Home / Fan Fiction / V(cough) C(cough) fic / Dagger of the Mind / Undeniable Truth 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."

Undeniable Truth Part 3
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.

Part Three: Daybreak

For not the first time in as many months, Lestat sat at his desk and stared at absolutely nothing.

He didn't like this, but there were a great deal of things about his life right now that he was not overly fond of.

He sighed, removing his glasses long enough to rub his hands over his eyes. Alright, Lestat, he thought. Enough of this. Over sentimentality solves nothing.

Not that the pep talk made him feel any better, but it at least allowed him to feel like he'd done something.

Leaning back in his chair, he toyed with his pen, watching how the view of it changed through the tinted lenses that covered his eyes.

He'd become, he knew, incredibly easy to distract.

Not that he liked that either but there wasn't much for it.

Fine, then. If his mind begged a moment of introspection, then he could pencil in a few moments to indulge himself.

This was a problem that had grown worse as the months had gone on. It was now over three months since Tom had left and with each passing night Lestat had only thought about him more.

This was wrong.

Or, he amended, if not wrong then definitely not right.

He sighed again, this time letting his pen go to hold his hand up and finger his wedding band.

It was a beautiful thing. Gold, with subtle etchings. It fit perfectly on his ring finger, as it should.

He knew the others would laugh, that the easiest joke in the world to make was any joke about Lestat and marriage, but in truth this actually meant something to him.

His heart had stopped when Louis held his hand and gave this to him. A sign, he'd said, so that everyone in the world would know that Lestat was his. That out of everyone in the world, Louis had chosen him.

He'd liked that. Especially the phrasing. He'd been Louis' choice. Not his burden, not his obligation, his choice.

As Louis had been his.

But now Louis was gone.

"Not forever, mon Lestat," he'd said. "And not as punishment. Please understand I am not doing this to hurt you. I just need time."

Time. By himself.

As though that wasn't going to hurt.

But he'd let him go. Or rather had agreed to what Louis had wanted. Not because he wanted to, but because Louis had asked him to.

And because he had to prove to himself that he was no longer the man that he was. No longer a man who would attack a little girl just to keep what he wanted. After all, that's what he'd done the last time Louis had wanted to leave him.

God knew that was what he'd done. Hell, the whole world knew that now. Knew that Lestat was a monster when it came to getting what he wanted.

So he'd kept quiet. And nodded, and tried not to weep like a fool, and promised whatever Louis asked of him, and then had been quietly sick as soon as Louis was out of his sight.

Just so Louis could see he wasn't the man he had been. He could be patient, and wait, and not react like a child.

He'd just feel abandoned like one.

Going to Paris had seemed like a safe place to be, after all that. It didn't feel like Louis, to him. He knew he could come here and feel better. Or, rather, not feel the hurt.

A new persona had helped that.

Although Tom had been wrong in one assessment - it wasn't the cause of that.

Gregory Michaelson, while a nice name to hide behind, had not been created to hide Lestat from Louis. Rather it had been created to hide himself from the world. He disliked admitting it, but involving himself with the movie had made his famous face familiar once more. In a civilized country like France, he'd found good need to disguise himself, make sure he wasn't as easy to recognize.

Everything else had filled in like clockwork after that.

Except for Tom.

Tom was a problem. Or had been a problem.

Seeing Tom had been like a blow to the chest. Talking with Tom had been worse still. And then that moment, that stupid moment, when he'd confessed everything.

Again because he had wanted to show himself that he wasn't the man he'd been.

The man he'd been had tortured Louis for two centuries before admitting his love. The man Lestat was now would do better than that - he'd admit his love for Tom right up front.

In the months that followed Lestat had to keep reminding himself that Tom had called the action brave.

Personally Lestat felt it had been foolish.

Foolish, but not incorrect. That was one small comfort he was able to give himself. Not easy, not graceful, perhaps not the best thing to have said considering the circumstances, but at least it was honest. They had been his true feelings, and he'd liked being able to recognize and admit them. And Tom, though he hadn't reacted in the way Lestat's fantasies would have preferred, had at least listened to him.

It was a start.

Not a great one, but a start.

