Chapter Text
Paris, 1953
They met at a terrible and inopportune time of his existence. It was a year he had spent in torment and doubt, in self-loathing and hatred of his fate, doomed and deceitful. He woke to lies and fell asleep with them on his lips, which wore a loving smile and feigned innocence. He spoke of art and travel as though he weren’t orchestrating betrayals in his spare time. He was doing something terrible - to others, and to himself. Armand spent that year in constant mourning for someone who didn’t yet know of his impending death. How many times he had wanted to stop it, how many times he had wanted to confess! But he never did. He never carried the thought through to the end. Everything was already decided. Doubts only made the wounds on his soul fester. What was the point of them?
It was their first meeting, that night on one of the streets of Paris. For him, at least; Daniel already knew him, of course. Such was their fate, and though it was the first time he had seen him, he hadn’t given this event its proper weight at the time. There was too much darkness in his head, too many thoughts. The reckoning was drawing near, and he had no time for something strange, unfamiliar, for whatever Daniel represented back then. If he had known, would it have changed anything? If Daniel had told him something else, would it have ended differently? Would he have made even one choice that could have spared his blood-stained, wretched soul from another sin? It was all foolish, and dwelling on it was pointless. He had done what he had done. And Daniel?
Oh. His Daniel. Who had awakened not in his apartment in 2022, but on a bench in one of Paris’s parks, in another century, shivering because he was dressed poorly for the weather. He had broken into a shop to steal clothes, cursing himself for not having time-traveled in so long that he’d stopped sleeping with a backpack full of era-appropriate supplies and currency from every age and country. But he was nearly seventy, and he hadn’t experienced a time jump in about a decade. Who could blame him for such carelessness?
Daniel wandered through Paris as though aimless, but in truth, he had a purpose, and he knew it well. He had to find him - his devil, his beloved. He couldn’t have ended up here for any other reason. Armand consumed his every thought. He had to find him, to see him after all these years. Anxiety coursed through his blood alongside euphoria and anticipation - almost painful, wrong in the way some might deem certain perversions weird and unnatural. Would Armand recognize him? Of course he would! And what did it matter that he was old, that he was sick? Armand had loved him and hated him, and no amount of wrinkles or gray hair would change that. Would it?
He remembered at that moment how Armand had reacted upon first seeing the gray in his hair, or when he’d first worn reading glasses around him. What passion had seized his vampire! It had been almost funny, utterly strange, and yet now it gave him a sliver of confidence as he wandered Paris in his seventh decade. Armand loved him - he would always love him - and it didn’t matter what year it was. Never mattered.
And how his heart flooded with relief when he saw him - his devil - sitting on a park bench, staring into nothing, a cigarette resting between his graceful fingers. He didn’t hesitate for a moment, didn’t show a trace of caution; he simply called out his name.
“Armand!”
The vampire blinked slowly and turned his head, looking his way with a faint frown, unable to fathom how this unfamiliar mortal knew his name. Was it an old acquaintance from some bar, already forgotten? Perhaps he had been younger back then, which was why Armand couldn’t recognize him now? It happened, in his world. But the name?
He tried to read his thoughts, tried to touch his memories, but a sharp pain immediately shot through his head. He couldn’t latch onto a single thing there, as though the man’s memory had been run through a meat grinder and then mixed with shards of glass, and now Armand was trying to swallow a chunk that lodged in his throat, tearing him open from the inside, only for everything to spill back out. What a terrible torture this man’s inner world was! He should wear a warning sign on his head. Beware, vampires, do not enter, or something like that.
Daniel smiled faintly, stopping beside the bench, gazing at Armand. Then he tilted his head slightly to the side, frowning too, but with a certain familiar ease in his eyes. “You’re young,” he noted, and Armand wanted to laugh, but exhaustion only drew a faint, amused smirk from him. How far this mortal was from the truth, he thought then.
Only many years later would he understand what Daniel had meant in that moment. His eyes, perhaps. Or his features. He truly was younger in that moment than he had ever been when Daniel saw him.
How horrifying that must have been for him.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Armand said after a pause. A simple phrase, an expectation of explanation - but God, how it echoed with anxiety in the heart of the man whose hands were already trembling from illness.
Anxiety and slight bewilderment colored his face, but he still didn’t want to believe what was happening. He tried to convince himself Armand was joking with him, out of spite or something else. “Come on, Armand. It’s me. Daniel. I know, I know, the years haven’t been kind to me, but if you think about it, whose fault is that, hmm? It was you who refused to turn me when I was young and pretty. Now you’ll just have to admire me looking like this, no refunds”.
The man’s words only confused Armand further, and he tried once more to read his thoughts - but instantly, another shard drove into his temple. He flinched, grimacing for a moment before looking away, as if blinded by a bright sun.
