Chapter Text
And just like that, Louis is gone. Through the cavelike entranceway, about to round the corner and disappear from Daniel's life as suddenly and senselessly as he had appeared. Armand raises his head minutely. It's a painful-looking movement, something in his spine fractured maybe, but he pushes his eyes up to follow Louis away.
And then just at the last moment, suspended in time before some other future for them all, he says quietly, "Enjoy him," and Louis stops walking.
"The fuck did you just say to me?"
The whole interview, Daniel had been riding on a sort of psychotic confidence. He knew he could die, of course, had fed his editor that stupid line about the most dangerous man in the world, which of course Louis isn't, not by a long shot. Louis can kill basically the same number of people at a time as any normal guy, which is one; not very many, compared to plenty of people. The only difference between him and the average human is… something about the method, perhaps. Everyone knows they could be shot in the street almost anywhere in the world, but most people don't expect to be exsanguinated.
And for most of the interview, Daniel didn't, either. For one, he'd already been attacked once by a vampire and survived, which is a bit of an ego boost. But also, Louis had never seemed particularly interested in killing or maiming him. He seemed like a guy who wanted to have his story told, and would inevitably be disappointed that you can't tell a story without losing control of it, just like all the others. It turned him mean sometimes, sure, but his meanness is the human sort.
Now, for the first time, Daniel is very aware of being in the room with a monster. Only it's not aimed at him. All that worry, setting the apartment in order in case it had to be cleaned out if he never returned to New York, and when the mask finally comes off, all that rage right in the room with him, and he's completely irrelevant.
Armand doesn't answer. He lies there, looking at Louis. And then Louis turns around, walks back into the room.
There is no reason for Daniel to be frightened. This has nothing to do with him. But he is, like the feeling they say you have right before you're hit with lightning. Louis stands over Armand again, and without looking back at Daniel, holds out his hand back towards him. "Give me your knife," he says.
"What?"
"The Swiss Army knife in the right pocket of your pants, Daniel. Give it to me."
Well, yes, he has a Swiss Army knife in his pocket. You should always have a Swiss army knife in your pocket, that's the kind of advice he'd always imagined a father would have given him, if he'd had one of those, the kind of advice he gave his girls, well, you never know what's going to happen out there, lots of shitty guys, you know, or maybe you just need to crack open a can of beer, well, doesn't hurt to be prepared.
"Now, Daniel," says Louis. So Daniel pulls out the knife and hands it over. What else is there to do?
Louis takes the knife and pops the dull, slightly dirty blade out of it. He leans down and pulls Armand to his knees by the hair. Armand goes, like a doll, limbs piled on top of each other, an obvious act. "What are you doing," says Daniel nervously to Louis.
"Dealing with a liar," says Louis, and regrips, grabs Armand's jaw instead of his hair. Armand's mouth falls open, no resistance at all. Well, what is it to him? He's a vampire. He'll heal. Anything Louis can do to him will only be temporary, and he can use it for sympathy in the meantime, kneel on the floor so pathetically and—
Louis reaches in his mouth, grabs his tongue with two fingers and starts sawing at the root of it with Daniel's dull pocket knife.
Armand makes a horrible choked gurgling sound. His head is being tossed around by the force of the knife and he just lets it happen, his entire body following limply.
Daniel feels frozen. It's not like he hasn't seen horrible shit before. But this is different. Something uniquely chilling in the way he's just fucking letting it happen, letting out cries choked off by the blood running down his throat but not lifting a finger to stop it. This is the man who bound Daniel's entire body in invisible rope, who threw him around like an insect, who wiped Louis' memory with as much ease as any puny mortal's. He can stop this. He can stop this. He can—
Armand collapses in a heap on the floor. The pink and red length of his tongue glistens in Louis' hand.
Louis raises his hand, holds it up to the light. Daniel wants very, very badly to look away, but the slimy little nub of it won't let him go. Vampires heal, yes, but does that extend to re-growing absent body parts? It must. Armand must, surely, know damn well that he'll be right as rain by the next sunset. He's lying at Louis' feet, weeping, spitting out mouthful after mouthful of blood. Milking it.
Daniel is shaking. It's all just a stupid performance, from both of them. Knowing that, insisting on it in his own mind, doesn't make the shaking stop. So the shaking is just the Parkinson's, probably. He feels nauseous, which is probably just the levodopa.
It's not just him, though. Louis' hand is shaking, too.
Louis nudges Armand's shoulder with his toe. Kicks him, really, just a bit, just until he looks up, until he looks up again to see Louis and Daniel staring down at him.
"There," says Louis, and his voice sounds scratchy, wavering. "I took something from you you'll never get back. We're even now. Just like you always wanted."
Then he pockets the tongue, and walks out of the penthouse.