† The Brat Queen †

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."

Undeniable Truth Part 1
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.

Prologue

For one brief moment there had been a flame.

He'd held it in his hand and felt it. Oh God had he felt it. And it had felt good, and wonderful and right.

Which was everything it wasn't supposed to.

And so he'd pulled back. A little at first, and then more. Pulled back so far the flame was nothing but a memory, and he pulled back from even this.

He stayed dark, and cold, and alone. As he should.

But, even still, he remembered.

And some nights, if he felt he'd been good enough, he would stand off by himself and take the glasses off of his eyes and the band from his hair and let himself feel. Feel the wind tugging at his hair, and the cold flakes of snow against his eyes and the icy grip of winter air against his skin as he imagined. Imagined, for a moment, that it was as it had been - not before, but a short time ago. Imagined that one moment when he'd held the flame in his hands. And he would let himself sink into it, watching the glow form before his eyes, feeling it warm him from the inside, feeling it fill him until his very skin tingled.

And then the moment would be over, and he'd put the glasses on and fix his hair and open his eyes and continue on with his night.

And this was so much easier when he was alone.

As he should be.

Part One: Thunder

The apartment was still very well appointed. Not the largest in the area, but rich, very tasteful, extremely comfortable. Normally it was also the center of a hive of activity as the man who occupied it was rarely still. Tonight, however, was an exception. Snow drifted gently through the night sky, the tiny glittering crystals reflecting the insane rainbow of a Parisian night. Once he thought snow was white. He knew better now. There were more colors, more layers, deeper depths than he had ever imagined existed as a mortal. And yet some problems remained depressingly familiar.

It really hadn't presented a logistical problem, relocating to Paris. One metropolis was easily substituted for another, especially when his business had changed - far more behind than in front of a camera. The change was easy. Gregory was hard.

Tom was beginning to hate Gregory.

Gregory was a son of a bitch.

Tom wanted very much to kick Gregory's skinny ass.

Unfortunately, when he wasn't Gregory, he was Lestat.

This was a problem.

This was not the type of problem Tom was good at dealing with. Normally he'd grab a problem with both hands, wrestle with it for a while, then sit on it until it died or begged for mercy. He was very good at that type of problem solving. This... was something else. Lestat always made time for him, in a polite "Oh, of course" type of way. He never begrudged Tom time, if he asked for it. However, Tom couldn't remember the last time Lestat initiated contact. Lestat was always the first to leave such an encounter, and would stay away until Tom would track him down again.

Tom would find him peering out from Gregory's gold glasses, ultra polite, the soul of courtesy. Tom hated the glasses too. Anything having to do with Lestat's "Gregory" persona needed to be squashed. He didn't know why, exactly. It was irrational and Tom was nearly beyond caring.

How could he stomp Gregory, but leave Lestat alone?

As the problem didn't seem to have a ready answer, he continued to look out the window.

It wasn't really his decision, to go out for a walk. He just couldn't think of anything better to do. And (pathetically, yes) he thought that just maybe he'd run into his elusive friend. Not Lestat, no. He'd only seen the barest of glimpses of Lestat for weeks. But perhaps Gregory would put in an appearance.

Not for the first time Tom stomped through the snow in disgust. It was always a problem. Leave tracks, or not? He didn't like to do it, but felt awkward not leaving the prints behind him in the snow. These were things that, no matter how carefully you prepared, couldn't be covered in Immortality 101. Neither was How To Drag Your Friends Out From Behind Their Damned Tinted Glasses And Back Into The Real World. He found himself once again cursing Louis, for somehow having caused the creation of Gregory, and of course himself, for not figuring a way out of it all. So, still muttering and cursing, he didn't notice the crowd until he nearly plowed through the middle of them.

And then, not for the first time, he found himself face to face with an all-too familiar apparition.

The view was much the same as it always was. Grey upon grey upon grey. Everything Lestat wore from his suit to his overcoat to the tarnished bit of silver in his hair was grey. Beautiful, finely tailored, utterly without expression, grey.

Except for his eyes, of course. Or rather what was on them. Grey eyes, gold glasses.

God they were obnoxious.

"Tom," Lestat said, surprise registering on his face for only a moment. "What are you doing here?"

The remark was too quick, too flip. He didn't care. "Oh, just wandering the streets. You?"

