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[The third comes after about an hour, when it's blatantly apparent Louis is not coming home anytime soon.]

You tell me to share myself with you, Louis, and when I do, you run. You ask for my honesty and then you hate me for what you hear. And you leave me for it, yet again.

Am I truly the only dishonest one of the two of us, mon mari?

[Louis tells himself not to respond. He almost calls back after the second, but he's determined to hold fast.

After the third, he can't help himself.

Ring ring!]

[Lestat’s mind is fuzzy. He doesn’t entirely remember his day before the current moment, and he can see the dried tracks of tears down his face. But he doesn’t recall why he might have wept, and otherwise all seems normal — and then Louis is calling, and he puts those thoughts aside. Best to answer and then figure the rest out.]

Allo?

[Louis is surprised, to say the least, by the casual greeting. Something is off, something is wrong.]

You called. [His voice is stiff.]

[There’s a long beat as Lestat tries to sort out what’s happening. He can tell from Louis’ tone that he is angry, but he remembers nothing and has no context to work with.]

…and what did I say?

Where do I start?

[Louis tries to swallow down some of the anger roiling in his gut.]

That you'd rather whore yourself out? That you bled out in New Orleans for me? That I don't want to hear your honesty?

[Ohhhhh boy. He’d like to say that this is all entirely fresh information, but he can recognize glimmers of thoughts he’s had before. Things he’d certainly never intended to express to Louis but that seem to be fully on display now.]

I don’t remember this.

[Said in a tone that indicates that he believes it happened but that he also suspects city shenanigans have occurred.

Already feeling a simmering tiredness in his tone:]

What happened?

We were talking. I asked a couple of questions and then you got real honest. About a lot of stuff I had no idea about.

[The heat remains in Louis's voice as he talks.]

And then you hit me with this.

[There's a click and then Lestat's voice plays,] You tell me to share myself with you, Louis, and when I do, you run. You ask for my honesty and then you hate me for what you hear. And you leave me for it, yet again.

Am I truly the only dishonest one of the two of us, mon mari?

[He takes a breath.] I don't hate you, Lestat.

[Lestat listens with a slowly sinking sense of understanding. He doesn’t understand why, precisely, he was dropping blunt truths —- or why he’s forgotten it all —- but the rest grows clearer as Louis speaks.

And then, well, he can recognize the tone of his own anger.

After a beat, he answers:]

But you did leave, then?

I'm staying with friends for a day or two. Needed to cool down.

[Louis replies simply, without remorse.]

Then I was not wrong, it seems.

[There’s a terse sound to his own tone then. If Louis thought the voice message would be some grand card to play, it falls flat as Lestat pieces out the rest — Louis hearing him speak and then fleeing, and then feeling injured for being called on it.]

Guess you weren't.

[Louis's irritation continues and he knows he needs to get his head on straight before he returns.]

Seems we're all exactly who we used to be.

We are, I imagine. Except I made the mistake of being honest, it seems, that I had whored myself out for the auditors?

[It’s phrased like a question, but he knows that must have been it. He’s not sure what else he would have described as such.

And the thing that truly grinds him is that, for all his failings, this was one he would defend. He had protected Louis from the city’s humiliations and would do it again in a heartbeat. And yet Louis was furious all the same.]

Never fear. I shall not make such a mistake again.

[Being honest or whoring himself out? He won’t clarify.]

[Louis goes quiet, his anger defeated. He always wanted Lestat to share with him, but now he's ruined any chance of that.

He's done it to himself.

There is no high horse to sit on.

He's quiet for a minute, then two before he finally admits,]

I'm sorry, Lestat.

[But maybe he's broken this beyond repair.]

[The apology deflates him. He hadn’t expected it, and the soft sincerity of it knocks down the defensive walls building up in the heat of their argument.

And in truth, he does not want to be fighting, does not want to be back to slinging mud at each other. He can feel the pinpricks of tears forming in the corners of his eyes, and after a long moment he says:]

Just come home, Louis.

[Louis hates arguing with Lestat; it reminds him of their worst times in New Orleans. He knows the best thing to do is to come home. To come back and embrace his husband, to hold him and let him know that his honesty has not broken them.]

Alright. Let me pack my things up here and I'll be home.

