Home / Fan Fiction / V(cough) C(cough) fic / Dagger of the Mind / The Death of Gregory Michaelson, Part 3

DISCLAIMER: The following stories are all non-profit, amateur efforts not intended to infringe on the rights of Tom Cruise Malpother IV, William Bradley Pitt, Antonio Banderas, David Geffen, Warner Brothers, Geffen Pictures, Knopf, Randomhouse, the city of New Orleans, the U.S. Consititution, any copyright holders that I might not have thought of or even a certain author who shall remain nameless but who has a set of initials which are, coincidentally enough, just one letter off from spelling "B.S."

The Death of Gregory Michaelson Part Three
A Dagger of the Mind Spec
by: The Brat Queen and Lady Black Death

DISCLAIMER: This is a spec story based off of the characters in the universe of the Dagger of the Mind RPG. It was written using only some of the concepts, characterizations and plotlines that appear in parts of Dagger as a starting point and putting what I hope will be an interesting "What if...?" spin on them. It is not and should not be taken as a true continuation of the story and abandon all hope ye who would find spoilers here. Some of it's based on Dagger canon, some of it definitely is not. And I ain't telling which.

It was going well. Sort of. Just the other day Tom caught Lestat wearing sweats of his own free will. He was wearing the suits (and those damned glasses) less often. However, it wasn't enough. "Greg" was still alive and well, if not a little reclusive of late.

So now what?

There were a lot of options to consider, one more obvious than most. A change of scene was called for. It was still too obvious for Lestat to think of himself as an executive, especially when his apartment screamed "CEO". New surroundings, new attitude. But then what?

And while asking himself that, another, softer voice asked "And why are you doing any of this?"

It was a question Tom didn't like to consider. In truth, he wasn't sure why he was doing it. His instincts hated the Gregory persona, knew it had to go. But... to be replaced by what? Why did Tom bother with it all? It wasn't as though it was really his place. This was, ultimately, between Louis and Lestat.

He went 'round on the question, never arriving at a satisfactory conclusion. All the while, however, he maintained a constant war against Gregory. The walls had cracked, that much was obvious. Tom wanted them obliterated, no matter the whys of it.

He maneuvered around a largish box of supplies, shaking his head. When Lestat shopped, he was a force of nature. There were now enough art supplies in his flat to equip a small university - most still in the cartons they had arrived in. "We're going to run out of wall space," he mused, looking at the different sizes of canvas which rested against a wall of the bedroom.

Then he looked up, distracted. "Not again," he muttered under his breath. Tom put the canvas back before walking quietly to Lestat's office, listening as his voice became more insistent with every word.

The view was somewhat better than it had been. Though he wore slacks and a shirt the look on the whole was far more informal than anything "Gregory" would have worn. The gold-rimmed glasses were left carelessly on Lestat's desk as Lestat himself, hair falling out of his ponytail, paced back and forth behind his desk and continued his argument with whoever was on the other end of the line. Tom listened as Lestat's voice became angry, then intense, then rather deadly quiet as the conversation ended, the phone was clicked off and then pitched with perfect aim into a nearby fishtank.

His walk was deceptively casual as Tom retrieved the phone. "What did the fish ever do to you?"

"More to the point I liked that phone," Lestat said. He continued to pace, his motions frustrated. "This, this is why I hate talking with him."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Him?"

"Mr. Bow-To-My-College-Degree Franklin of Go-To-Hell Washington, USA," Lestat snapped, immediately making a motion with his hand to tell Tom the anger was not intended for him, "He's trying to take over and I refuse to let the little pissant even try."

"Take over?"

He gestured to the papers that were scattered over his desk. "The business in America. Little bastard got enough control of things before Louis left that he felt he could fill his place once he'd gone." Lestat's grin was feral. "I disagree."

"How much of the company does he own?"

Lestat grimaced, finally sitting down at his desk. He gestured helplessly at the papers in front of him. "That's one of the things we are arguing about. Damned if I know, I'm just of the opinion it's too much."

"May I?" Tom gestured to the papers.

Lestat handed them over. "Be my guest. Apparently I don't know nearly enough English or Latin for this sort of thing."

Tom reached for the papers, scanning them quickly. Then he frowned. He sat as he read, reaching for sheet after sheet, then stacking them in neat piles. Finally he sighed. "He doesn't own any of the company. He's elected by the board of directors. What he's banking on, from the look of it, is that you're so unfamiliar with the affairs of the company that you won't figure out he's a stuffed shirt puppet. Influence the board, he has his walking papers. Easy as that."

