Chapter Text
Daniel sighed heavily into his copy of “A Monster in the Family: Cultural Frameworks for Understanding Domestic Violence” and closed his eyes. He'd hoped that the book would help him to turn his raw notes into something resembling an outline, but every time he tried to read it, he ended up staring blankly at the first page, sometimes for hours at a time. His interview notes remained woefully disorganized.
“What are you sighing about down there?” a voice called from somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling.
Daniel jumped in his seat. He looked up to see Armand hovering underneath the shattered light fixture in the darkest corner of the room, eyes shining alarmingly out of a face masked in shadow.
Armand had been freaking the fuck out nonstop since Louis had thrown him into a wall and left him there. Freaking the fuck out, as Daniel now remembered all too well, took many forms for Armand, including lurking in dark corners like a creep, and Daniel was starting to lose patience. Rightfully, he thought, he should be allowed to be the one freaking out. The absolute certainty of his impending death, followed by the shock of becoming a vampire instead, not to mention the added and immediate horror of regaining over a decade of memories that had violently recontextualized his entire life and demolished his sense of self — these were experiences he should have had the space to react to, process, maybe even pitch a fit about. Instead, he'd had no choice but to bury them, because his ancient, terrifying, wildly powerful maker-cum-ex-boyfriend sucked all the air out of the penthouse and left no room for anyone else’s feelings.
Oh, and Daniel loved him. He remembered that now, and he resented that he remembered it, because all of this would be a hell of a lot easier if he didn't.
Daniel knew that Armand had been writing on the ceiling since the once-immaculate penthouse had been overtaken by rubble and dust, but he didn't know what he’d been writing. He told himself this was because of the high ceiling and the broken light fixture and the fact that no one had bothered teaching him how to fly, but the truth was that he didn't want to know. If he knew, then he would have to deal with it, and he simply could not.
“Stop sneaking up on me, goddamnit,” Daniel said. “You’ll give me a fucking heart attack.”
“I will not,” Armand said, his eyes and his metallic gold Sharpie returning to the ceiling.
“You won't stop or you won't give me a heart attack?”
“Both.”
Daniel grunted, seething with frustration.
“I may not be able to read your thoughts anymore,” Armand said. “But I can feel them.”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Daniel spat. “Would you like me to lobotomize myself so you won't have to be bothered by my fucking emotions?”
Armand sniffed.
Wee-oo, wee-oo, wee-oo. Here we fucking go.
“If you’d like to leave, Daniel, no one is holding you here against your will,” Armand said, his bright orange eyes snapping down to Daniel’s face.
“Right,” Daniel said. “Sure.”
He didn't want to have this argument again. He especially didn't want to find out if Armand would actually let him leave. He wasn’t sure which would be worse— finding out for certain that he was a prisoner, or discovering that Armand really would just let him go.
You know, a quiet voice whispered inside him. You know which would be worse.
Shut up, he told the voice. Shut the fuck up.
The awful, agonizing truth of it was this: Armand had not touched him since feeding him his blood, and it was killing him. He would have preferred to be tied up and brutalized. Actually, he would have loved to be tied up and brutalized. Instead, they'd been alternating between unnerving silence, incomprehensible shouting matches, and violent crying spells from Armand that left them both wrung out, and made Daniel ache so desperately to touch him that he frequently had to leave the room with Armand still sobbing into his own arms.
Still, he’d be damned if he’d make the first move after Armand had abandoned him for forty fucking years. He would rather die than be that pathetic.
He considered putting his book down, then decided against it. It was a hardcover – a potential weapon.
He sighed, resigning himself to repeating the same goddamn fight for what must have been at least the sixth time.
“We should leave,” he said. “Louis told you to—”
“Louis,” Armand scoffed, nostrils flaring. He crossed his arms in mid-air and pulled his legs up towards his chest like a demonic child. He’d lost some of his decorum in the wake of Louis’s departure. Daniel steadfastly refused to find it cute. “Louis has no right or power to demand anything from me. If I wish to stay, I will stay.”
“You're being stupid about this,” Daniel said. “What the hell is left for you here? I've been divorced too, remember? Wallowing in the ashes is for pathetic losers who have no other options. Are you a pathetic loser, Armand?”