The arms folded in a gesture that was not caustic, but neither was it casual. "An appointment."

His smile was a brittle version of his usual. "Let me guess. Gallery opening? Opera? Ballet?"

Lestat's eyes slowly dragged over to the museum they were standing beside, then back to Tom. There was a quick flicker in his eyes, something almost like humor, before it was quickly smothered again. "Gallery. Nothing very interesting."

"When is it ever?"

This brought a touch of something like a smile to the edge of Lestat's mouth. "Never, I suppose."

"When was the last time you were interested in anything, Lestat?" Tom was careful to stress the name, not really caring who overheard, knowing that Lestat wouldn't allow a slip like that to travel beyond their ears anyway and hoping the words would be enough to jar Lestat into listening. "Do you remember it?"

Lestat blinked in surprise. The expression was all too quickly covered. "I... don't recall offhand," he said. The lie was obvious.

Tom's eyes bored into him, not accepting the cover up.

"Stop it," Lestat's voice was soft.

Tom didn't even blink, not bothering to mask the anger that welled from the helpless confusion of the past weeks.

"Stop," Lestat's voice was hoarse now, his words a curious mix of French and far too thickly accented English. He broke away from Tom's gaze, walking away from him but not so far Tom couldn't follow. "Not now."

Tom didn't follow, his body rigid. His response was silent. WHEN?

Lestat stood stock still, shoulders tense beneath his clothes. Stop it. Stop. It.

Tom turned, but did not follow. When, Lestat? When will you face me?

Why?

The answer came without effort. I miss you. He knew that, laced through his reply, a hot thread of anger arrowed toward Gregory. Who was Lestat.

A spike of derision came first, although behind it was an emotion much softer. Kinder, but too soft to be identified. Why?

He quirked an eyebrow, oblivious to the small pile of snow gathering on his hair. Why do I miss you?

Yes.

Tom considered this for a long moment before meeting his eyes. "Who are you?" His voice was soft, but could carry easily to the ears of a vampire.

Lestat tilted his head, looking at Tom uncertainly before responding. Your friend?

"What's your name?"

"Which one?"

"Your name. You've only got the one."

The grey eyes darkened in anger. "Lestat. De. Lioncourt."

Tom joined him then. "I was wondering if you'd forgotten."

That had definitely pushed a button. His eyes grew darker still. "Excuse me?"

"I don't think I will. You've gone too far with this."

"With what?"

"Who's Gregory?"

"Nobody!" Lestat made an explosive gesture, glaring at Tom now in a manner so strong it practically radiated heat. "Tom, what in Hell is this?"

"Simply this, Lestat." Tom's eyes were hard. "I've been here for months. I have seen you only when I've tracked you down. There's nothing left of Lestat that I can see, only this damned Gregory. And the time has come for it to stop."

"Then why do you bother?"

The question caught him off guard. "Come again?"

"If I'm such a pain for you to deal with," Lestat said, arms folded again, "why do you bother?"

"Gregory is a pain. He's more than that. But I do care about Lestat." He couldn't resist adding, "Have you seen him lately?"

"Stop that," Lestat said, looking away. But his words weren't as harsh this time, and there was damn near a smile on his face. Not permanent, but it had been there.

"I don't think so. I came looking for my friend." Tom's voice softened as well. "Like I said, I miss him."

There was a long pause. The snow continued to fall around them, covering the streets and sidewalks as fewer people walked by to crush it underfoot. "Your friend is a married man," Lestat said, finally, not looking at him.

Tom sighed. "Yeah, and?"

"He's trying...." Lestat's voice trailed off in thought. He looked back at Tom, meeting his eyes helplessly from behind the golden frames. "I'm trying to do the right thing for once."

"I know." Tom shook his head. "Have you thought about Louis in all this?"

"Do you think I've thought of anything but?" The voice was snappish, but the undercurrents of helplessness remained.

"I wonder if you've thought about much at all. Recently, anyway."

"I've done nothing but think." And then, suddenly, one of Lestat's own grins. "It's not easy, you know."

Tom blinked, startled. "What isn't?"

"Thinking."

He felt the edge of his anger fading away. "Lestat," he said at last, shoulders slumping a little. "I really don't get you."

"Makes two of us."

Finally Tom looked around, noticing the snow, the cold, the setting. "Should we go somewhere? Or will you fade away again if we go indoors?"