Lestat frowned. "Really?"

"Really. Lestat," he spread his hands wide, as non-threatening as he could manage, "how can I say this? You're good at many things. But this may not be exactly one of your strengths."

"Oh you think?" again he made a gesture of apology. "Sorry. It's just been difficult. I don't want to loose this but..." he trailed off, shrugging.

"No insult intended," Tom added hastily. "Maybe I should have said that you're good, but this is still too much for one person. No one can do everything on his own. Wouldn't you agree?'

Lestat leaned forward, balancing his elbows on the desk and running his hands through his hair. Even more strands of hair fell from the ponytail as he sighed from that position. "Oui. And you did not insult, just pinpoint my frustration."

"Lestat," Tom said thoughtfully, "do you know what the movie making industry is?"

Lestat looked up, blinking. "Something you're involved with?"

He grinned. "It's a business . One I'm good at. I'm no artist. Truth be told, I'm barely an actor. But I'm damn good at business."

A fond smile came across Lestat's lips. "I thought you were pretty good."

"Yeah, well," Tom managed a slight flush, "anyway, I can help you, if you'd like."

"In what way?"

"Like I just did. Or other ways. I could, for example," he fought to keep his tone of voice casual, "help free up time for your art."

Lestat nodded towards the piles of paper on his desk. "You can make heads or tails of any of this?"

Tom pointed to the piles he made. "That's important. That pile, bullshit. This pile comes from people who, if they addressed me like that, would be fired. The rest of it is low priority grunt work that you can delegate elsewhere."

Eyebrows raised. "Do you like it?"

"Business?"

"Yes."

He nodded, grinning a little. "It's something I'm good at."

Lestat didn't hesitate. "Take it. Please. Just... let me know what's going on, alright? Give me final decision. Otherwise it's all yours."

"Really?" He couldn't tell if Lestat was joking or not.

"Please," he shoved the remaining paperwork over towards Tom. "I know people, I don't know this."

"You got it." Tom settled in at once, glancing over at the paperwork. "I'll need your files, and I'll need to talk to the lawyers, of course. Do you have administrative help? How many companies are you managing? What's the end goal, here? Should I maintain or progress?"

Lestat laughed, watching him. "There are some people to take care of the day to day things, I'm managing all of Louis' companies and investments and a bit of both. How's that?"

"Good to start with. Leave everything to me." He grinned. "So, Greg's retiring, right?"

Lestat reached out to lightly touch the glasses that sat on the desk. He returned Tom's grin. "You're very tenatous."

He shrugged, casual look still firmly in place. "He doesn't seem the artist type, that's all. I'd hate to ruin all those suits with turpentine."

The mental communication was filled with golden warmth and the image of Tom tugging one of Lestat's business shirts off so hard the buttons popped. Oh yes, I'd imagine you'd truly hate that. Tell me, Mr. Cruise, are you always this stubborn about getting what you want?

He didn't hesitate. "Always." Then he smiled. "I think you've made the right choice."

Purple-blue eyes locked onto Tom's. Lestat's voice was a French purr. "I agree."

He tilted his head up. "I've got another idea. If you'd like to hear it. Sort of a surprise, really."

"What?"

"A relocation."

Lestat frowned. "What kind?"

He shrugged modestly. "Just a suggestion. I happened by a place, and I thought of you."

The frown turned into a slight smile. "Really?"

"Really. I haven't signed any papers or anything, but I did tour through it. I really think you can make something of it."

Lestat took one look around him, then back at Tom. "Oui. Yes." Lestat's smile was blinding. "Show me."

Tom stood, then took his hand. "Come on."

The location, Tom could tell, surprised Lestat. That was good, in his opinion. Anything that surprised him couldn't have been thought of by "Greg". Still, Tom didn't know if he'd buy this play or not. The house wasn't a house at all, but a sprawling warehouse near the river. The advantages were obvious - the amount of space available for art and other activities bordered on awe inspiring. Privacy was assured due to the size of the lot. Now it was up to Lestat.

Lestat walked through, arms folded, his footsteps echoing through the building as he looked around. "It's a little sparse," he said with a slight smile.

"Which means we can do anything we like to it."

Lestat looked over his shoulder at him. "We?"