It was a start that left him feeling as he did now - distracted and uncomfortable.

He'd tried, after Tom had left. He'd tried to go right back into "Greg" (partially because he knew Tom disliked it so) and do everything he'd been doing before Tom had showed up - tried to go right back into that businessman persona that had worked so well for him.

The only problem was, as Tom had quickly been able to zero in on, it didn't work well for him.

True, he liked ballet and galleries, but not obsessively. And business suits, though damned attractive on him, were always constraining and imprisoning.

He didn't even like to think about ties.

He liked the glasses, though, and to Hell with what Tom thought about that.

He liked the glasses, he didn't mind the name, and everything else, every person he had to talk to, every deal he had to cut, every function he was made to appear at he hated. Loathed, in fact.

But there was nothing else for him.

There was nowhere he could go where he wouldn't have to hide behind a false name and, moreover, where he wouldn't run into the rest of the coven as well. At least here, in France, he could be by himself and in an environment of his own creation.

Even if he hated every minute of it.

Because, in truth, there wasn't anything he could do right now that he wouldn't hate.

Except be with Louis.

Or, and here was the inner voice that was really bothering him, be with Tom.

The latter thought was far too appealing. Especially to a man who wore a wedding band.

Not that it mattered. Not that Tom was there.

But - and Lestat allowed himself only one second for this thought - it would be so damned nice if he was.

His moment of allowed introspection over, Lestat straightened his tie, sat up in his chair, and went back to work.

There was nothing else he could do.

The crowds swirled around him as he walked through what was for him yet another meaningless event. This one, at least, had a purpose. Bastille Day celebration. All of France's finest were gathered together in their black-tie best to celebrate.

That he, the son of a marquis, would be here for it touched on his sense of irony. It provided him something to think about besides eavesdropping on the conversations around him.

The costumes were pretty too. He had to admit he liked modern fashion and especially enjoyed it when it was formal. The cut of the tuxedos, the daring of dresses with exposed backs, the flash of color all around him. His only regret was that men were forced to remain in black. He could remember centuries ago when he - in this very Hall, as a matter of fact - dressed in colors and silks to rival the finest that any woman had to wear today.

But now, just black. Sharply tailored tux, black tie, hair in a ponytail and, of course, the gold-rimmed glasses. Add in a bit of jewelry at his cuffs and a pin near his neck and it was the best he could do for now. At least it helped him stand out a little in the crowd.

Not that he wanted to stand out. That would mean having to talk to people. But part of him, inside, demanded something different. With nothing else to fall back on he'd chosen fashion.

It had seemed safe.

He wandered about the party, pretending to eat, pretending to drink, pretending, in fact, that he was enjoying himself. He'd just gotten up to the point where he could convince himself of this, in fact, was just ready to scan the crowd to see if there was anyone there who might make good, temporary company for a vampire in need, when he saw one face standing out in the crowd.

It was Tom, dressed to kill in a tux of his own, leaning against the main staircase, arms folded, skin tanned, and green eyes locked right on him.

This was unexpected.

What are you doing here? he asked Tom, silently.

The answer was immediate, tinged with humor. Watching you.

Lestat folded his arms in turn, letting the party go on around him as his attention focused on the man standing thirty feet away. I'd forgotten about the American habit of being direct. Alright then, why are you watching me?

There were some pleasures too good not to enjoy. The feeling of Tom saying that was at least five thousand of them. He damped this down after a moment, though, just to be on the safe side. And has it been worthwhile?

In response Tom sent a mental image of a stylishly golden figure cutting through the crowd, pausing here and there to flirt, to smile, before moving on. What do you think?

Lestat slid his hands into his pockets in an easy, casual maneuver that he knew was not hard on the eyes. Not bad, if you like blondes.

Tom almost laughed. I like blondes. He fingered his hair. In fact, I nearly am one, now.

Lestat let his eyebrows raise as he slowly circled the staircase - not getting closer, just going around it - to take a look at the full effect. Yes, I'd noticed that. When did you start filming Tale of the Body Thief?

It's a good story, if you're interested. That is, if you have the time.

Outside?

