hum of vampiric voices that he’s learned to tune out.  He’d know this particular voice anywhere; its intrusion in his thoughts is so stark that it makes his heart lurch.

Ricky screams: Daniel, come outside!  There’s trouble!  Dad, please!

Sam picks up on the fact there’s trouble a split second after Daniel, so the two of them rise.  When Rashid tries to follow, Sam kisses him quick and urgent, tells him to stay here until the danger has passed.  Tells him that he loves him in a whisper, and the look in Rashid’s eyes suggests it’s the first time those words have been said.  Rashid returns the sentiment in Punjabi, and then Sam grabs Daniel’s arm and drags him outside.

No bloodshed is permitted inside these walls, but outside is another story, Sam sends as they burst through the doors into the street.

Bloodshed, Daniel thinks grimly.  Great.  And then two familiar, blood-splattered figures tear out of the alley to their left, blow past him and Sam, and push through the doors into the club.  His first thought is that Armand told the fledglings to get inside as swiftly as they can.

Daniel’s second thought is that Armand is fighting the unknown threat on his own.  In the same split-second as these thoughts enter his mind, Daniel races into the alley with Sam hot on his heels shouting, Daniel!  Wait, for fuck’s sake!  Whoever this is will tear you apart!

The scene that awaits them is chaos.  There are three piles of grease and ash on the ground amidst the dust and broken glass, and Armand—

Armand, his face covered in blood and blackened gore, his eyes lava-bright with mindless fury, is locked in hand-to-hand combat with a vampire who has at least several inches in height and two hundred pounds in weight on him.  There must be some reason he hasn’t incinerated this fucker.  Maybe this is the one that has harmed the fledglings such that they’ve ended up covered in blood.  Fire would be a fate too kind.

Daniel acts on sheer instinct, sending a blast of psychic interference.  Hey, over here!

Snarling, Armand finds enough of an opening to rip out the other vampire’s throat.

The hulking vampire staggers back from Armand, choking, staring at Daniel and Sam.  Their throat is healing, but not neatly like their other wounds.  As the assailant roars and makes a false start in their direction, Daniel can see Armand has dislocated one of their arms.

Armand is intact, but he’s dripping blood from the neck and chest as he staggers back against the brick wall, gasping and shaking with rage.  He’s also commandeered the other vampire’s weakened body at this stage, keeping them more or less glued where they are.

“Jesus motherfucking Christ,” Sam says, but he sees the opening Armand has given him and takes it.  He snarls, licks of flame emanating from his hands for a second before Armand’s opponent, still several feet away from them, spontaneously combusts and crumbles to cinders.

Daniel rushes to Armand, taking him in his arms.  His heart breaks as Armand struggles at first, but goes limp and clinging within seconds.  Ignoring the blood tears already rolling down his cheeks, Daniel clutches Armand to his chest, rocking him.  He hears Armand sob.

“They came out of nowhere, it—it was about the book, they recognized me, they were looking for you, they hurt the fledglings, I couldn’t—”

“Shhh,” Daniel whispers, holding armand back just far enough to start rubbing the blood and gore off his face.  “It’s all right, you did good.  Oh, sweetheart, no, look at me.  Shhh.  You did everything right, you protected them, protected me—protected us.  You did good.”

“No, beloved,” Armand says brokenly, staggering back from him.  He stares at the three incinerated piles of blood, bone, and skin.  “Those, they…”  He points with a shaking hand while Sam starts delegating cleanup-of-remains duties to several of his covenmates who have come out ready to fight.  “Two of those three were fledglings.  Fledglings.  They came out of nowhere, they tried to—I didn’t even think twice.”

“You did what you had to do,” Daniel insists, pulling Armand back against himself.  “I would’ve done the same thing in your position, okay?”

“Sorry it came to this.  I ought to’ve warned you,” Sam sighs, heading over to them while others make short work of clearing evidence of the skirmish.  “While most have been receptive, I've heard about some discontented parties.  Interview hasn’t done quite as well here as with the Yanks and on the Continent.  British vampires can be a private, ornery bunch.  Over two hundred-odd years, they attacked the Paris coven a few times.  As God or whoever the hell is my witness, someone needs to tell ’em the Hundred Years’ War is over.  Wars of the Roses, too. Christ.”