Option! that voice inside him shouted, raising its hand and waving it in the air. Me! I'm an option!
Armand straightened himself out to full height, eyes flashing.
“How dare you,” he said, volume rising, as Daniel knew it would. “I’m your maker, you owe me r–”
“I don't owe you shit!” Daniel shouted, leaping to his feet. He'd shouted it several times before, but the hardcover book exploding against the ceiling by Armand’s head added a nice touch, he thought.
Armand didn't flinch, just turned his head away from the noise, mouth twitching in that way that meant his fangs had descended without his permission.
Not cute, Daniel told himself stubbornly.
“I’m not the responsible party here, man! I'm not the one who owes someone something!”
“You're not a child, Daniel!”
“Yeah, but I was!”
And oh, that was new, wasn’t it? Armand stared at him. He let himself roll with it, though he wasn’t sure where he was going.
“I was a kid, Armand. A fucked up, drug addled kid under your thrall, and you took no fucking responsibility for that, none. Just hit it and quit it like a fucking asshole, and now you're doing the same fucking thing all over again, except I haven't even gotten any tail out of it this time!”
For a moment, Armand looked stunned. Then, his face twisted, almost ugly in his fury.
“Then go!” he roared. “Go, and leave me in peace! I don’t understand why you won’t leave me alone when you so clearly despise me! GO!”
“Despise you? Despise you? Are you fucking kidding me, Armand? Is that really what you think this is?”
You are exasperating, Daniel thought. I love you, you idiot.
He couldn't say it. He looked down at the floor and sighed, then turned towards the door.
Armand made a broken little noise. It eased the pain in Daniel’s chest a little. Armand wanted him to stay.
“I'm not leaving,” Daniel told him. “I just— I need to eat someone.”
“I'll come with you,” Armand said.
Daniel frowned at him as he drifted down and landed gracefully at his side.
“You realize this does actually look like you holding me against my will, right?” he said. “You don't trust me to go for a walk by myself?”
“That's not – you’re a fledgling, Daniel. If one of our kind were to find you unprotected—”
“Do all vampires have it in for fledglings? I thought that was a you thing.”
Armand let out a long, unnecessary breath.
“Indulge me,” he ground out, jaw tight.
Daniel examined his face. Armand steadfastly did not look at him.
Maybe he wants to spend time with you, that horrible, traitorous voice whispered in Daniel’s head.
He forced himself to look away.
“Fine,” he said. “Make yourself useful for once.”
As it turned out, Daniel had gotten his hopes up for nothing. Armand barely seemed present for the hunt, responding to Daniel’s attempts to talk with nothing but little hums and absent nods. He ate nothing, even when Daniel passed over the pretty young man he would have chosen for himself and instead grabbed a middle aged weapons dealer who’d been ogling Armand’s ass, merely shaking his head when Daniel offered him the first bite. The simmering anger in Daniel’s belly threatened to boil over.
When they returned to the penthouse, Daniel stormed past him, mouth stained and blood dripping all down his front, and slammed the door to the guest room, shutting him out.
It was an overreaction and he knew it. He felt deranged and mercurial, as if the emotions of his twenty year old self had returned along with his memories. He didn't know if this was normal for a fledgling; his useless fucking maker hadn't told him.
As soon as he stepped under the hot spray of the guest shower, a single mangled sob tore out of him. He tried to swallow down the rest, but in the end he gave in, sliding down the shower wall and hugging his knees as he cried like a child, his whole body shaking with it, blood running from his nose in thick rivulets.
Armand, he wailed inside his own head, I need you.
When the sobbing had finally run its course, and he'd allowed himself a sad, unsatisfying orgasm on the shower floor, he dragged himself to his feet with a groan. The dragging and the groan weren't necessary anymore, but he did them anyway, trying to wring sympathy from the bathroom tiles.
As the weeks passed, Louis’s psychic phone calls asking when the hell he'd be getting his apartment back grew less and less frequent. He was busy fucking Lestat, Daniel gathered. Well, good for fucking him. Otherwise, little changed. Daniel’s afterlife consisted of stretches of painful silence interspersed with short, venomous arguments that never quite reached the level of physical violence, no matter how hard he tried to bait Armand. He would have taken it, would have taken any kind of touch at all, but Armand didn’t touch him.