"God, you're cold aren't you?" Lestat - and now it was truly him - moved forward, his face etched with concern. "I'm sorry. Yes, let's go inside." Lestat looked around, then back at the museum which had long since closed. "How about there?"

Tom glanced at it, then shook his head rapidly. "Hell no. I'd loose you for sure. My place." He suddenly met his eyes. "Please?"

Lestat nodded. "Want my coat?"

"No, thanks." It was only then that the cold really registered. His body felt like ice. "Maybe, though, we should stop along the way."

"Alright," Lestat said, motioning for Tom to lead on.

Time. Lestat was painfully, acutely aware of the time. Not so much the hour of the night, but rather the number of hours in the night. How many had passed, how many were left, how many of them were being spent with Tom.

It was all a matter of proportions. If the numbers were just right, then everything would be ok. Just a little bit of time - not much in the span of hours - and it wouldn't be bad.

It wouldn't be a betrayal, that way.

The feeling of time inside of him kept him quiet as Tom hunted. Made him glad Tom worked quickly, then just as quickly brought him back to his apartment. Quick actions, quick movements, quick visit.

Or so he promised himself. Letting himself know it was only natural to take his coat and gloves off, for a quick visit. His scarf stayed on, though. As did his glasses. Small reminders to himself that he wasn't going to stay long. And he wasn't going to forget.

Remembering was the most important part.

He stood then, uncertainly, watching Tom for a suggestion of what to do next.

And the clock in his head kept ticking.

Tom didn't like feeling this way. He felt like a bully, which he had never stooped to in school. Rather the opposite, in fact. Sports had been a way of life for him, not as an athlete, but as a means of acceptance. He knew too well what it was like to be helpless, on the outside. That he had somehow been cast in this particular role stoked his fading anger. He knew he'd need it if he were to make this night mean anything. So he folded his arms, still encased in the thick leather of his jacket, and simply glared at Lestat.

Lestat looked around him as though taking in the apartment for the first time. "Well?"

His eyes narrowed. "Hi Greg. Thanks for stopping by."

The grey eyes narrowed. "I'm given to wonder which one of us is behaving like a juvenile."

He considered before finally moving to strip off the sodden jacket, raking his still dripping hair from his eyes. "Good question. Hide and seek is a children's game, after all."

"Meaning?"

"You've become very good at it. Hiding, I mean."

Lestat seemed to give this some consideration. "I have to be."

He was soaked straight through. The thought didn't so much as cross his mind as hit him like a lead brick. Crossing swords with Lestat was tricky, and exhausting. He didn't need cold and wet on top of it. Moving suddenly Tom stripped off the sodden leather of his coat, then after consideration he peeled out of his sweater as well. He flung open all the doors between the hall and bedroom, making the invitation to follow obvious, but not pressing the issue.

There was a sound of footsteps - a nice courtesy - as Lestat followed. He remained in the hallway, though. In sight, but not close either.

Without ceremony Tom kicked off his shoes. His jeans were plastered to his body - it took a little effort to skin out of them, but he managed. He grabbed a towel and applied it to his hair. Why are you scared of me? What the Hell have I done?

Lestat's feeling of surprise was too strong and fast for Lestat to completely hide before breaking the mental connection. "What do you mean?"

Eyes glittering in anger, Tom tossed the towel aside, padding back to the bedroom for dry clothes, settling for worn sweats. When he emerged seconds later he was damp, but presentable. "What I mean is that if I want to see you, I have to make an appointment with Gregory. That is Bullshit."

Lestat's voice was cool and clipped. "That is my life now."

Tom folded his arms, eyes narrow. "Louis would want your life to be like this, right?"

That got a blink out of him, at least. "Yes."

He rolled his eyes. "Who are you selling short? You? Him? Me? What do you think you're accomplishing?"

"I'm trying to do the right thing," he said for the second time that night. "You know that."

"That's not what I asked you. I asked what you think you're accomplishing. Who do you think you're doing what favor for?"

"I am taking care of things for Louis."

"Business. What about you?"

A flicker of confusion went over Lestat's face. "I don't understand."

Fists clenched in frustration, Tom forced himself to speak slowly. "Louis does not give a tinker's damn about business. He cares about you. That is all he'd want taken care of. So. What have you done to protect Louis' interests while he's away?"

