A twinned flutter of alarm and concern in Louis' mind, on his face, as he turns towards Daniel. The tablet in Louis' hand is set aside, a light clack of contact as Louis discards it on the glass tabletop. New Rashid seamlessly gathers it, taking up whatever Louis had left off. (Money, moving from place to place, easing the way.) Footsteps, as Rashid heeds some unspoken directive and exits into a side room of the suite.
Privacy, for the moment.
"That's normal."
Maybe. The concept of a panic attack is relatively new. Louis had been turned under vastly different circumstance.
He snares Daniel's hand in his own, draws him down to sit. No stones here beneath their feet, nothing but solid wood floors and Louis himself, playing tether.
"Talk to me. I'm here."
Shorthand for You're safe.
Or maybe, Everyone around us is safe from you.
Dual worries, things Louis would guess at but can't be certain are at the forefront of Daniel's mind without touching his thoughts. Is reluctant to do so without invitation or dire necessity, after Daniel has likely gone so long living with casual intrusion into his head at Armand's whims.
Daniel doesn't panic often. Not in his nature. Doesn't scare easy, responds well to stress. But his pulse has been slowly but steadily ticking up ever since leaving the place where Armand killed him, and now, trying to conceptualize returning to Brooklyn, it's a frantic beat like a thrashing bird's wings, and he's breathing too deep without exhaling for long enough, and his vision is starting to tunnel.
Classic signs. He attempts to identify the source so he can confront it. But, well.
The source seems to be everything.
"Maybe," he sounds unsteady, uncertain, "we could wait a day or two before leaving."
"Hey," soft, using a hand to reel Daniel in closer. Physical boundaries mutable in this moment, ever-evolving as they weather the toll this change is taking on Daniel. "We can stay."
Louis' hand finding the center of Daniel's back, smoothing slow circles there.
"I got a place," implies more comfort, more privacy, maybe better equipped for care and feeding of vampires than a lavish hotel. "Could post up there, send someone on ahead."
Though Louis isn't entirely sure it's the not knowing. But offers this, sweeping contact across Daniel's back, a murmur in his mind: Breathe. I got you.
Does he want a hug? Does he want to burst into tears? Does he want to leap out a window and eat a half dozen people and laugh about it, scream at the moon, rip someone's head off? Does he want to find out what his body does now, or call his eldest daughter and cry I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
He was prepared to die. He didn't want to die, but he'd done the trench work to get ready, since no one else was going to. He's interviewed enough people with suicidal desires to know that envisioning reactions and the state of the world after is a big part of the fantasy. (Louis, even, thinking about his cane and his pile of ash.) But that's never been Daniel. Someone would clear out his apartment and that would be that. He didn't even want to be buried. Cremated. Dumped in the ocean somewhere, just so no one would have to accidentally on purpose lose an urn. And then, nothing, because he's been so absent from anything of consequence anyway.
Here he is, in that fucking fantasy zone, except the fantasy's never been his.
"Will you tell me," he says, staring at his feet, thinking about taking solace in that touch to his back but not entirely sure how to go about it, "about what you were doing before? I interrupted you. About Lestat. Are you okay?"
The buzz of Daniel's thoughts is a palpable thing. Stronger for proximity, maybe, or because Louis is so attuned to Daniel in this moment. (Every moment, every moment in which they inhabit the same space, since the interview.) Louis keeps the detail and shape of those thoughts carefully out of focus, the slow sweep of his palm a firm pressure circling from the nape of Daniel's neck and down to the small of his back, over and over. Maintaining steadily; Daniel hasn't pulled away, hasn't stabilized either, and so Louis continues.
A moment of quiet in the wake of the question. Not withholding, not really, only parsing out his answer. Trying to pin down a thing he's scarcely given thought to himself.
"I'll tell you," he acquiesces, between he sweeps of his hand, observing Daniel's face in profile. "After I remind you that you haven't interrupted anything."
Insistent on this point, unwilling to let even this glancing comment stand. Continuing on, without leaving Daniel the space for an objection.
"I went to New Orleans," softly, a murmur into the space between them. "I wanted to go home."
Home. Louis' voice softening further over this word. New Orleans. Lestat. The two mingle, intertwine.
Maybe his instinct to push outward, away from himself, ask questions is a bad one. But Louis wants Daniel to use him as an anchor, and so, that's what he's doing. Trying to listen, trying to make his pulse calm down.