Then, one night, Daniel decided to do something stupid.
He’d slipped out after another bitter argument, this time waiting for Armand to disappear into his bedroom before taking to the darkened streets. He listened closely to the minds around him, seeking out once-familiar patterns of disorganized thought until he found what he was looking for.
The guy was cranked and Daniel knew it. Armand would have stopped him if he’d been there, but he wasn't, so fuck it and fuck him.
“Bastard,” Daniel growled under his breath as he sped through the streets of Dubai with a belly full of blood and a brain full of electricity. He ran from lamppost to lamppost, trying to move so quickly that he would seem to vanish from one and reappear at the next, wildly conspicuous. “Useless fucking asshole. Nothing but a hole, I'll show you who’s nothing but a hole, old man.”
Perhaps, his addled brain suggested, if he attracted the attention of another vampire, then Armand would have no choice but to come and save him. And then, maybe, if Armand saved him, they’d finally fuck. Adrenaline, anger, fear— he’d take any catalyst at all, so long as it led to Armand’s hands on him.
Before a danger could appear, however, a familiar hand closed around the back of his neck. Daniel thrilled at the touch.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Armand hissed.
“Are you scruffing me?” Daniel asked, delighted by the idea.
“If you insist on behaving like a stupid, helpless kitten, then you will be treated like one.”
Yes, Daddy, Daniel thought. Please, Daddy.
He tried to shove Armand off and was thrilled when it didn't work.
“Yes, Daddy,” he said, injecting a healthy measure of sarcasm into his voice that had been entirely absent from his internal monologue.
Armand scoffed as he began floating upwards.
“Hey,” Daniel said. Then, with more urgency, “Hey! Hey hey hey! What are you doing? Hey!”
He could feel the skin at the back of his neck stretching in Armand’s grip. He scrambled to stay on his toes, but soon they barely brushed the sidewalk.
“You'll break my neck, you freak!” he shouted.
Armand raised his voice over Daniel’s shouting. “Maybe I will break your neck! It would serve you right, you impossible –”
“I’M impossible?” Daniel howled, kicking his feet in midair as they continued to rise, faster and faster. “ME?”
Wind tossed Daniel’s curls. He looked down and gasped, reaching frantically for something solid to hold onto. He found Armand’s leg and clung to it.
“Don't drop me!” he begged. “Jesus Christ, please don't drop me!”
Armand’s grip on his neck eased a little. Daniel clung to him all the harder.
“Relax,” Armand told him. “I'm not going to drop you.”
Daniel squeezed his eyes shut and tried to believe him. By the time they landed on the penthouse balcony, he was shaking like he had before his transformation.
“You can let go of my leg now,” Armand said quietly, almost apologetically. “We're home.”
Daniel shook his head, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut. Armand petted his head gently, mussing his curls. It took Daniel by surprise. He hadn't felt Armand’s fingers in his hair in forty years, and yet they felt familiar, reassuring, safe. His heartbeat slowed. Without meaning to, he nuzzled into Armand’s thigh.
“Come on,” Armand said, sounding pained. “The sun’s a greater threat to you than I am.”
Fear was beginning to harden into shame in Daniel’s stomach, like cream churned into butter. He felt heavy with it, even as the drugs in his system made his mind buck and race.
“Sorry,” he muttered, letting go of Armand’s leg and collapsing to the floor. “I think I got too high.”
“You think?” Armand said, looming over him.
“Yeah,” Daniel said, staring up at the night sky above Armand’s head. It looked thin and pale. The pull of the proverbial coffin fought with the drugs in his blood, pulling him in opposite directions and making his head spin.
“I'm going to bed,” Armand told him. “If I leave you here, will you make it inside in time?”
No, Daniel thought. I won’t make it. Don't leave me!
He grunted his assent.
“And you will not perform My Baby Loves Windows for our downstairs neighbors?”
He didn't answer.
“Daniel?”
He reached for Armand wordlessly, finally, pleading with his eyes, and watched him sigh in resignation.
“Fine,” Armand said, and lifted him as easily as if he really were a child. Daniel wrapped his legs around Armand’s waist and tucked his face into his neck.
