† The Brat Queen †

DISCLAIMER: The following stories are all non-profit, amateur efforts not intended to infringe on the rights of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, David Geffen, Warner Brothers, Geffen Pictures, Knopf, Randomhouse, the city of New Orleans, the U.S. Constitution, 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."

Michael
by The Brat Queen

Second Place - Best Short Spec '98-'99

I saw something
One night
I do not know if
It was dream or divination
But it was true
For me
In my own heart

Michael leaned back in his chair, squaring his shoulders as they touched the plush leather cushioning behind him. In a familiar gesture, he raked a hand through his greying hair as he closed his eyes and focused on the tension leaving his body. Opening his eyes just a bit he could see the sun beginning to set over the trees that provided him a pleasant view from his office window. Checking his watch he saw that he had just a little time. He thought about it, then decided it was time enough to get ready.

He stood, straightening the folds of his suit. His back gave only the ghost of a protest. It wasn't much, just a light feeling of a pinch at the base of his spine, but it reminded him that he'd been working too long. If he sat too still he always felt it. Both his back and his hands, which protested the constant typing with numbness in his fingers.

But he supposed things like this were universal.

The house was quiet as he walked through it. Not surprising. Christine hadn't come back from work yet and God knew the boys never ate dinner at home if their teenaged instincts could help it. It was just as well. This was easier when he was by himself. Although a part of him wished they were home, just so he could look at them. He stopped by the fireplace in the living room, looking at the pictures of them that graced the mantelpiece, studying them so he could fix the images in his mind. Automatically he began to change them. Christine's hair became longer, styled in the fashion she'd gotten it cut in last week, and the boys became a bit taller, their clothes the casual jeans and T-shirts that they'd worn on their way out that morning and their faces showing even more signs of the leanness of masculinity.

Michael smiled, touching the pictures, noting how handsome the boys were growing, both of them bearing the dark brown hair and eyes of their father. Christine's blond hair had been no match for it, although there was always the hope that her looks might show up in their grandchildren one day.

Michael hoped he'd live to see it.

He turned towards his bedroom, making it there in easy strides as he shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, exposing his still well-built body to the cool air of the house. That was another advantage of having the house to himself: he could set the temperature at a level that wouldn't set Christine and the boys after him with their eyes rolling and their constant jokes about how they had to live with a polar bear for a father. Michael smiled, thinking of their teasing. He always protested, of course, like he was expected to, but secretly he liked it. He liked knowing that they had picked the same nickname for him that his father had had. He wondered if they even realized it.

Either way it didn't matter. Michael liked it. It felt like having a part of his father with him still.

He dressed quickly, selecting a pair of comfortable slacks and a loose sweater, which was yet another trait he'd picked up from his parents. He could enjoy fashion, but he could also enjoy just wearing clothes that had no effort to them and simply felt nice against his skin.

A pair of perfectly worn loafers completed the look. He slipped them on, ran a comb through his slightly tousled hair, picked up his car keys and left by the side entrance. He didn't leave a note. He didn't have to. Christine was used to this by now, which he appreciated. It was nice not having to explain it, to simply do it without having to worry or subject it to the harsh light of day. Some things were better off left in the dark.

He played with the radio as he drove, his familiarity with the streets allowing him to deftly avoid the rush hour traffic. He switched through channel after channel until finally he settled on an opera. It wasn't perfect, but it put a smile on his face and it was enough to last him the trip.

The city was soon left behind him. He felt the last of his tension leave him as the city lights were replaced by the dark shadows of forest trees. A hint of the usual nervousness, silly though it was, touched inside of his stomach. He found himself silently rehearsing what he would say, trying to make sure he didn't forget anything even though he always did. He again focused on the images of Christine and the boys, filling them in with even greater detail, trying to make them as alive in his mind as they were in his life. It gave him something to concentrate on and helped his nerves a little. If he could remember the images, he thought, it would be enough. The rest didn't matter.

A half hour passed in this way, the opera on the radio changing over to classic symphonies. Michael hummed along with them, his left foot tapping the floor in time to the music as he occasionally conducted the orchestra with his hands. Mozart came on, which improved his mood and nerves immensely, and he sang along with it as he turned off the main road to side streets, from side streets to hidden drives and from hidden drives to dirt paths.