He thinks—
Of how fucking happy he is, genuinely. It floods him like the release of a painfully held breath. Louis got out of Dubai and found Lestat, for better or worse. Daniel didn't pull pack the curtain on something that couldn't be given closure. He doesn't pretend to know what that feels like - his relationships have deteriorated for far more mundane reasons. No pining involved. (Alice, a little. But does he miss her, or his fucking youth?)
A little miserable flex of a smile, acknowledging the inherent complexity of the question. In this moment? Louis is being eaten alive by his regrets and misery. But Daniel is asking about more than the immediate moment.
His fingers scrape lightly at the nape of Daniel's neck. Palm sweeps back down his back once more. Back up again. Steady, continuous contact.
"We forgave each other," Louis says slowly, feeling his way through the answer. "I'm glad for it."
Fumbling towards an answer to the actual question.
"I feel lighter," makes him feel guilty too. "It was good to see him."
After so many years. After so much misunderstanding, so many lies.
Daniel squeezes his hand. Hopes Louis can feel how pleased he is about it, even if it's bittersweet.
"I'm glad about it, too. I am, Louis. You deserve to feel lighter about fucking something."
A dry laugh—
"Armand made it clear I ruined his fucking life."
It wasn't a major, active worry, that he had also ruined Louis' - somewhat preoccupied at the time, given the abduction - but it was there. He feels the resurgence of that worry now, and can let it go. Feels fucking great, actually, to be able to let something go, in this mood. He doesn't ask more, doesn't want to pry into things now when he's already driven a bulldozer through so much of Louis' privacy (invited, but still).
"I can tell he's still in Venice, by the way. Is that weird?"
Louis can feel it. Feels Daniel's relief, tinged with the overwhelming reality of what Daniel paid to see it done.
Says nothing, for a moment. Just touches him, because Daniel is permitting it, and because for the moment it seems to be helping. Squeezes his hand back. Waits out the tremor in his chest that is all guilt and sorrow, because Daniel has enough to weather without Louis' internal conflict. He keeps it tucked away, walled carefully off, separate as his own mind touches Daniel's, something akin to a light lean, shoulder to shoulder.
"What happened was of Armand's own making," at last, simple dismissal of a thing Louis knows to be more complex than he's acknowledging. Moves onwards to admit, "It's not unusual, feeling your maker."
Louis feels Lestat even now, the threads between them all the more solid for the relief of their reunion, the time spent together. Long parting ended, and now some rebirth, renewal, whatever they make of it.
What will he do?
"I'll go where you go," Louis reminds Daniel quietly. "Brooklyn, and then wherever you like."
Louis is okay, Louis feels terrible over what's happened to Daniel, but he found Lestat again. He's out from Armand's control. Daniel is— coping, bit by bit. (Bite by bite??? We have fun)
The prospect of sleeping during the day feels daunting, for some reason, though he manages it; the next night, still jittery in stops and starts, but feeling more capable of thinking things through without forcing himself to. A breather, even if they're still here, in just one more place he was abducted to. Enough time to see something interesting, listen to Louis' opinion about it, associate the place with more than just Armand. Though Armand feels carved out somewhere inside of him now, permanent.
He has a long time to think about that. No rush to do it now.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Privacy, for the moment.
"That's normal."
Maybe. The concept of a panic attack is relatively new. Louis had been turned under vastly different circumstance.
He snares Daniel's hand in his own, draws him down to sit. No stones here beneath their feet, nothing but solid wood floors and Louis himself, playing tether.
"Talk to me. I'm here."
Shorthand for You're safe.
Or maybe, Everyone around us is safe from you.
Dual worries, things Louis would guess at but can't be certain are at the forefront of Daniel's mind without touching his thoughts. Is reluctant to do so without invitation or dire necessity, after Daniel has likely gone so long living with casual intrusion into his head at Armand's whims.
no subject
Classic signs. He attempts to identify the source so he can confront it. But, well.
The source seems to be everything.
"Maybe," he sounds unsteady, uncertain, "we could wait a day or two before leaving."
To think. To not think. He grips Louis' hand.
"I don't know what I'm going back to."
no subject
Louis' hand finding the center of Daniel's back, smoothing slow circles there.
"I got a place," implies more comfort, more privacy, maybe better equipped for care and feeding of vampires than a lavish hotel. "Could post up there, send someone on ahead."