“Don't bite me,” Armand said sternly.
“Wouldn't dream of it,” Daniel lied.
Armand had to pry his limbs off of him when they reached the guest bed, huffing his exasperation.
“Stay,” Daniel whined. “I don't understand—”
“Goodnight, Daniel,” Armand said firmly, stepping away from the bed and crossing his arms behind his back with a little bow of his head, an echo of the devoted servant. “You’ll feel better once you've slept this off.”
Before Daniel could protest that he certainly would not feel better after sleeping his high off alone, Armand was gone. Daniel’s head fell back against the pillow.
Most mornings, he had no difficulty falling asleep to the animal screams and related microwave and blender noises that arose from the kitchen in the early morning, but today the drugs kept him in a strange, unpleasant stupor until Armand finally went quiet.
Even then, his sleep was light and disjointed. He tossed and turned as if he were still human, floating just below the surface of consciousness until Armand’s voice yanked him abruptly upward.
“Danny!” he was screaming, sobbing. “Danny, help me, please, please—”
Daniel didn't think; he ran.
“Armand?” he called, skidding around a corner, head spinning in one direction while the hallway spun in another. Armand screamed again, wordlessly this time. “I'm coming, I'm coming!” Daniel shouted, sprinting the rest of the way to Armand’s door and throwing it open with a bang.
A quick scan of the room revealed... nothing. No monsters, no danger, except…
His eyes locked on the figure in the bed and his heart leapt into his throat.
Armand had thrown the blankets to the floor and he was writhing, chest bare and bleeding from four long gashes, his pajama pants twisted and low on his hips. Red tears coursed down his cheeks as he sobbed, nails digging into his stomach, the arch of his back grotesque.
“Danny,” he sobbed, clearly blind to his presence.
Daniel ran to the bed. Without a thought, he straddled Armand, trying to hold him down.
“Baby,” he said, as if forty years hadn't passed since Armand had been his baby, as if he hadn't lost the right to say it. “Hush, baby, I've got you, I've got you.”
He fought the vertigo as best he could, told himself he wouldn't vomit. He tried to grasp Armand’s wrists and press them to the pillow, away from vulnerable skin, but Armand was monstrously strong.
“Armand!” Daniel shouted. “Wake up! Wake UP!”
Armand sobbed, gashing Daniel’s jeans and the flesh beneath in his effort to claw at his own skin. Daniel hissed, his fangs descending.
Without thinking, he bent down and sank his teeth into Armand’s throat.
Armand gasped. He didn't wake, but he'd felt it.
The sound brought Daniel to his senses and he wrenched back, extracting his teeth and letting his weight fall back on Armand’s hips.
Oh.
He'd really felt it. Daniel bit his lip at the once-familiar sensation of Armand’s cock hardening against his ass.
Maybe a deeper bite…
When the warm, thick blood hit his tongue he moaned, his own discomfort and Armand’s distress momentarily forgotten as he sucked, desperate for more.
“Oh,” Armand gasped.
For one blissful moment, his arms wrapped around Daniel’s waist, pulling him in closer, and then all at once Daniel’s existence became a cacophony of pain and confusion, followed by darkness.
When he woke, he found himself sprawled on the floor in the hallway, surrounded by rubble, Armand staring at him through a hole in the wall.
“Fledgling?” he said, incredulous, and Daniel let his head fall back into the rubble with a groan.
“I think you broke my ribs,” Daniel wheezed.
“You'll be very fortunate if that's all I broke,” Armand murmured, suddenly crouched over him. Daniel startled, which hurt a great deal.
“Ow,” he said pathetically.
“Shhh,” Armand said, running his fingers down his ribs. Daniel winced.
“I don't know what you expected,” Armand told him, cupping the back of Daniel’s head and bringing his fingers back bloody. He held them up to examine them, allowing them to flit back and forth through the air. Daniel felt dizzy watching them.
“Give me a break,” he groaned. “I'm high as balls.”
Armand snorted and dropped his hand.
“You don't say.”
“Shut up.”
“Mmm.”
“I wasn't being a creep,” Daniel said after a long, heavy silence. “You were shouting in your sleep. You were... You were calling for me. So I came.”
He looked up into Armand’s face, terrified of what he might see there but finding nothing he could read.