Armand is gradually coming back to himself, no longer trembling.  “I’m…”  He clears his throat.  “I’m relieved it wasn’t down to a cause we cannot determine.  An attack without a discernible explanation attached would have been…”  He closes his eyes.  “Intolerable.”

“Yeah, well, this is pretty intolerable regardless,” Daniel says, relieved to see Armand recovering.  “And it’s all my fucking fault.”

“Louis also bears responsibility, and so do I,” Armand replies wearily, leaning heavily on Daniel.  “We invited you to undertake the project.”

Sam looks disdainfully at the piles of remains as his staff clear them away.  “Yeah, well, I loved it.  Daniel, your book was fuckin’ art.  These are arse-backward medieval minds we’re dealing with, the lot of ’em.”  He glances apologetically at Armand.  “No offense, maître.”

“None taken,” Armand replies tonelessly, startled as Sam takes his right hand and kisses the sixteenth-century diamond ring.  “Sam, I’m not…”

“You performed a duty today that ought to have been mine,” Sam insists.  “Ergo, for today, you’re the leader I longed to serve way back when.”

Armand opens his mouth, but immediately closes it.  He bows his head to Sam in reluctant acceptance.  “Would that I’d been that leader then.”

Daniel is bursting with pride.  There’s nothing he can or should add to any of that, so he holds Armand like the dutiful companion he strives to be.

“It’ll be my honor to provide you with an escort home tonight,” Sam says, distracted as Rashid emerges from the club with a blanket, glances around at the carnage with a look of shocking equanimity, and then approaches them.  “That fancy place in Regent’s Park, is it?”

“Yeah,” Daniel confirms.  “Forgot the name of it when we were shooting the shit.”

Armand looks startled as Rashid hands the blanket to Daniel, and then settles when Daniel wraps it around him to hide the fact that his clothing is still soaked in blood and gore even though his wounds have completely healed.  “The Holme,” he finally says.  “It’s a mansion.”

“Look at you,” Sam teases amicably.  “Truly our rags to riches, Cinderella story.”

“See?” Daniel says, riffing because it’s too good to be true.  “You are a princess.”

“Do you really want to try me after witnessing all of this?” Armand asks, irritated.

Inside the club, the music has stopped.  Vampires stand and sit around in clusters, nervously conversing at half volume or entirely via telepathy.  Daniel quickly finds who he’s looking for, mostly because they have the most bustle surrounding them.  Jesse and Ricky have been seated side by side on top of the bar, and the bartenders, Kira and Finn, have each claimed one to scrub down dutifully with wet tea towels.

“You run an efficient, disciplined coven,” Armand tells Sam as they all approach the fledglings.

Sam shrugs coyly, offering Armand a satisfied half smile.  “Learned from the best, didn’t I?”

Daniel carefully pushes Kira and Finn aside, realizing that while Jesse’s composure is about as impressive as Rashid’s, Ricky is a goddamn wreck.  Her face has been scrubbed clean, but she’s still sobbing, her fresh blood tears undoing the bartenders’ thorough work.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Ricky quavers.  “I should’ve reached out to you sooner, I should’ve—”

“None of that,” Daniel says, and then he takes her in his arms like he’d always done with his daughters when they skinned a knee or had a teenage breakup.  “You reached out to me when you could.  There must’ve been so much going on out there.”

While Ricky sobs on Daniel’s shoulder, Armand approaches Jesse with clear-eyed remorse.  “I put you at risk, and I’m sorry.  Can you tell me what happened while I was busy fending off the primary assailant?  I lack critical perspective on some parts of the encounter.”

“There were six,” Jesse says.  “The older, stronger one came at me and Ricky first, so you attacked that one.  Then the five younger ones jumped down from the rooftops.  You incinerated the three slowest ones while you were fighting the big one.  The remaining two jumped me and Ricky.”  They frown.  “Something happened while we were fighting them off.  I could feel my wounds healing, and that was exhilarating.”

Daniel loosens his arms around Ricky, letting her lift her head from his shoulder.  She’s not crying anymore, and she has something to say.