Though Louis isn't entirely sure it's the not knowing. But offers this, sweeping contact across Daniel's back, a murmur in his mind: Breathe. I got you.
no subject
He was prepared to die. He didn't want to die, but he'd done the trench work to get ready, since no one else was going to. He's interviewed enough people with suicidal desires to know that envisioning reactions and the state of the world after is a big part of the fantasy. (Louis, even, thinking about his cane and his pile of ash.) But that's never been Daniel. Someone would clear out his apartment and that would be that. He didn't even want to be buried. Cremated. Dumped in the ocean somewhere, just so no one would have to accidentally on purpose lose an urn. And then, nothing, because he's been so absent from anything of consequence anyway.
Here he is, in that fucking fantasy zone, except the fantasy's never been his.
"Will you tell me," he says, staring at his feet, thinking about taking solace in that touch to his back but not entirely sure how to go about it, "about what you were doing before? I interrupted you. About Lestat. Are you okay?"
no subject
A moment of quiet in the wake of the question. Not withholding, not really, only parsing out his answer. Trying to pin down a thing he's scarcely given thought to himself.
"I'll tell you," he acquiesces, between he sweeps of his hand, observing Daniel's face in profile. "After I remind you that you haven't interrupted anything."
Insistent on this point, unwilling to let even this glancing comment stand. Continuing on, without leaving Daniel the space for an objection.
"I went to New Orleans," softly, a murmur into the space between them. "I wanted to go home."
Home. Louis' voice softening further over this word. New Orleans. Lestat. The two mingle, intertwine.
"I found him there."
no subject
Maybe his instinct to push outward, away from himself, ask questions is a bad one. But Louis wants Daniel to use him as an anchor, and so, that's what he's doing. Trying to listen, trying to make his pulse calm down.
He thinks—
Of how fucking happy he is, genuinely. It floods him like the release of a painfully held breath. Louis got out of Dubai and found Lestat, for better or worse. Daniel didn't pull pack the curtain on something that couldn't be given closure. He doesn't pretend to know what that feels like - his relationships have deteriorated for far more mundane reasons. No pining involved. (Alice, a little. But does he miss her, or his fucking youth?)
no subject
His fingers scrape lightly at the nape of Daniel's neck. Palm sweeps back down his back once more. Back up again. Steady, continuous contact.
"We forgave each other," Louis says slowly, feeling his way through the answer. "I'm glad for it."
Fumbling towards an answer to the actual question.
"I feel lighter," makes him feel guilty too. "It was good to see him."
After so many years. After so much misunderstanding, so many lies.
no subject
"I'm glad about it, too. I am, Louis. You deserve to feel lighter about fucking something."
A dry laugh—
"Armand made it clear I ruined his fucking life."
It wasn't a major, active worry, that he had also ruined Louis' - somewhat preoccupied at the time, given the abduction - but it was there. He feels the resurgence of that worry now, and can let it go. Feels fucking great, actually, to be able to let something go, in this mood. He doesn't ask more, doesn't want to pry into things now when he's already driven a bulldozer through so much of Louis' privacy (invited, but still).
"I can tell he's still in Venice, by the way. Is that weird?"
It's weird.
"Will you go back to New Orleans?"
no subject
Says nothing, for a moment. Just touches him, because Daniel is permitting it, and because for the moment it seems to be helping. Squeezes his hand back. Waits out the tremor in his chest that is all guilt and sorrow, because Daniel has enough to weather without Louis' internal conflict. He keeps it tucked away, walled carefully off, separate as his own mind touches Daniel's, something akin to a light lean, shoulder to shoulder.
"What happened was of Armand's own making," at last, simple dismissal of a thing Louis knows to be more complex than he's acknowledging. Moves onwards to admit, "It's not unusual, feeling your maker."
Louis feels Lestat even now, the threads between them all the more solid for the relief of their reunion, the time spent together. Long parting ended, and now some rebirth, renewal, whatever they make of it.
What will he do?
"I'll go where you go," Louis reminds Daniel quietly. "Brooklyn, and then wherever you like."
🎀 territory?? unless you had further desires
Louis is okay, Louis feels terrible over what's happened to Daniel, but he found Lestat again. He's out from Armand's control. Daniel is— coping, bit by bit. (Bite by bite??? We have fun)
The prospect of sleeping during the day feels daunting, for some reason, though he manages it; the next night, still jittery in stops and starts, but feeling more capable of thinking things through without forcing himself to. A breather, even if they're still here, in just one more place he was abducted to. Enough time to see something interesting, listen to Louis' opinion about it, associate the place with more than just Armand. Though Armand feels carved out somewhere inside of him now, permanent.
He has a long time to think about that. No rush to do it now.
They'll figure it out.