Archive of Our Own ^beta

“This is the part of my story, back in San Francisco where you said, and I paraphrase: ‘give it to me, make me a vampire now’.”

This is the part of the story in Dubai that Armand has been waiting for.

“In the eyes of a twenty-year-old you were wasting the gift.”

The gift. The very idea that even now, after everything Louis has told him, he still calls it a gift. The idea makes Armand’s blood sing. How Daniel had wanted the gift so desperately. Begged Armand for it relentlessly.

I want to live forever with you!

Of course, the answer had always been no. Vampires will inevitably come to despise their makers.

There had been some nights, long ago, as he lay in the arms of his beloved, that he’d wished Louis had indulged him in San Francisco. Armand had been intrigued by Daniel long before he’d interrupted their interview. Watching him at Polynesian Mary’s, listening to his conversation with Louis. That was, after all, one of the reasons he had interrupted the interview. If Louis had made him a vampire when he’d asked, then maybe he could have been Armand’s forever. And Armand wouldn’t have had to make that decision. Still, the thought of Daniel as Louis’ fledgling… Armand simply couldn’t conceive of a world where Daniel belonged to Louis and not to him.

But that was long ago, when Daniel was young and vibrant. A beautiful disaster, so full of life. Now, he is old and frail and ill. Still beautiful of course, but so near to the end.

Armand knows that Louis is once again bored. That he’s searching for any excuse to return to Lestat. That was in part what this interview was about. They both know their fragile companionship has run its course. But they made an agreement that before Louis leaves, he will grant Armand one final wish. Because they both know that the man on their sofa, weary and haggard with dark circles under his eyes, is the boy Armand wants more than anything in the world.

“You’re in your twenties, Rashid,” Louis says. “What do you think?”

Armand looks up from the iPad, a little taken aback. That’s right, he’s supposed to be playing a role. He’s so very good at playing roles.

“Well, Mister du Lac presides in the most desired real estate in the country. I do not see the waste Mister Molloy sees.”

“Yeah, well he lived in a dump the last time we did this.”

Every time Daniel speaks to him like that… dismissive, cold, like a stranger… another twist of the blade.

“I’d give it to you now.”

The statement takes the air out of the room.

Armand looks up, heart racing. He can’t bear it. The offer sits there heavy between them like an unexploded shell.

Daniel slowly raises his chin, almost imperceptibly. In consideration perhaps?

Louis continues the sell. “A still hand, time to watch your daughters marry…”

“And divorce... And die…” Daniel’s voice is strained with lethargy, the voice of a body that is slowly shutting down.

And how cynical he has become with age. How jaded. Of course he no longer believes in love. Armand took that from him. Took everything from him. Perhaps this was a mistake after all.

Daniel glances over at Rashid. Ill and exhausted as he is, he still has the strength to lob one more bomb.

“Save it for the rent boy.”

A heartless comment, but Armand has been called worse in his 514 years.

What truly cuts through him like a poisoned dagger is not the thoughtless remark. It’s the refusal. The knowledge that Daniel no longer wants this. No longer wants him. Why would he? He doesn’t even remember. And now he never will.

“May I be excused, Mister du Lac?” Armand’s voice comes out more broken than he would have liked.

“Are you planning on slapping me again, Daniel?” Louis asks, an attempt to inject some levity.

A long, almost droll pause as Daniel cracks open his soda can.

“No,” he says dryly.

Oh, how Armand loves him.

Something inside him is cracking. Surely it will shatter entirely when his Daniel is gone. Like shrapnel. Maybe it will kill him too.

Louis glances at him with a melancholy little nod. I’m sorry. I tried.

Armand doesn’t reply. He simply leaves the room, disappears into the bedroom, and weeps.

***

He doesn’t emerge until hours later, after Daniel has fallen asleep. Louis summons him to bring a blanket. Still in character, lest the words penetrate Daniel’s subconscious. But Armand knows what it really is. A pathetic consolation prize. A moment alone with his beloved, instead of the eternity they could have had together.

Armand stands before him holding the blanket. He watches him sleep as he’s done so many times before. Daniel looks peaceful. Like the medicine has done its job. No pain. For now. He’s still so impossibly beautiful, his Daniel, perhaps even more now than he’d been all those years ago. Armand can smell in his blood how near he is to the end.

I’d rather die than see you die, Daniel.  

Then give it to me!

No, Daniel, because I’d rather die than do that, too.

Easy words to say when Daniel’s death hadn't been so imminent.

Armand has known many regrets in his long life. Perhaps this will be the greatest. That he didn’t give Daniel the gift when he’d had the chance.

Armand lays the blanket over his boy, carefully tucking it under his chin. He removes a glove and reaches out to cup his face. His skin is soft and thin like tissue. So fragile.

He knows he shouldn’t, but it’s likely the last chance he’ll ever have. He leans in. He places a featherlight kiss on Daniel’s forehead, lingering so he can feel his curls brushing against his nose one last time.

“Please remember me, beloved,” he whispers. “Please remember us.”

And that night, Daniel does.