[And, true to his word, Louis is back at the townhouse in about an hour. He immediately looks around for Lestat.]

Lestat?

[Lestat is a subtle wreck for the next hour. He believes that Louis will be true to his word, but he cannot help himself from weeping and quietly tormenting himself with the idea that Louis won’t return.

For a while, he remembers one of their early fights in New Orleans, the spiteful declaration ‘Thats why you’re always gonna be alone’. He remembers even further back, before Louis and before New Orleans, hearing Armand sneer that it was only a matter of time before his companions would abandon him.

When the door opens, his heart leaps. Lestat stands immediately, his face streaked with the remains of dried tears, but he doesn’t care. Immediately, he moves towards Louis, gathering him into his arms.]

Louis —-

[Drops his bag the moment that he sees Lestat, he curls his arms tight around Lestat as they embrace. He buries his face in Lestat's neck, drinking in the smell of him.

Louis smells vaguely of the Bridgerton-Basset home, but nothing strong enough to indicate that he had relations with either Anthony or Simon.]

I'm so sorry I left.

[Lestat could weep again at the words and the feel of Louis in his arms once more. He buries his face in Louis’ neck in turn, wrapping closer around him. The scent tells the story of where he’s been and he is grateful that he came back, that it only took an hour before he’d come home.]

Just stay. Just stay here with me.

I will. I promise. I'll stay.

[Louis tilts his face just enough to press a kiss to Lestat's cheek before re-burying his face in Lestat's neck. His arms cling to Lestat, pull him in tight.]

I'm sorry.

[As much as Lestat wants to be more stoic, he can't, not with the wash of shame and sadness and relief that have roiled through him. Bloody tears blot the collar of Louis' collar where he's buried into his neck, his fingers gripping tight to the fabric of his shirt.]

I didn't even know where you'd gone, just that you'd left and something was wrong.

I can't -- I cannot keep watching you storm away.

I won't do it again, I swear. [And Louis means it, no matter how quickly the vow has been sworn. He'd known he made a mistake almost as soon as he'd walked out the door, but told himself that he needed time to cool down.] No matter what happens.

[Louis sucks in a breath.] I knew it was something that would hurt you but I did it anyway.

[He really is exactly who he was when he left New Orelans. He hasn't changed.]

All right.

All right.

[He knows Louis did it to hurt him, same as in New Orleans when he had told Lestat he'd always be alone, then dashed back with Claudia hours later. It's the same song and dance they've done before, even then -- Louis on his knees, swearing to never leave while Claudia charred and wheezed on the carpet.

Lestat wants to believe they are better than they were, but in the end, does it matter? He'll take Louis back every time, bury himself in his arms on each return. Perhaps he really is who he was in New Orleans, at least in that much.]

What happened?

It start with you acting kind of off. I asked a couple of questions and you were being, well, not yourself. No offense, but you have this tendency to dance around answers when you don't want to answer them.

[Louis pulls back just enough to look into Lestat's eyes.]

This time you weren't. And I asked another question then another. I kept getting angrier. You told me about the auditors, how you... [Louis sags, he doesn't want to say this part out loud.

However, in the spirit of being honest.] How you 'whored' yourself out to save the gallery and this townhouse. I didn't know what other secrets you'd been keeping from me so I kept asking.

And then you mentioned what I did to you in New Orleans and I couldn't listen to it any more.

[Louis could have stopped asking questions far before the topic of New Orleans came up, but he'd done it to himself and punished Lestat for his own transgressions.]

I lost it. And I wanted to hurt you. So I left.

[Lestat listens, feeling uneasy at the unsettlingly true description of his own indirect style of speaking. And then Louis continues to explain, and he has the slow-sinking realization that he had likely had no choice but to speak plainly. And Louis had asked him directly, asked for answers that Lestat would have known not to give.

He looks at Louis while he speaks, his eyes rimmed red while an uneasy understanding settles in.]

So you did.

[He doesn't know how to respond to this. Lestat doesn't want to argue, but he is left with the feeling that his own secrecy had been the wiser call in the end, the easiest way to keep Louis from lashing out in anger. And yet Louis had pressed for answers he hadn't truly wanted all the same.]

Voicemail (3/3)

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