“You wouldn't wake up,” he said, the need to defend himself swelling in his throat.
“So you thought that you would break me out of my night terror by stealing my blood and humping my leg?” Armand asked.
Daniel thought he heard amusement in Armand’s voice. He hoped he was right.
“High,” he said again, pointing to himself. The movement made him wince.
Armand’s lips pressed together, like he was swallowing a laugh. Daniel grinned at him.
“The back of your skull is caved in,” Armand said. “And you have several broken ribs.”
“Damn,” Daniel said. “What's the recovery time on that?”
Armand shrugged.
“A couple of weeks, perhaps. You have my blood.”
He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. Daniel watched him with interest.
“You should take more of it,” Armand said. “You’ll heal faster.”
Daniel’s eyebrows shot up.
“Really?” He looked around pointedly at the rubble and the hole in the wall. “Got the impression you weren't into that.”
Armand rolled his eyes, which made Daniel so hard he feared he might pass out.
“Would you bite a tiger while it slept, Daniel?” he asked, exasperated. “Would you climb into its cage and rut against its belly? Have you learned nothing in the time it took you to grow old?”
Hearing Armand acknowledge their shared history, even obliquely, made Daniel’s heart strain in his chest, like it would leap out of his body and down Armand’s throat.
“You know me,” he said.
Armand looked at him for a long moment.
“I do,” he said.
Daniel licked his lips.
“I think you're gonna have to carry me, boss,” he said.
Armand’s lips pressed upward, somewhere between a pout and a grimace. It made him look like a kitten. It was hard to remember to be frightened of him when he made that face.
“I think you've outgrown that particular endearment, don't you?” he asked.
That, Daniel thought, hurt more than cracking his skull open.
“Listen, would you just get me off the fucking floor, please?” he snapped, suddenly angry and, alarmingly, on the verge of tears.
“Fuck,” he hissed as Armand slid his arms under him. “Oh God, fucking hell, that hurts like a motherfucker.”
When Armand lifted him and turned away from the hole in the wall, Daniel shook his head frantically, which made the room spin.
“No,” he gasped. “Your bed’s closer.”
Armand hesitated.
“You fucking owe me, you bastard,” Daniel hissed.
Armand huffed, but he turned and carried him back through the hole in the wall.
Daniel winced and groaned as he was lowered into the bed, and if he was playing it up a bit, well, he thought he had the right. He allowed himself to fantasize, for a moment, about Armand cutting open his own thigh and sitting on his face. God, what he wouldn't give.
“Here,” Armand said, propping himself up against the headboard beside him and holding out a dripping wrist.
Well, he wouldn’t say no to that either. He took hold of Armand’s arm and pulled it down to his mouth, latching on like a babe at its mother's breast. He supposed he sort of was that, actually. The thought brought him shame and arousal in equal measure.
“Mmmm,” Armand hummed. His head fell back against the headboard with a quiet little thunk.
When Daniel felt Armand’s heart slow, he tried to pull off, but Armand pressed his wrist back to his mouth.
“Don't stop,” he said, voice so weak and breathy it made Daniel shiver.
He obeyed, drinking far more than would have killed a human being and only stopping when Armand went limp.
A jolt of fear, fueled by the adrenaline in Armand’s blood, shot through Daniel’s chest.
“Armand?” he said. He tried to sit up and cursed, falling back against the pillows.
“Mmmm,” Armand murmured. “Shhhh. Sleep now.”
He sounded drunk, but very much alive. Daniel relaxed. He smiled to himself. He was going to sleep in Armand’s bed. He turned his head to look at the monster beside him.
“Goodnight,” he whispered.
Armand didn’t reply. He was already asleep.
In the days that followed, Armand was doting but distant, cleaning and feeding him with no more physical contact than was necessary, and with no reassurance whatsoever.
Daniel tried to draw something, anything out of him. He play acted at being wildly pathetic, channeling the twenty year old Armand had once loved, or at least liked enough to kiss and touch and fuck every once in a while. It got him nothing.
Next, he tried to poke and prod Armand into one of their usual arguments, but all of his taunting fell on deaf ears. Armand’s face remained a mask of neutrality, no matter how nasty Daniel was to him, and his feedings came like clockwork, though Armand did not allow him to feast as he had the first night.