One of the barriers cracked. Lestat looked uncertain. "Haven't I?"

Tom shrugged. "If he loved a guy named Greg, I'd say you've done great. Lestat, on the other hand, is missing in action." He suddenly lunged, snatching at Lestat's face. "And take those damned things off when I'm talking to you."

A hand shot up, intercepting Tom's before he could fully make contact but not soon enough to keep the glasses from being knocked askew. With true fire in his eyes now Lestat ripped the glasses off and threw them at Tom. "There? Happy? Anything else I must do for you, Mr. Cruise?"

Instinct directed Tom's hand to deflect the glasses, twisting them into a shattered curve. "You're trying, Lestat," his voice was surprisingly level. "But you're not succeeding."

Lestat stared at him in disbelief. "I liked those."

"I'm sure Gregory found them useful."

"That's not my only pair, you know."

"Of course not. You'd have a few. Just in case, right?" His voice was soft. "It's almost like panic, taking those things off. Isn't it? WHY, damnit? Why have you done this?" He shook his head. "You can't possibly tell me it's because of Louis. Remember, I know him, too. There's no way he'd want this."

"You can have no idea of what he wants!" Lestat's voice was harsh. It matched his breathing perfectly. "You weren't there, you don't know."

Tom spread his hands. "Then why not tell me?"

"I can't."

"The reason being?"

"Because it hurts too much," Lestat pushed himself away from the wall angrily, walking back towards the living room. "I should think that was obvious."

With a sigh Tom retreated back to the bedroom, returning with another of the fluffy towels. "Dry off."

Lestat stared at him for a long moment before realization dawned. He reached up with one hand to touch his hair and managed a sheepish look when he realized how wet it was. He slowly began to dry off, tangling his hair at first and then pulling it out of the ponytail entirely once it started to come undone. "Thanks."

Tom watched him without comment. When he was, if not dry then at least not dripping, he silently retrieved the towel, dumping it back into the bathroom with the other. Finally he leaned in the doorway of the living room. "I can see you're in pain," he said at last, voice soft. "What I don't understand is why you haven't come to me. Why the Hell you've been avoiding me."

Lestat's response came quickly, as he sat down on a couch, his back to Tom. "It's not that I want to."

"OK. So then why?"

"Because I can't."

"Why."

"Because I want to."

He frowned, tracing the conversation. "You want to avoid me?"

Lestat turned around just enough to look at him from underneath his locks of wet hair. "Non. I have to avoid you because -" his voice caught " - because I want to be with you."

Tom could scream in frustration. He seriously considered it, just to see the look on Lestat's face. "Ok, so I'm not the enemy. I can help you, you know. I'm not in Paris for my health."

There was a ghost of a smile. "Good thing."

"I'm not the one doing an imitation of a polarbear just now." He sighed, crossing into the room finally, sitting across from Lestat. "Explain this to me like I'm a kid, ok? I'm here to help you. You say you want my help, so... why the distance?" He frowned slightly. "A straight answer would help."

There was a long, heavy pause. Finally Lestat stood up, leaned down and kissed him.

Shocked, Tom simply sat for a moment. Then he turned his head, effectively breaking contact. "Damnit! Why can't you just bloody damn talk to me?"

Grey eyes turned to steel. "You wanted an honest answer, you got it." Lestat looked at him as he straightened up. "And I suppose I did too."

Tom stood as well, inches from him. "You got nothing. I beg you to talk to me, you get cryptic. I ask for a simple answer, you kiss me. I'm chasing my tail here and now you're angry. All I want to know is why!"

Lestat's jaw clenched. Tom could see the muscles working as the steel in Lestat's eyes was forcibly made to fade. "You want to help me?" it was an honest question, not a challenge.

"I want to help you. You, Lestat. Not Gregory."

Lestat was quiet again. Arms folded, he looked away at nothing in particular. After a while he spoke again. "He waited over fifty years."

Tom thought about that. "Yeah," he said at last. "But not alone."

"That doesn't count."

"Yes it does."

Lestat looked back at him. "Armand was with him, but he was not truly with Armand."

"You aren't Louis. You have different needs than he had."

Lestat shook his head. "This isn't about need."

"It's about Louis, right?"

"Yes."

"Then what would Louis want?"

"He wants me to wait." There was a slight pause before Lestat sighed heavily and sank back down onto the couch. "He wants me to be there when he gets back."