I'll follow you.

Lestat led the way through the crowd and out onto one of the balconies. It didn't take much of a nudge to keep the crowd away from them or the door. "How's this?"

Tom looked around appreciatively before turning to settle his gaze on Lestat. "Nice view."

Lestat realized he was learning entirely new meanings of American directness. He covered up the momentary lapse in his ability to speak by taking a longer, closer look at Tom. The tan, as much as he could see, looked fine. Very nice, in fact. Much like Tom had appeared in any of his action films. And, true enough, his long dark hair now sported some attractive streaks, although Lestat would have called them more chestnut than blonde. "Should I be yelling at you for this?" he asked, gesturing to the tan.

Tom shrugged. "Not my fault." Then he grinned a little. "Ok, maybe a little my fault. I could have hidden better than I did, I'll admit it." He shook his head. "One of the weirdest experiences of my life, waking up with a corpse in my hand."

Lestat moved closer instinctively. "Someone attacked you?"

He shrugged again, grinning a little. "Just a farmer, I think. And he was probably curious more than anything." He turned his hand over and rolled up the cuff of his left sleeve, just enough to expose a white streak. "It's not quite as even as it looks. But not bad."

Lestat gave it another good look. "No, not bad. And you wear it well." He allowed himself to relax just a bit. "I'm glad you're alright."

"Thanks." His voice dropped just a little. "I missed you."

Lestat turned so that he was standing beside Tom, but facing the lawns out in front of the balcony. "I missed you too. Did you have any luck?" He kept his voice bright, cheerful, not knowing what he hoped the answer was.

"You mean, did I find him?"

"Yes."

The nod was barely visible, even to a vampire. "Yeah."

His hands tightened on the railing. He didn't allow himself time to identify the emotions. "Is he... where? What happened?"

Tom didn't meet his eyes, but rather sought out the horizon. "I didn't talk to him."

Ah. Well there was one door closed. "What happened?" he asked again, feeling the tightness in his hands creep up his arms. He tried to force it down.

Tom hesitated, just briefly. "He... damn. I've been thinking about how to say this, and I still don't know how. He seems content." He shrugged a little. "I didn't think it was the right thing to do, you know? Just burst in on him like that."

Lestat considered this and felt the questions come up to his lips. Where was he? What was he doing?

Was he alone?

He felt the questions, but did not ask them. Some instinct inside of him told him he didn't want to know. Didn't want to know if Louis was just a few blocks away, perfectly happy without him, and potentially with someone else.

Just as Lestat was right now, without him.

Ah God.

"Was he alright?" he asked, finally, deciding that would be the one answer he would ask of Heaven and leave the rest be.

"Fine. Quiet. Just as you'd expect, probably."

He nodded, sharply, feeling the pain in his chest tighten before it slowly slipped away, leaving a trail of ice in his veins as a last reminder. "Alright," he said, forcing his hands to relax. "Alright. That's good to know."

"I'm sorry." The words were whispered, soft, almost a thought.

He let himself look at Tom out of the corner of his eye. "What for?"

"I... wanted. To bring him back. For you, you know?"

Something inside of Lestat released. He felt the tension vanish from him in a wave. Yes. Tom, of all people, would have tried to get Louis back for him if he could. He felt foolish for not realizing that sooner. "Thank you," he said, making eye contact with Tom again. "You did the right thing."

Tom took a deep breath, relaxing just marginally. "Thanks. I tried." He straightened, turning to look at Lestat directly. "I'm certain he didn't know I was there."

He shrugged. "Who can say, with him?" He entertained a few thoughts of Louis - picturing him sitting in a cafe somewhere, aware he was being watched but quietly ignoring it. Permission? Apathy? Lestat shook his head, dismissing this. No. He wouldn't give into this again. He was tired of living life by his imagination. "Now what?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "I fight the urge to stomp those glasses."

He laughed. He couldn't help it. "Two minutes ago you thought they were attractive."

"I thought you were attractive. In spite of those things."

"I see," he said. He turned away from Tom again, considering this. He let his hand casually touch the railing, feeling the pattern of it under his fingertips. "You truly dislike them?"

