Louis' attention sharpens as Daniel speaks. Daniel holds his focus, will always hold his focus, just as Daniel will always have permission to pry at his seams, to turn up unannounced, to crowd in to Louis' life because there always is and always will be space for him. There will always be some honesty between them that has been hard won and fifty years in the making.

Daniel describes this and Louis says:

"I understand."

Sometimes, there is a hazy shape of something. A memory. Something Louis has no names for and only the blurriest recollection of. A thing he can guess at but can't grasp.

"Maybe it's a benefit of your transportation," is only a guess. "Your mind repairing itself the way your body has."

Or maybe just something intrinsic in Daniel, a human gift made stronger in death.

"You don't have to describe it to me," is meant as a kindness. Nothing in that room would be easy to recover. What they pieced together between the two of them was a horror. Louis suppresses the urge to pry after what Daniel has, what only he and Armand could ever know. No one but the three of them in a room. All of it recovered only because of Daniel, tugging at loose threads.

Louis and the historical documents, trying to put together all his missing pieces. A comedy.