Daniel noticed. “Are you trying to read my thoughts? Oh, come on, we've already been through this. It hurts you. You told me once that it’s because of the memories, they’re too tightly woven with the thoughts, and mine have always only brought you pain,” he said, and anxiety washed over him even more, that unpleasant wave of discomfort when Armand looked at him again as though he were an alien studying a new species on its operating table. He exhaled nervously. “Okay, I’ll bite. What year is it?”
Armand watched him standing there in stolen clothes, dressed so as not to look like a mad old man gripped by sleepwalking. There was something deranged about him, something strange, and Armand was deeply unnerved by his appearance in this alley, and by the fact that he couldn’t peer into his mind without pain. “It’s April, 1953”.
An exhale. His gaze heavy, but resigned. “Yeah. Of course,” he answered strangely, finally looking away. “Of course it’s April 1953”.
Armand frowned and tilted his head slightly, looking him over. “How do you know me?” he asked. “And why is your mind closed to me?”
Daniel sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets. He looked at him once again.
“Shall we take a walk?” he offered instead.
He hadn’t seen Armand in nearly ten years, and of course, of fucking course now that he finally travelled back, it had to be their first meeting from the vampire’s perspective. It was practically the law of this genre! April 1953. Likely the very day he was born. He will probably die today. Maybe Armand will kill him - it would be a tragic blessing. Or maybe he’ll die in his arms from heart failure. Who the hell knew.
Armand had never told him about this meeting. It didn’t seem like he’d witnessed his death either, but it’s Armand we’re talking about, so how could he be so sure?
Maybe he’d die the moment he returned, though. Alone in his apartment, or perhaps on a flight to Dubai to interview Louis. So many possibilities, and none of them comforting.
He wanted to stop thinking about it and just enjoy walking through Paris beside the love of his life. Who didn’t even recognize him! What a monstrous joke fate was playing. Paris sucked.
Armand followed behind him, tossing his cigarette butt into a trash bin. The bewilderment and exhaustion on his face struck Daniel as almost amusing, and he smiled faintly.
He knew he had to say something, but had no idea how to begin. Should he tell him everything, or just parts of it? Time was such a fragile thing, and he had never been gentle enough with it.
“Who are you?” Armand demanded when the silence grew too heavy to bear.
Daniel sighed. “Just some guy you’ll meet in the future,” he replied, almost indifferent. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know how it works. It’s kind of a condition I have. I got it in my youth after our first meeting. Well, the one that was the first one for me. It hasn’t happened for you yet, obviously. Sometimes it just… throws me backward or forward in time, somewhere near you, and we meet again and again, and then I’m pulled back to my present. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But I know you. And I can prove it, if you need me to, you little doubting Thomas”.
What a marvel, what a wondrous thing it must have seemed to him then - and how foolish, how distracted he had been, utterly unable to truly grasp what was happening! Armand seemed to hear only half of it. He was curious, of course. But he was also a broken, anxious creature, afraid of his own shadow. He wasn’t ready to meet him yet.
Daniel didn’t catch his unspoken thoughts and kept talking, resigned, as though accustomed to speaking into the void. “You’re a vampire, born in the early sixteenth century in Delhi. You tried to flee the slavers, but failed, and ended up in a brothel when you were far too young for it. Then came the vampire Marius. He rescued you from the brothel, in a way, but didn’t hesitate to use you himself when-”
“That’s enough,” Armand cut in, his voice strict and cold, and he was looking at him with something close to hostility.
But it didn’t frighten Daniel; he just smirked and kept walking beside him along the pavement. “Alright, I can talk about something else. Just do me a favor and let me enjoy this walk,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in years, and however insufferable an ass you are, I’m old and sentimental now, so… let’s just chat for a bit, okay?”
Before long, they found themselves in a jazz club. Daniel realized he didn’t want to walk too much, and postwar Paris wasn’t impressing him anyway, so he preferred to sit with Armand at a table in the noisy venue, and share a drink. The vampire kept studying him, but no longer tried to read his mind, having learned his lesson.
“So you’re my future, I take it?” Armand asked at some point. “What you said about my past… I don’t reveal those pages to just anyone. That means we’re close”.
Daniel shrugged before finally meeting his gaze. “I mean, in a way. Sometimes. During certain periods of time. Honestly, I don’t know how much I can tell you about it. I was sure we’d already had our first meeting, and you knew nothing about me. Or you’re a phenomenal actor and have very strange ideas about how to treat… people close to you. Anyway, may I have another?” he called out to a passing waiter, but the man ignored him. Probably because of his English. Daniel rolled his eyes. “Figures. I hate Paris”.