"Ok. Great. In the meanwhile you destroy yourself. He'd want that?"

"I'm not destroying myself," Lestat said. His generous mouth twisted into a grimace. "God knows it's not possible to do that."

Tom's voice was soft. "You can do it. Gregory can do it. You've damn near done it."

He shook his head. "This is not destruction, just... waiting. Not doing anything." Grey eyes became tinged with a faint ice blue. "It's a nice change of pace."

"Change of pace?"

The smile was weak now. "From having the world blow up."

Tom shrugged. "It's still doing that. And you know it."

A shudder went through his body. "Non. It is not, because I'm not going to let it."

The scream was definitely coming. "It already has! Denying it doesn't change it."

"How?"

"It blew up when Louis left."

Lestat opened and closed his mouth before answering. "Oh."

He couldn't help the smile. "So does this mean that we've finally got a legitimate crisis on our hands?"

Lestat's hands rested on either side of him on the couch. He looked down, watching the ends of his scarf sway back and forth as they fell away from his chest. "Maybe." He paused, then nodded sharply. "Alright."

Tom flopped down in the chair again. "Oh good. Baldrick, this is a crisis."

That elicited a guilty snicker.

He grinned. "Cool. You still laugh."

He looked up from under his hair again. "Sometimes."

"You should do it more often." He met Lestat's eyes. "Louis would want that, you know. He wants you to take care of yourself. No way to deny that."

"I'm trying," Lestat said. He shifted his weight, resting his arms against his knees and flexing his hands in front of him. "Honestly I am. It's just... very hard to do that, when you're me."

"So how can I help?"

"Depends on how you want to help me."

"Let me paint my evening for you, Lestat. I cancelled everything I had to do, because the only thing I could think of was you. There was no way I could reach you, and you needed help." He tried to hide the frustration, but was only partially successful. "What do you need?"

There was another long, pregnant pause. "I need to feel like it won't be my fault."

This time he couldn't hold back the growl. "For Christ's sake, why does there need to be blame here? What divine dictate said you have to go through all this alone?"

"Everybody!" Lestat was on his feet again, pacing now. "You were with us long enough in New Orleans, Tom, you saw what it was like - everything always comes down to something I've done, something Lestat has done wrong." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just thought, once, I wouldn't do that. That I'd do something where no one could point to me and say if only I hadn't..."

"There's no one here, Lestat. Just you and me. To Hell with everyone else." He bared his fangs in frustration. "I will not live my life by their dictates. And if you decide that's what you're going to do, then you really do need help."

"And what about Louis?"

"Louis wants you to suffer?"

"Louis wants me to wait."

"And suffer."

There was that ghost of a smile again. "That's a natural side-effect."

"Did you argue?"

There was a frown. "About?"

"Why does he want you to suffer like this?" Tom shrugged. "I really didn't think he'd have a sadistic streak."

"Oh. No, not that." Lestat shook his head, sitting down on the edge of one of the chairs this time. "We didn't fight, and he didn't leave to hurt me. He just needed some time." Lestat, despite a faint tan, managed to look pale.

Tom tilted his head a little. "Lestat, just for one minute, try to see this from another view. Mine, for example. If Louis came back this very second in time, he'd kill me. You know that, right?"

Grey eyes locked on his. "Oui, I'm very aware of that."

"OK, tell me why."

"Because you're with me."

He shook his head. "Try this. Because I'm not." Then he blinked. "Why would he kill me because I'm with you?"

For an answer, Lestat held up his wedding band.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"As I said, he waited."

"So... because you're married, you've got to stay alone?" He shook his head again. "I'm not proposing, Lestat. I want to help you, not marry you."

"Yes, I know how you feel."

Time to slow down. It seemed to Tom that he was still chasing his tail. "Ok. How do I feel?"

"You want to help me, not marry me."

"Great recitation. What, exactly, do you think that means?"

"I believe the phrase is you like me as a friend."

Tom considered. "Can I try this another way? How do you feel?"

Golden eyebrows raised. "Oh? Why don't you try to tell me how you think I feel? Fair's fair."

"Yeah, I guess it does. Problem is, there's no agenda behind these questions. I'm honestly trying to figure out what's going on. Translation, I have no idea what's going on in your head. That's why I'm here."

