Home / Fan Fiction / V(cough) C(cough) fic / Stand Alone Stories / Noel

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."

Noel
by The Brat Queen

Characters: Louis and Lestat
Timeframe: Post QotD, Pre TotBT. Specifically the first year after Louis and Lestat both moved off of Night Island.
Spoilers: For QotD

Dedicated to: Cindy, natch. Plus Lisa who suggested the idea.

I sat down in St Louis Cathedral and waited. Outside the rain poured down and I wanted that to stop, although the real reason I was here wasn't for that, but for the quiet.

An unusual bit of quiet, this time of year. Midnight Mass was over and the building closed up for the night, but of course nothing is closed to me these days if I want it to be open. Which is why I could now sit disrespectfully in the pews, dripping cold water onto the polished wood and waiting for it to be quiet outside as well.

The Cathedral was dark, and I wanted it to have more light - for the candles all around me to be lit - but didn't dare light them from where I sat and didn't care to stand to do it either.

I sat.

I thought about walking around as I waited. Thought in particular about going to the alter and touching the things on it. I could almost feel the artifacts under my fingers as I skirted the plants and decorations around it to touch things only the priests' hands were allowed to be familiar with.

I almost did it, but then stopped. I didn't want to, in the end. I didn't want to know how fragile those things were now, to my hands. How easily they could be broken by my slightest touch. I didn't worry that they would break from where I sat, although I could have done that too, of course, easily. I didn't, however. I simply remained where I was and watched them, thinking about how tiny these things were to my monstrous hands, and how cold my body was as it sat in this dark, wet pew.

I was waiting, of course, so that I could go back outside and travel uptown, carrying my own delicate parcel with me. A box, carrying a green silk shirt, the material of it so fine I purposefully did not touch it, knowing that my hard fingers would ruin it. A shirt for my darling Louis, of course. Not wrapped, though. Definitely not wrapped. To wrap it would mean admitting it was a gift, and I would never do that.

But it is Christmastime, you know, and naturally one does give gifts. Even I, fiend though I am, give them, no matter how much I mocked him in the past for such maudlin sensibilities when he and I lived together in this town before. Centuries ago, now, when his finest green would have been a frock coat that framed his plantation owner's body beautifully. Worn, of course, for Claudia's benefit, not mine.

The rain stopped. I remained for a while, wondering how long it had been, then tightened my courage and took my box outside.

I lit a single candle as I did. A votive candle, by the doors. Set alight by my own thoughts, and naturally I lit it for myself.

New Orleans and Louis embrace one another quite well. Each content to let decay - Nature - take hold of them and make them all the more beautiful for the contrast. Louis' homes are always little wooden shacks, even in the best parts of town he finds them, covered with ivy and flowers and vines. Hidden from the view of the outside world just as Louis hides himself in dusty sweaters and moldy paintings.

He's startled, as he always is, when I enter. He looks up from his book in a way which makes me wonder if he would scold me for not knocking first, if only he dared to.

"Lestat?" he watches me, putting his book carefully aside but making no other move besides that.

I make a small nod with my head. "Louis."

His dark eyebrows crease as his green eyes cloud with thought. "What…. Hello."

'…are you doing here?' had been close on his lips but held back. Perhaps against my anger, or just because he thought it would be rude. I answer him anyway. "I thought I might come see you."

"I see."

He's so fragile. Not like I am. Never like I was. Even before all this, he and I were terribly, violently different. "I thought you'd laugh at me," I say, my expression now of mock-defiance.

His mouth opens in a way which is for him a smile though he schools it into proper speech. "And why is that?"

"For being out in the rain, of course." I run my fingers through my hair, showing off how slick and wet it is. "For soaking my clothes."

"You will not catch cold, Lestat." Louis is overly patient with me but I know he smiled a little.

I find his home is too small, now. I want to be outside again, in the wet air, seeing the brilliant stars above. I leave the box on Louis' table, wondering what words to use to take my leave without seeming overly cowardly for doing so.

"Wait, Lestat," he says, standing and reaching for me. He doesn't touch, of course - he never does - and I'm reminded yet again of how many times he's made that request of me. "A moment."

He disappears into the shadows, moving quickly from one book pile to another. When he returns he holds a small red-covered volume out to me. I take it with a frown. I don't recognize the author.

"For you," he says, his eyes suddenly far more beautiful than I've seen them.

I hold the thing carefully, noting where it crumbles. "Do you want it back?"

"No," he says. "It's yours." Suddenly he kisses me very quickly. Two light touches on each cheek. "Merry Christmas, Lestat."

"To you too, Louis," I whisper as I hold the book close and fade into my own shadows.