"I dislike what they represent."

"What's that?"

"You being someone besides you." His smile was hesitant, but the effort was honest. "I like you."

"Fair enough," he said. He leaned forward, folding his arms on the railing and resting easily against them. "I do need them, you know. I wasn't kidding when I said they helped accidental trances. But," he looked up at Tom, making sure those green eyes were locked on his, "I'm open to negotiation from interested parties."

Tom's voice was quiet but firm. "I'm... interested."

"Alright," he stood again, moving so that he now stood much closer to Tom than he had before. He wasn't, he had to admit, thinking over much. But on the other hand he'd done nothing but think in the last four months. And not once had his mind told him he didn't want this. "I do need to use them, and will probably wear them most times we go out. However...." he waited to make sure Tom was listening "Under the right circumstances, perhaps I'll let you take them off."

Tom caught his breath. "What about Louis? I didn't even talk to him."

He nodded, accepting this. "Oui. But I have done a lot of talking with myself. And I think - " he spoke slowly, making sure each word sounded right to his mouth, " - even if he were here right now, I still could not forget about you. Not that I do not love him, not that my wedding band shall come off, but that this -" he placed a hand on Tom's chest. He wasn't surprised to feel how strong his heartbeat was. "- is just as important."

"What is this?"

He'd had four months to come to terms with the answer to that question. "Loving you. Wanting to be with you. Hating that you weren't here."

His smile suddenly radiated in the cool night. "I did the right thing, then."

That answer was unexpected. "What?"

Tom shook his head a little, grimacing. "There was too much guilt, before."

"And now?"

His eyes slid away before looking up again, meeting his gaze. Moving slow, but steadily, Tom reached up to remove the offending glasses. "Now? I'd like to get to know the guy behind these things. A lot better. What do you say?"

Lestat let himself have just one moment to enjoy the thought of Tom approaching him before holding up a hand to forestall him and stepping back one pace. He let a teasing smile play across his face. He hoped like Hell Tom understood what he was doing. "I don't know... do you consider this the right circumstances?"

The reply was, once again, immediate. "No. But I wanted you to know I was willing."

He raised a single eyebrow. "Willing?"

"To be with you." His nerve faltered, just a little. "You know."

He'd forgotten that even Tom could be nervous too. He let his thumb slip down Tom's hand, brushing the veins of his inner wrist. I know, Tom. Follow me?

Startled, Tom only nodded. "As always."

Lestat smiled, giving Tom's hand one last squeeze before jumping over the balcony and landing on the lawn below. He cut a large path with his mind, making sure no one watched as he made his way towards the gardens.

Tom followed at once, silently, motions quick and compact.

"I'm making you nervous," Lestat said, once he had brought them into a small grove of trees, well-hidden from anyone else.

Tom laughed, just a little. "Nothing new there. You always make me nervous."

He leaned back against a tree. "Why are you nervous now?"

Tom walked around the tree, seemingly for something to do. "I was nervous before because we couldn't do anything. Now... because we can." He grinned. "Never get a break, do we?"

Lestat smiled. He could understand this. "Not sure where to start?"

"Haven't got a clue."

"The agony of choice?"

He shook his head. "No way. I just don't want to fuck up."

"You worry about that a lot," he said. He turned, still leaning on the tree, to face Tom. He considered his next move. "Why did you wear the tux?"

The question obviously caught him off guard. "It was a fancy dress thing."

He shrugged. "You could have made sure no one noticed. In fact, you did."

"True, but..." he grinned again. "You know me. What if I screw it up. What if they notice anyway? Better be in a tux, just in case."

He would have been frustrated by Tom's anxiety if not for the saving grace of one fact: Tom wasn't scared of him, he was only scared of hurting him. Lestat could count the number of people such a thing applied to with one hand. He did his best to calm his own nerves, lest they add to Tom's. "I noticed."

Tom jumped, just a little. "You did? I slipped." Out of habit, unaware that he even did it, he glanced around to see who else caught the slip.

Lestat shook his head, reaching out with one hand to cup Tom's cheek and make him look at him. "I mean, I noticed."