He tried to look affronted. "Did you think I was going to move out?"

Lestat shrugged. "I wasn't sure. I mean I can't imagine playing nursemaid to me is your idea of a long-term good time."

This time he didn't need to act. Surprised he asked "Nursemaid?"

"Oui," Lestat said, shrugging again. "Making sure I don't do anything stupid, working on Louis' businesses for me... I can't imagine how that would make you happy."

"I'm not babysitting, Lestat." His reply was slow, still friendly, but deliberate. "I'm helping a friend who needs it."

"You're content with this?" he asked, indicating all that was around them, the implication being his continued relationship with Lestat.

He nodded. "It'll take some work, of course. But the end results are worth it."

Lestat smiled, apparently satisfied with what Tom said. He resumed walking around, inspecting things more closely now. "We'll still need plumbing. I'm picturing the bathroom here -" With careful steps he paced out a square on the dusty floorboards.

"And a kitchen." He managed to look embarrassed. "For the sake of appearances."

Lestat considered this. "I suppose so, if we're to have company." He looked around then sketched out another, smaller square not far from the first one. "That should make plumbing installation easy." He looked up towards the large windows that surrounded them. "And a bedroom here - " his heel marked out a much larger space before he looked up at Tom with eyes that Tom could have sworn contained rainbows. "Do we need two?" the smile was intimate. "For the sake of appearances?"

His reply was slow, almost a drawl. "I... don't think so."

"Alright," Lestat said, walking towards him. He held one hand out to catch on Tom's waistband as he wrapped his arm around Tom's chest and stood behind him. "What else will we need then, mon amoureux?"

Tom kissed him. "A big bed."

Lestat's free hand crept upward and tangled in Tom's hair. "That, lover, was a given." His lips danced over Tom's as he spoke. "What else will you need?"

He tried to keep his thoughts straight. "An office. Grounded power for a computer."

Lestat's lips moved along Tom's jaw. "Office. Near the bedroom. Electricity, phone line. Oui. What else?"

It was harder than ever to think. "Music. Home theatre. The usual."

There was a light scrape of fangs behind Tom's ear. "Entertainment center, sun-proof blinds on the windows," there was another teasing nip, "big, comfortable couches.... what else do you want?"

"A waterfall, wine goddesses peeling grapes..."

"Now you're trying to make me jealous."

Tom kissed him. "Just wondering if you're paying attention."

He bit Tom's lower lip just enough to draw a drop of blood. He slowly licked it off with his tongue, then pulled away from the embrace. "You have my attention, Tom, I can assure you of that." He looked around again, nodding with satisfaction. "Oui, I like this. I can definitely do something with this."

"Great!" Tom grinned in real satisfaction. Take That Gregory, you horse's ass. "I'll sign on it tomorrow."

Lestat smiled at him. "It is what you need? There's enough privacy?"

"I'm fine, don't worry about me. After all, I found it, right?"

"True," Lestat looked around, erasing some of his earlier marks and making others. He gestured towards the bulk of the warehouse, "I was thinking that could be work space. Plenty of ventilation from paint fumes. But we could keep this area - " he gestured "open. Living space, but part of the whole."

"I've got some drawings..." Tom stalled out, looking sheepish.

Lestat's curious surprise was almost childlike. "Really? Show me?"

"They're back at the house." He hesitated, then blurted, "I had an architect do some variations for me. But it's nothing permanent."

Lestat grinned. "I'm open to negotiations from interested parties." He rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. "I'll need a new identity for this. Not Lestat, not Greg. Any thoughts?"

Tom shook his head. "None. Why not just let it come? Be yourself for a while. The name... well, we'll deal with that if we start showing your work around. What do you say?

He considered this. "Alright." He grinned. "Although Adam Pierson has a nice ring to it."

"NO! I don't care how cute your toes are."

Lestat's eyebrows raised slowly. "Now I'm really jealous."

"Why?" He looked smug. "I do watch television. On occasion."

"Cute toes?"

"Never mind. Just a rumor, really. Want to go back to my place and see some drawings?"

Lestat grinned, looking more and more like himself with every moment. "I don't know. I'm tempted but my lover might get rather annoyed if I fell for such a cliched pickup line."

Tom leaned in to kiss him, a light teasing promise of more to come. "Nah."

"Well since you put it that way," Lestat purred, returning the kiss. "I suppose I could allow myself to be tempted."

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