As his ribs began to heal and his vertigo eased, he resorted to open begging, propping himself up against the headboard and reaching for Armand. It hadn't escaped his notice that he was still here in Armand’s bed, still sleeping beside him every day. It was the only thing that gave him hope.
“Please,” he said. “Armand, I know you don't want me anymore, but I'm drowning here. Why did you make me if you don’t want me anymore?”
That, finally, got a reaction. It wasn't much, only a quick flick of Armand’s eyes to his, the irises burning yellow, his face twisted, pained. Then, he turned to go.
“No,” Daniel sobbed, arm outstretched. “Please.”
Armand hesitated, but he did go, and he hadn't returned by the time the rising sun dragged Daniel down into the merciful dark.
Still, it was something. Armand felt something towards him, even if it wasn't love.
His greatest fear was that Armand felt nothing towards him at all. He would take hatred over nothing, disgust over nothing, a desire to kill him and throw his innards into a blender with a couple of rats over nothing.
He didn't know if Armand was still having the nightmares. Without the drugs in his system, sleep was irresistible during the daylight hours. Still, he had a hunch that the screaming he’d heard had been only one of many such terrors. He hoped he featured prominently in all of them— ideally in the role of handsome rescuer, but he'd take sadistic torturer or bug-eyed monster too.
I could be a safe place for you, he thought one night, watching Armand slip into bed beside him and turn on his iPad. I know I'm a bastard but you're a total bitch so. Match made in hell, right?
Armand must have felt something through the bond because he sighed, turned off the screen of his iPad, and turned to Daniel.
“Yes?” he said, with all the feeling of a bookseller mildly disturbed by an unexpected customer on a Wednesday morning.
“What?” Daniel said. “Nothing. I didn't say anything.”
Armand rolled his eyes. Daniel bit his lip.
“You're staring,” Armand said. “And... feeling.”
“Oh yeah?” Daniel said. “What am I feeling?”
Armand shook his head, scrunching his nose adorably.
“I don't know,” he said. Daniel wasn't sure whether that was a lie or not. His own ability to feel Armand’s emotions fluctuated wildly. Right now, Armand was guarded.
“You don't know,” Daniel repeated. “You just don't like it.”
“Precisely,” Armand told him, nodding sharply.
“Hmmm,” Daniel said.
They sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other.
Daniel propped himself up on his elbows. He could do that now, which was exciting.
“Guess,” he said.
“Guess?”
“Guess.”
Armand studied him, lips twisting off to the side in a sweet little pout. Daniel swallowed.
Armand snorted and looked away.
“Shallow lust,” he said. “And annoyance that I won’t give you what you want.”
That took the wind out of Daniel’s sails.
“You’re wrong,” he said stupidly.
Armand slammed his iPad down on the nightstand.
“Am I?” he snapped.
“You're not digging deep enough,” Daniel said. “Or you're projecting.”
Armand frowned down at his own lap.
“What I feel for you is not shallow lust,” he said. “Annoyance, yes.”
“Naturally,” Daniel interjected.
“Naturally,” Armand repeated. “But not shallow lust.”
Daniel licked his lips.
“Boss...” he said, then trailed off, losing his nerve.
“Mmm?” Armand asked. He didn’t object to the pet name this time, Daniel noticed. He wasn’t sure if that meant anything.
Daniel tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t be too revealing, as if he hadn’t been begging for affection for days.
“It seemed like you enjoyed being drained,” he managed. “I mean, like, really enjoyed it.”
Armand frowned at him.
“Okay,” he said. “Sure. The sharing of blood is sacred, whether the old rituals are performed or not.”
Daniel gave this the response he felt it deserved, which was none.
“You're so tightly wound you're about to snap,” he said. “If you know a way to fucking relax then why aren't we doing it?”
“Spoken like a junkie and a child,” Armand said, turning back to his iPad.
That, it seemed, was his final word on the matter, no matter what Daniel said to try to draw more out of him.
Daniel wished he could storm out of the room. Laying here and quietly stewing really wasn't his style. Unable to move, he instead tried in vain to provoke Armand until the sun pulled him into oblivion once more.