His eyes darted around one last time, then settled on Lestat's face. "Oh." The smile was slow in coming, but genuine. "I'm glad."

A lazy smile crept across his lips. "I was rather hoping you were. Now then," he said, before Tom's attention could go elsewhere, "I believe we were talking about these glasses?"

Tom frowned a little, his expression a little dazed. "Lestat, when did you decide to come to me? I mean, really do this?"

His hand moved back to let his fingertips touch Tom's hair. "Like this, or when did I first realize I wanted this at all?"

"Both." His voice was breathless, the effort it took for him to concentrate obvious.

The feel of Tom's pulse quickening under his fingertips was rather intoxicating. He let his hand slide further back, teasing both Tom's hair and neck now with the lightest of touches. "I first realized my attraction in New Orleans, after I met you outside of Rue Royale. And my..." he searched for the right word. "... commitment when I realized you weren't trying to hurt me. Or Louis. You're just trying to do what's best. I think you'd leave me right now, if I asked it, even if that meant you'd be just as alone as I was."

The nod was definite, a reaction more than a gesture. "Absolutely."

"And you'd miss me, and hate it, but do it because I asked it and you want what's best for me."

"Of course."

Lestat smiled. He considered telling Tom that this was the exact same sacrifice that he had made for Louis, then decided that he was the only one who was stupid enough not to see that staring him in the face. Instead he settled on the here and now. He touched Tom's lips with his thumb. "How else can I react to someone like that? A protector, a friend - Tom, how could I not be in love with you?"

"Love," he paused to kiss the pad of Lestat's thumb, very lightly, "doesn't have to be physical you know."

He shook his head. "Non. I thought of this. And your chivalry is appreciated, but I do not think it will work. I want to be with you. Even if we never touched again I would want it so badly I don't think I could think of anything else. I cannot go back on that. My emotions are already decided. And as we have already seen," he said, gesturing to his glasses, "my attempts at denial help nothing. Non. You deserve better than that. I want to be with you. However this may work. I do not think I could pretend halfway."

Tom pulled back slightly, with an effort. "What about the consequences? I never spoke to Louis."

He nodded. This was something he could not deny. "I know. And I am not saying that this has now become a perfect option which shall bring no pain or unhappiness down the road. It probably shall. For all I know it will happen tomorrow, or five minutes from now." He sighed, letting the weight of this hit him fully before he stepped closer, cupping Tom's face in both hands now. "But I do know this. After 239 years of life on this earth I am sick and tired of the Vampire Lestat forcing his feelings aside and playing all Hell and havoc with the world around him. Once, just once I want to do something which is honest, and real, and right and accept the consequences for what they are."

The only response Tom could offer to that was a kiss.

Lestat felt himself tense for just a moment, not sure if this was a joke of Fate, and then relaxed, feeling Tom's hands on his arms and knowing that he meant it. This won't be the smartest thing we've ever done, Tom. But I'd rather be with you and happy than alone and a fool. Can you stay with me? In spite of it all?

Tom sent a quicksilver wave of humor laced through his response. I can stay with you. And I think our options at the point are to be together, and fools. But, here he moved closer, deepening the kiss, wrapping his arms around him, at least we are Together.

Fools together, yes. Lestat smiled, sending a wave of humor and happiness back at Tom. He pulled back from the kiss as the glasses were knocked askew (and steamed over, he was amused to find). He was about to take them off when he remembered he'd reserved that honor for Tom. He smiled, feeling giddy all of a sudden. With one hand he grabbed a fistful of Tom's shirt and drew him closer. "Save me from myself, please."

Tom happily complied, stopping just short of twisting them beyond recognition. "I suppose you want to keep them."

"Yes, I do," Lestat said, taking them out of Tom's hands and slipping them into his pocket. "And I do have others. You'd have to work hard to get rid of them all."

He looked into Lestat's eyes. "I accept that challenge."

Ah God, Lestat thought. I could truly get used to this. He leaned in to brush his lips against Tom's. "Could you?"

He nodded. "There's a better way than this. We'll find it." Then he smiled, far less serious. "In the meantime..." he leaned in to kiss him again. And after that they were mostly silent.

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