“You’ve seen the future me,” Armand pressed, not looking away. “How far ahead?”
“Not sure I can talk about that either,” Daniel noted. “Why are you even asking? It won’t give you anything useful. We’ve met each other. Many times. For you, it’s just the beginning, so… I don’t know, brace yourself to put up with me for a long time now, I guess”.
Armand looked at him, but seemed to look through the man. His mind was burning, his thoughts suffocating him.
He looked away.
“I’m going to do something,” he admitted, choosing his words with deliberate care. “I suppose I just want to know… whether I’ll ever recover from it”.
Daniel looked at him skeptically, taking his glass of alcohol, which Armand hadn’t been in a hurry to touch anyway. “What are you talking about?”
Armand was silent, then, blinking, simply nodded. “I suppose that’s answer enough,” he said finally, and changed the subject, turning his eyes back to Daniel. “If you don’t know what you’re allowed to tell me, what do we usually talk about?”
Daniel eyed him suspiciously, clearly not letting go of his earlier question, but eventually chose the easier path and started chatting with him about the present era, asking Armand about his life in Paris in the forties, and listening to his impromptu lecture on philosophy and meetings with Sartre, and Armand ordered them another round of cocktails.
Later, they walked through the night city, but his mind kept drifting toward Louis, the theater, the coven, the deceit. Daniel couldn’t help but notice it, and he felt a bitter sting realizing that, for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t the center of Armand’s attention during their meeting. He considered it a rather unpleasant end, one he didn’t deserve. He wanted to kiss him, but of course, he didn’t. And when he grew tired of playing a background character of another’s story, he decided he should do what was right at last - let Armand go.
He walked him back to where they’d first met. They smoked in silence while he gathered his thoughts; Armand was likely too deep in his own anxieties to notice. Then he turned to him.
“Wrong time, huh?” he asked rhetorically. Armand looked up at him, saying nothing. “It’s fine. I can take a hint, I'm a grown-up now. But, Armand… I can tell something’s weighing heavily on you. And I worry about you. I always have,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re thinking so much about, or why you look like you’re waiting for your own execution, but… ah, screw it,” he sighed, deciding to change his approach and do for Armand what Armand had once done for him. “You’ll be happy, Armand. For a while, at least. I promise. I mean, I’ve seen you happy. So whatever’s happening now… it’ll be alright. It’ll pass. We’ll… travel all over the world, do fun bullshit, fight a lot, and you’ll love it,” he smirked. “Just… do me one favor and wait for it. That kid you’re going to meet, he might be an annoying prick, but be honest with yourself, you’re no prize either. And he’ll be in a bad place when you meet. But he really does like you. Despite everything that’s happening, and everything you’ll say to each other, I’m old enough now to say it. I don’t care anymore. What’s the point of hiding and lying about something good?”
He had no idea what exactly was troubling Armand or what he was planning to do. Otherwise, he probably would have said something different. Or maybe not. They would never know.
“Maybe that’s what I’m here for,” Daniel continued with a sigh, shrugging and lowering his tired gaze. “To give you a reason to keep going. To show you the world isn’t ending anytime soon. I don’t know. But I’m feeling worse, and I’d better get back to my time. I need my medication, and it hasn’t really been invented yet,” he gave a hollow smile.
Armand kept staring at him, unblinking, his amber eyes finally truly focused on him for the first time all evening, rather than lost in his own thoughts. Daniel caught that gaze - that unsettling, trembling-inducing stare - and it gave him a sense of peace for the first time during the entire walk. It was good to be seen by his darkness at last.
He offered him a faint smile. “I need to go. I’ll return to the future if I get far enough away from you or fall asleep,” he explained, trying not to show how much he disliked the thought of being far from Armand again.
But Armand made no move to stop him. When he turned and tossed his cigarette into the bin, he’d only taken a dozen steps, feeling a hollow ache and disappointment in his chest, when he finally heard the vampire’s voice.
“Daniel,” he said, barely above a whisper, but the man heard it and turned around, of course. They looked at each other. “I'll be waiting for our meeting”.
Such simple words, almost mere courtesy. Daniel laughed, shaking his head, and turned away, continuing to walk, keeping his thoughts to himself. He walked as long as he could, until he felt himself worsening.
Armand didn’t follow him. He returned to Louis’s apartment and lay in Claudia’s old coffin. Two months remained until the play.
He thought of Daniel, sometimes. He thought of him while sitting in a cage beside the stage, watching Lestat. He thought of him when Louis unexpectedly survived. He thought of him in Egypt, in New York, in San Francisco. Not often - just fleeting thoughts, questions he regretted never asking. He felt nothing for him, yet he was curious, and he waited for him to appear.
And he waited so long that, when it finally happened, he didn't even notice.