Armand never once looked up from his iPad, but the needling must have gotten to him after all, because it all came to a head the following night, when Daniel was finally able to stand.
His ribs were still sore, and he had to move slowly, but when he woke alone in Armand’s bed he knew immediately that he would be able to sit up, and slide out of bed, and wander slowly into the living room. He'd had a lot of time to think during his convalescence, and to wonder. He still didn't want to know what Armand had written on the ceiling, but he’d come to the conclusion that he needed to know.
He was grateful not to encounter Armand on his way to the living room. Based on the noise, he was busy with his kitchen experiments once again.
Daniel didn't need a ladder. He didn't even need a flashlight. He just needed to stand in the darkest corner of the living room and look up.
His heart sank like a stone.
He doesn't love you, the ceiling said. He doesn't love you, he doesn't love you, he doesn't love you, over and over again in tiny looping handwriting, the gold ink stark against the white ceiling.
Well. It wasn't surprising that Armand had been dwelling on Louis. Daniel had never been able to compete with Louis for Armand’s attention, not really. Even at the height of their romance, Louis had been an immortal companion for whom a stupid little boy was so insignificant, so unthreatening, that he didn't even merit jealousy. Armand had been allowed Daniel. At the time, it had made Daniel sick.
Now, it made him angry.
“Daniel,” Armand said, his voice coming nearer. “Are you up, fledgling? I've made blood jello, I thought —”
Daniel turned to see him standing in the doorway, holding a tray of little red gelatinous cubes. It would have been charming, hopeful, sweet and a little bit silly, if Daniel hadn't been blind with jealousy.
“Is this why you won't fucking touch me?” he spat, pointing at the ceiling. “Still haven't gotten it into your head that he's not coming back?”
Armand’s eyes followed his finger and he blanched.
“That's not —” he said. “Daniel, I think you should eat something before we—”
The fact that the man who had written he doesn't love you thousands of times on the living room ceiling was now looking at him like he was the one with a screw loose made Daniel want to pull his own hair out.
“You're absolutely fucking right he doesn't love you,” he shouted. “He's never going to love you. I don't think he ever did.”
Armand was frozen now, mouth half open, jello tray held aloft.
“But I did!” Daniel bellowed. “I loved you, you idiot, and you threw me away like an empty blood bag, like it meant nothing. And now here you are, still, still fucking caught up on this guy who is never, ever going to love you!”
The words rang in his own ears. A wave of despair crashed down on him and he hung his head, squeezing his eyes closed against impending tears.
“You don't love me, Daniel,” Armand said softly, putting down the tray. The softness in his voice, Daniel knew, was a warning, not a reassurance. Armand straightened up, drawing himself to his full height, voice hardening. “You’ve never loved me. You’re an addict trying to relive your greatest fix. You want my blood and my body, just like everyone else, and just like everyone else you will leave me when you’re satisfied.”
Daniel stared at him, at his contorted face, the curls falling loose around it, so reminiscent of Armand in their first week together in San Francisco. He opened his mouth to speak, but Armand didn't seem to notice.
“You have the gall to tell me that you were a child, that I took advantage of you. You say this to me, after all I have endured. A twenty year old child indeed, running wild through the streets of San Francisco, sucking and fucking and snorting and shooting up all over the city, but it was I who was irresponsible with you. You never hurt me, how could you? The precious, innocent boy who turned his nose up at my affections and begged for the dark gift instead, who only wanted me for the power in my blood while I worshipped the ground he walked on. Yes, you were wholly innocent, Daniel Molloy, and it was I who had to carry the weight of my error in judgment for both of us. And I did it! I freed you from me, and from all recollection of me, while I carried you with me for fifty years! And now, now you have the gall to tell me you loved me, now that you've gotten what you wanted and don't have a clue what to do with it. You don't love me, Daniel, you need me, just as surely as you once needed heroin. Well I don't want to be your fix. I have played the cherub and the ingenue, the devoted servant and the whore, and no matter what I do it always ends the same way.”
Bloody tears spilled down his cheeks. His lip trembled. He pointed at the door.
“LEAVE,” he shouted. “Leave now, don't make me wait months or years for the inevitable. If you truly believe that you ever cared for me, spare me this and leave now!”