“Jesse fucking exploded those assholes, like…no fire involved.  Seriously.  They just blew up.  That’s why most of the blood on us isn’t ours.”

Armand’s eyes glow with pride as he continues to study Jesse’s face.  “That?  Is a Marius special.  I can’t even do it—in much the same way that I can freeze individuals within a reasonable radius, but he cannot.”  He sets his hands on Jesse’s shoulders.  “Describe it.”

“I did the same thing I’d do when I was still human,” Jesse admits guiltily.  “Any time somebody made me mad, and I mean really mad, not just annoyed, I’d imagine them…”  They pause, lowering their eyes.  “I’d imagine they had a grenade inside them, kind of.”

Armand breaks into a beatific smile as he leans forward and kisses Jesse’s forehead.  “You wield our maker’s blood with bravery and poise.”

Jesse responds with a grin, throwing their arms around Armand’s neck.  They don’t say anything, but they don’t need to, basking in his praise.

Daniel pats Ricky’s cheek, and then wipes away an errant tear.  “We know how to pick ’em, huh?” he asks, and then, lowering his voice, adds: “Kid, you thought fast on your feet.  That doesn’t come easy to everyone.  If not for you, Sam and I would’ve reacted slower.”

Ricky shoves him off, but she’s half smiling already.  “Yeah, yeah.  Save it, old man.” 

They’re escorted home by the bouncers, both of whom have the Cloud Gift.  Each of them carries one of the fledglings, and Armand carries Daniel.  Jesse is visibly in awe of the vampire carrying her, a tall, imposing dark-haired beauty with flashing eyes like black opal who wears their tailored pinstripe suit, waistcoat, and the detailed intaglio brooch at their throat with grace.  Daniel can tell Jesse wants to say something.

Once they’ve all landed at the Holme, Jesse’s escort offers a handshake, which Jesse accepts.  “Though they be but little, they are fierce.”

Jesse glances at Ricky, who’s not paying attention because she’s chatting to the other bouncer.  “Do you mean just me, or both of us?”

Jesse’s escort laughs, a pleasing and melodic alto.  “Of course you’re both fierce, but I meant you.  You’re the one I’m speaking to, yes?”

“Yes,” Jesse agrees.  “I don’t want to make this awkward, but I wanted to say…I haven’t seen any other vampires like me.  Not until you.  I know they must exist, but…”  They inhale tremulously, lowering their voice.  “You let me read your thoughts.  I’m so, so sorry for what they did to you, putting you on display like that, I never…I never had to go through anything like that.  I was lucky.  My aunt was protective of me when I was small.  She wouldn’t hear of any doctors trying to fix me.  Although…that wasn’t really done in your time, was it?  That’s one mercy.”

“I was spared another tragedy, too, one that has nothing to do with the differences in my body,” says the bouncer.  “You must have understood from what you saw that I’m old.  Nearly contemporary with your maker.  I survived the catastrophe that buried Pompeii and Herculaneum.”

Daniel hates to intrude, but he’s pierced to the core with sorrow and wonder at the bouncer’s admission.  “You…you were there when…”

The bouncer turns to him.  “My name is Petronia, and I fled early when so many others could not be persuaded.  I watched my city burn.”

Armand is only half paying attention to his conversation with Ricky and the other bouncer.  He peels away when Daniel beckons, his expression haunted as he approaches.  “Your loss is unfathomable to me,” he says softly, “which is unspeakable given that I have known so much loss.  We have loved those ruins, my companion and I.  We have loved in them, even, dreaming of those countless lives beyond our reach.”

“Marius knows so little of honor, but how honored we are to have those of you he made,” Petronia says.  They turn back to Jesse, removing the brooch at their throat.  “Dawn approaches.  It cannot harm me, but it can harm you lot.  Take this, young one.  You’ve earned it.”

Daniel watches Jesse run their thumb lovingly over the deeply recessed carving in carnelian.  “That’s Chimera?” he asks.

“Yes,” Jesse says quietly, letting Ricky take the pin and affix it to their lapel.  “Some of us who are intersex are, in fact, human chimeras.”  They gasp, watching as Petronia and the other bouncer descend the front stairs and then rise into the clouds.  “Now we’re vampire chimeras, too.”