Lestat nodded, considering this. "I feel... that friendship is not very satisfying."

Tom considered this. "Do we have to have an agenda?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't want to be my friend. You don't want to betray Louis, right?"

"No, not quite," Lestat said. "I'd like to be your friend. And, true, I do not want to betray Louis."

"So let's start with that. We were friends, weren't we?" He tried to keep the note of confusion from his voice, but wasn't sure if he succeeded.

His smile was more solid than it had been. "I like to think so."

The image of a large spider web suddenly sprang up in Tom's imagination. He was tired, admittedly. He knew that sparring with Lestat would exhaust him. Just how tired he was, though, struck him at about the same time as his weary brain finally made the connection. They were friends. Lestat wasn't satisfied with friendship. He didn't want to betray Louis. Louis would kill Tom if he knew of this. Ooh boy. "That's... that's why?"

"What?"

"What, exactly, do you have in mind, Lestat?"

Lestat watched Tom very carefully before shaking his head. The grin he flashed Tom was fake, at best. "I wasn't trying to have anything in mind, if you'll recall. That's why we're fighting right now, is it not?"

Tom just stared at him. "Do you have another pair of glasses, by any chance?"

"On me?"

"Yeah, on you."

"Why?"

"Curiosity." He shrugged. "It almost looked like you were wearing them for a second there."

"You're a real bastard sometimes. Are you like this with all of your friends?"

"Yeah. When they pull away like that. Every time."

"I'm trying to make this easy on you."

He looked for something to throw, then decided against it. "If I wanted that, I'd be in the states right now."

"Fine, what do you want then?"

"Honesty. That's it. I hate games."

"I tried being honest with you and you pushed me away."

Tom frowned, then leaned forward. "Kissing me is the only honest answer you can give me in this conversation?"

"It was one of several."

"What's another?"

"I want to do the right thing, I don't want to hurt anyone." He was quiet for a moment. Then he tried for a weak grin. "I'm in a crisis."

"A large crisis? With a lovely entranceway?"

That got a laugh, and then a faint touch of purple in his eyes. "Pretty lovely from where I'm sitting, Captain."

Tom sighed as he sat back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Do you think I don't want you?"

"I think your want is different from mine."

"What's yours?"

"I could spend fifty years with you and then some."

He made another sound of frustration. "What's stopping you?"

"First tell me what's yours. Please."

"My definition of wanting you?"

"Yes."

"I... want to be with you. You're the reason I got into this in the first place. I want to support you if I can." He frowned. "I don't like specific definitions. They sound too much like limits."

Lestat mulled this over for a bit. He then drew into himself - not retreating into "Greg" but rather into thought. When he finally spoke his voice was quiet, geared for only the two of them to hear. "If I forget him, he'll die."

Tom's voice was just as soft. "No."

He nodded. The motion was quick, almost a reflex. "If I forget him, if I stop thinking about him he won't. come. back."

Still soft, more determined. "No."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he's gone, and no one knows where, and he needs to find his way home. To me. I need to wait for him or he'll get lost."

"I don't even know why he left. Where he went." He quirked an eyebrow. "I assumed you knew?"

"I know why, not where," Lestat looked very tired. "No one knows where."

"You don't have to tell me why, if you don't want to."

"It was too much," Lestat sat back in the chair, his posture easing from its sharp lines by only a hair. "Everything that happened in New Orleans - all the questions, the doubts, all of you being turned - or not as the case may be. He couldn't take anymore. I wanted to be with him so badly but he…" Lestat looked away, swallowing a moment before continuing. "Emotions ran so high. Finally he left. He told me all about it - it wasn't anything I'd done or that he'd done. He was just... overwhelmed. He needed time alone." When Lestat looked up now his eyes were tinged red. "He loved me, and needed me, but needed me to stay away from him. So I promised I would. I promised I'd wait and do everything he asked. And here I am."

"What, exactly, did he ask. Besides staying away from you and giving him time."

"To wait for him. To understand."

"You've done that, right?"

"Oui, I'm trying."

"So what's the problem??"

Lestat's voice was quiet again. "When I'm with you, I forget."

"Forget what, exactly?"

"Him."

"So when you're with me, you forget Louis. And if you forget him, he'll never come back, right?"

He nodded.

"Oh." Tom sighed. "Well, at least now I understand. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Lestat's voice was flat.