Finally, as they always did, his carlights spread out before him as the narrow tree-lined road opened up into a small grassy clearing. Driving carefully now he negotiated the bumps and rocks in the ground and pulled the car onto a fairly smooth patch to park. Cheating a little he scanned in front of him, his eyes searching through the illumination of the car lights for any sign of movement. When none could be found he turned the car off, got outside and leaned against the warm car hood as he waited. He looked up a the full moon above him, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, and continued to hum the Mozart symphony as he listened to the sound of crickets all around him.

"Not bad, although perhaps a bit more bluesy than Mozart originally intended."

Michael smiled, feeling the joy inside of him begin at his heart and spread out through his body. "He was a composer of the people. If he was alive today he would create music that had the people's music inside of it."

"He was a composer of poverty and if he were alive today he'd probably be in a garage band," came the reply and, with it, the speaker. Michael watched as the dark shadows of the trees slid away to reveal blond hair, blue eyes and the unmistakable smile of Lestat. "So, how are you? Tell me everything. Omit no detail however slight."

Michael laughed at the familiar greeting. "I'm good. I'm really good. How are you?"

"Well enough," Lestat said, coming over to stand beside him, leaning against the car as well. He had also dressed casually, choosing to wear dark slacks, a faint purple shirt and a denim jacket. Looking at him Michael decided that he appeared almost like he could be a friend of the boys, although in certain lights he did seem a few years older. "I'm still taking somewhat of a vacation, as you know, so I'm not doing as much work as I'm catching up on my reading and recreation. You?"

Michael shrugged. "The same: working. I've got another book inside of my head and I'm trying to get a few finances ready for the boys just in case I…." he trailed off, shrugging again. "You know."

Lestat raised an eyebrow. "You're still young for that, aren't you?" There was honest confusion in his voice. Lestat, old though he was, always had difficulty understanding what mortal ages translated into.

"I hope so," Michael said, grinning. "But even still I want to be on the safe side. I'm starting to reach that point where every so often I hear about some of my old friends from school in stories that end with 'And at his age too!' I figure with that and the boys going off to school we should change things to help them be a bit more independent just in case."

Lestat nodded. "How are they doing?"

Michael was ready for this. The image of the boys that he had concentrated on before came easily to the forefront of his mind. He kept it there as he spoke, knowing that Lestat, who would never pry, would pick up the thoughts if Michael focused on them well enough. "They're doing very well. Louis' been working a job at the local shelter and he's planning on taking a trip across country before the school year picks up again. And Rene has been studying extra hard in his time off to see if he can't bring his history grades up and improve his record before the universities come looking."

A soft chuckle escaped Lestat's lips.

Michael looked up at him. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Lestat said, waving it off. "I just can't help it. I mean Rene getting bad grades in history of all things - that's just neglect if you ask me."

Michael thought about it for a second, then laughed as well. "Yeah, I guess so. Or a staunch defiance of his genes."

"In a manner of speaking," Lestat said. He folded his arms, stretching his legs out in front of him. "And is everything alright with them and you? Do you need any help or -"

"No I don't," Michael said in the slow and patient tones of one who has made this protest a thousand times before. "And you know it. It's bad enough I let you talk me into letting you the boys scholarships."

"There is no reason why they should worry and struggle for someone else's money when the money for their education is right there waiting for them," Lestat said. "And it hardly strikes me as fair to other children who could really use those scholarships and have no other way of getting the money. Besides, the boys still think they had to pass tests to get them so I don't see how it's spoiling them."

Michael grunted, folding his arms as well and doing his best to affect a look of disapproval.

"Oh please, I get enough of that at home. And try as you might you'll never duplicate that look perfectly so you may as well give up."

Michael laughed, abandoning the attempt. "I suppose so. How's he doing?'

Lestat shrugged. "His usual self. Fretting over you immensely, refusing to admit it and at the same time telling me to tell you that…" Lestat trailed off, his eyes looking up at nothing in particular as he tried to remember the quote. "You need to read last Wednesday's issue of the New York Times because it had an article in it about men's health that you need to pay attention to especially because it focused on men your age and Heaven knows you never take good care of yourself unless someone gives you instructions to do so." Lestat stopped, considered, then nodded as nothing else came to mind. "Yes, that's it."

Michael smiled. "Tell him I love him too and I promise."

"You'd better or else I'll never hear the end of it. You know he still thinks I'm barely able to care for myself without assistance - "

"You're not."

"Nobody asked you."