“You left me,” Daniel shouted.
Armand let out a bitter, garbled wail of frustration and anguish.
“Oh,” Daniel said, the sound punched out of him.
Armand hung his head and sobbed, and that was enough for Daniel to remember himself. He shook his head to clear it.
“No,” he said. “You know what? No! You left me, motherfucker! I'm not Louis, I'm not falling for this shit!”
Armand looked up at him with damp, red eyes, shocked out of his crying spell.
“You left me then, and you might as well have left me now! You're so caught up in your fucking feelings you haven't even noticed that I'm completely fucking lost! I don't know how to be a vampire!”
Armand scoffed, wiping the back of his hand across his cheek, smearing the blood there.
“You heard Louis’s story,” he said. “You know enough.”
“No, I don't,” Daniel spat. “I didn't tell my kids I was coming to Dubai. I pulled an Irish goodbye on Christmas eve and then got Louis’s note two days later. They’ll write off a couple months of no contact, sure, but it's Sylvia’s birthday this weekend, Armand. What am I supposed to say?”
“You've missed more of your progeny’s birthdays than you've attended,” Armand said.
“Thanks, very helpful insight from my stalker. Except, if you’ve actually been paying attention you know that I haven't missed one in the last five years.”
“Since your granddaughter was born,” Armand said flatly.
Daniel’s face contorted. He didn't know what he was feeling, if it was anger or sadness or something more complicated. He blinked rapidly.
“Yes,” he said. “I was doing better.”
He felt spite rising in his throat like bile. It tasted bitter on his tongue.
“They're throwing me birthdays and holidays. A bone for the old dog before he dies. Sometimes I even get invited to Sunday brunch, just so my ex-wife can stare me down while I decide whether or not to order a mimosa. There's no winning that one, by the way, cause if I drink, then I'm an alcoholic, but if I don't drink, well, then, I'm definitely an alcoholic! Guess that problem’s solved for me now. Well, that's just great, but I can't go to the birthday party now, either, can I? Can't go to church with her on Easter. Can't hide the Easter eggs. You didn't even ask.”
“You would have said yes.”
“You still should have asked.”
“Yes, you were always very big on consent.”
“Fuck you.”
Armand sucked on his teeth, clearly trying to master himself.
“So we’ll go,” he said.
“What?” Daniel asked, thinking he hadn't heard right.
“We will go,” Armand said slowly, as if Daniel were very stupid. “I will ensure your safe passage to America. You will say goodbye to your family.”
Daniel stared at him. He didn't know where to start with this, so he started with the least consequential detail.
“She’s five,” he said. “Her party won't be after dark.”
“It’s winter,” Armand said. “You'll be able to show your face at five o’clock. Human children don't go to sleep that early, do they?”
“Sure, but the party—”
“Forget the party, Daniel. Do you want to eat cake with a bunch of sticky children? Show up late and tell them your flight was delayed. Give her a gift, tell her you love her, and make peace with the fact that you will not see her again.”
Daniel’s hands clenched into fists.
“Yes, I know,” Armand said. “It's not fair.”
He didn't need to invoke his own history for Daniel to know it was implied. Armand hadn't had the opportunity to know his family. Daniel had squandered his. Which circumstances were less fair?
“Fine,” he said.
“Fine,” Armand echoed.
They stared at each other across the room, Daniel’s hands still clenched and Armand’s face covered in smeared blood.
Armand looked away first.
“Right,” he said, snappy and in control once more. “We’ll leave in the morning. I'll have you carried onboard in my coffin. You'll wake up in New York.”
Daniel wanted to protest, but he suddenly couldn't stand the thought of another night in this horrible penthouse.
“Fine,” he said, exhaustion creeping into his voice alongside the returning awareness of the pain in his body. “Whatever.”
He swayed a bit. Armand looked at him, concerned.
“Do you need—?” he said.
“No,” Daniel snapped.
He nearly made it to Armand on his own before stumbling. Armand caught him.
“I think I need blood,” Daniel said, not meeting the eyes now inches from his own.
“Of course, b— fledgling,” Armand said. “Let me help you to bed.”
Daniel had no choice. He allowed himself to be helped to bed, and he fell asleep still suckling on Armand’s wrist.