Armand opens the front door, so Daniel bundles the fledglings inside.  Armand leads everyone upstairs, points out the spare bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms, and then leads Daniel to the master bedroom, which likewise has an ensuite bathroom.  Irked, Ricky sends word that their luggage is still in the back room at Polidori.  Daniel promises he’ll contact Sam and Rashid about it in the hope that someone will deliver it before the next sunset.  After that, he drags Armand to the marble-floored bathroom with its gigantic shower and claw-footed tub.

“I don’t care if it’s almost dawn,” Daniel says, stripping an exhausted, compliant Armand, and then himself.  “You’re not going to bed like that.”

Armand only nods, letting Daniel help him climb in the tub.  They soak while the near-scalding water runs, Armand lying with his back against Daniel’s chest.  He turns the taps off with his mind just in time to prevent the tub from overflowing onto the precious floor tiles.

Daniel can feel the torpor creeping up on him, but he resists it.  He scrubs the blood from Armand’s chest, and then makes Armand scoot down to submerge his scalp.  The water blooms pink around them, blood streaming from the tendrils of Armand’s hair.  Daniel thinks of the Medusa mosaic in the Gardner courtyard, of the crumbling fresco behind him in the Villa of the Mysteries the first time he’d ever held Armand like this.

“Pompeii,” Armand whispers.  “To have survived it.  To have even been there in the first place.”  He gazes up at Daniel.  “I can’t fathom it.”

“Let’s go back,” Daniel replies, using his fingers to wipe away the remaining blood on Armand’s face.  “We can’t stay here long as it is.”

At sunset the next night, Daniel rises early.  He finds the fledglings’ luggage in the foyer with an envelope containing a note from Sam, who bids them godspeed, wishing they could stay longer.  Another time, perhaps.  Enclosed in tissue paper is a strand of emerald beads.

From Petronia, for Ricky’s valor, reads Sam’s addendum.  I’ll visit you next time.

The transfer to Naples is seamless.  They take a night flight, during which Armand keeps busy with something on his iPad.  The cab they pile into with their luggage shortly after arrival doesn’t take them to a luxury hotel like Daniel has been expecting.  It takes them to a sprawling, domed Baroque building surrounded by palm trees.  The concierge meets them, handing off a key ring.

“You bought a furnished apartment,” Daniel says flatly once they’ve taken the elevator up to the top floor.  “Because of course you did.”

Armand shrugs impishly as he watches the fledglings claim the lofted bedroom above the living room.  “I can’t buy you the ruins, so…”

They leave their luggage in the largest of the two remaining bedrooms.  All four of them have fed discreetly among the crowds at Heathrow, so neither Daniel, nor Armand feels guilty about leaving the fledglings while they head back out into the cool, breezy January twilight.

Armand takes Daniel in his arms, rising without hesitation, propelling them beyond the city limits and into the Campania countryside.  Daniel regrets not having asked Armand to do this the first time they were here.  They land soundlessly in the dormant winter gardens of the Villa dei Misteri, surrounded by the memory of those fragrant nighttime flowers with which Armand had filled the gardens on Night Island.

Daniel does the breaking and entering at the gated entrance this time.  They slip in through one of the shuttered windows, landing a touch too hard on the floor.  The scrape of mosaic tiles underfoot makes Daniel grimace and Armand giggle.

The chalky, mineral smell is stronger than Daniel remembers.  His vampire senses render it acridly exquisite.  And then he looks up, tracking his eyes over the walls, and gasps.  Red, otherworldly red.  The frescoes have been restored, vivid beyond his wildest dreams.

“Welcome home, beloved,” Armand whispers.  He touches Daniel’s cheek, turning Daniel’s face to his.

“You too, babe,” Daniel whispers back, leaning into him.  “Are we gonna fuck here this time, or what?”

“Of course,” Armand scoffs, scandalized as he nips Daniel’s lower lip.  “What do you take me for?”

“The best husband ever?” Daniel asks, grinning against Armand’s mouth.  “It’s gonna be a fun night.”