"You're still not. I've seen you standing out in the middle of a pouring rainstorm wearing nothing but pants and a T-shirt."

"Yes but I can't catch pneumonia."

"Now."

"You get that from him, I'll have you know," Lestat said, pointing an accusatory finger at Michael. "All his fault, I take no responsibility for it."

"Yeah, it's all his fault that we both care about you."

Lestat smiled, looking away. "Maybe so. How's Christine?"

The image of his wife came as easily to his mind as that of the boys. "She's doing well. Work at the hospital tires her out but she's still very happy with it."

"Sad about the boys leaving?"

"A little." Michael shifted position as his leg fell asleep. "She's even talking a bit about maybe having another."

Both of Lestat's eyebrows raised. "Really? Are you going to?"

Michael shrugged. "I don't know. On the one hand I'm not sure if I've got the stamina for it but on the other hand I really do like having kids in the house. Plus Christine still wishes we'd had a daughter, even though she never actually says so, of course. But even still I'd like that for her, if we could." Michael shrugged again. "I don't know."

"There's always adoption," Lestat said with a quirk of a smile. "If you're worried about a daughter that is."

"True," Michael said. "True." He paused, looking away, then back again. "Would that be ok, do you think? I mean I don't… I don't want to hurt Louis, or anything."

Lestat smiled, reaching out to gently tousle Michael's hair. "I know. And he knows too. But your life is not ours. You need to do what's right for you, and your wife and your children. After all," he added with a mock affronted expression, "isn't that why you won't let Louis and I give you things?"

"I want to make my own way," Michael said, "and be my own man it's true. But not at the expense of you and Louis. If having a girl in the family would remind him of -"

Lestat shook his head. "No. I mean yes, it might. It might remind me of Claudia as well. But you still need to do what's best for you." He pushed away from the car, moving to stand in front of Michael so he could lean up and press a kiss to his forehead. "We adore you. Your unhappiness makes us positively miserable. If you and Christine want a daughter then we wish it for you. And it goes without saying that any help we can give you is yours."

"I know," Michael said, "I know." He shrugged again, shaking it off. "We'll see. I'm not even sure we'll do it, but if we do I'll tell you."

"And ask for help if you need it," Lestat said, meeting his eyes. "I'm serious, Michael. If nothing else God knows I know a thing or two about how to find wonderful, adoptable children."

"I know," Michael said, unable to help the smile. "And we'll see." He fixed Lestat with a look of his own. "You hear me? That's a maybe, not a definite. Don't go getting how you get about this until we know for certain."

"Alright, alright," Lestat said, backing off and holding his hands up in protest. "And I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh. I remember how you were when Christine was pregnant with Louis II."

"I was going to be a grandfather for the first time, I'm entitled to a little celebration!"

"Louis still writes to me about the headaches you gave him over hiring those circus clowns."

"Christine needed cheering up."

"Uh-huh." Michael said, then gave up. He stepped forward and encased Lestat in a hug, squeezing him tightly. Lestat's arms - which were always warm to him - held him in return. "You never change. But I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Michael," Lestat said, hugging him a little tighter. "Thank you for coming to see me."

"Always," Michael said. "We're always here for each other. No matter what."

Lestat pulled away. He smiled, but Michael could see the touch of melancholy in his eyes. "No, not always, but that's as it should be." Lestat stood up taller, hiding the expression of sadness as quickly as he'd shown it. "I should get back. Louis will have my hide if I keep you out here too long. Keep me appraised of things in the mail. Don't forget to call on us if you need anything."

"I know," Michael said. He gave Lestat another hug. "You too, OK?"

"OK," Lestat promised. He held Michael for another moment, his eyes scanning over Michael's face again and again just as Michael had scanned the pictures of his wife and children earlier. Silently, as Lestat did this, Michael thought Tell Louis I love him too, OK?

OK Came the thought in return. Lestat pressed another kiss to Michael's forehead, gave him a last smile, then disappeared back into the darkness once more.

"Until next time, Dad," Michael whispered, knowing that the wind would send the sound out towards Lestat's supernaturally sensitive ears. He stood there for a while, just listening to the sounds of the forest and imagining Lestat returning back to Louis, and his two fathers together, and the connection that lasted between them all despite all the differences between them, and his gratitude for all that he had.

Then he turned around, got into his car, and made his way home, all the while rehearsing in his head how he would tell his daughter about her grandfathers and how they had been the most wonderful men in the world.

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