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The coffin is too small.
Their closest friends and the family they allow in their lives are all gathered—fitted in black, in the damp grass on the rainiest day of the year so far, as if the clouds are mourning alongside them.
The coffin is too small.
The priest offers comforting words they don’t listen to, standing in front of the space where the earth has been disturbed in order to accept her remains. The priest prays for her and for them, wishing them healing and peace.
The coffin is too small.
They’ve both declined to offer any words of their own during or after the burial. What would they even say? Tell everyone how their daughter was perfect. Was smart. Was funny and loved laughing as much as she loved making others laugh. Anyone who had the privilege of knowing her knew those things for certain already. Neither man wished to speak—they knew they wouldn’t make it through the eulogy without becoming inconsolable.
Lestat holds a large, black umbrella up over Louis’ head that extends enough to cover his own. His other hand is grasping the handle of the crutch he still needs, painfully digging into his armpit as he leans on it.
Louis is holding a Bible he hasn’t opened in nearly a decade, clutched tightly against his chest. His lips are pinched in and his eyes are glassy, making the green in them appear even lighter, like a church window.
Lestat stares straight ahead at the tiny, pink coffin being lowered into the ground in front of them. It doesn’t even seem real. Surely she wasn’t that small?
He sees Louis drop to his knees out of the corner of his eye. Down into the mud. His first instinct is to follow him down, but he groans in pain as he attempts to bend over. Louis’ sister, Grace, is at their side in an instant, helping Lestat stabilize himself before she crouches next to her older brother with a comforting hand on the back of his suit jacket. Lestat abandons the idea of not being soaked as he holds the umbrella over the two siblings.
Grace finally manages to convince Louis to get up out of the mud and when he rights himself, he holds a trembling hand up to his mouth as he watches their daughter’s casket be covered in yellow and purple flowers placed by their loved ones—her favorite colors.
Lestat turns away, unable to bear another second of it. He keeps expecting someone to wake him—for the nightmare to be over. He looks towards his husband who is now being bombarded by Grace’s husband, and a few of his favorite cousins—all offering their condolences. Louis puts on a brave face around the men.
Lestat catches their mutual friend’s eye and jerks his chin to the side, beckoning the man over since he doesn’t have a free hand to motion with.
“Hey buddy. You need anything? Let me hold your umbrella at least”, Daniel offers with a kindness to his voice that is infuriating in its falseness.
“I’m fine.” Lestat uncomfortably shifts on his good leg—in desperate need of his medication or something much stronger.
Daniel doesn’t miss the way Lestat winces and he offers a smile laced with pity. Lestat sighs.
Lestat’s best friend who happens to be Daniel’s partner, Armand, comes up behind the significantly older man, holding an umbrella over his own shoulder length, black curls and much-too-expensive-to-be-wearing-to-a-child’s-funeral suit.
“Darling, would you like to stand under the umbrella with me?”, Armand offers. Daniel declines, his damp salt and pepper curls sticking to his forehead from the rain. His dark suit is drenched.
“If you need help to your car, please let us know”, Armand says to Lestat, unsure of what else he can offer at a time like this.
“I am waiting for Louis, but thank you.” The blonde’s usual playful demeanor is gone—buried six feet under with his little girl. He doesn’t think he’ll ever smile again.
“Are we still meeting at yours?” Armand spares a glance towards Louis who is now openly sobbing into his sister’s shoulder.
“I don’t think he’s up for company. Maybe I’ll meet you at the bar later. I don’t know how he will be or what he will need once we get home.”
“No, you should stay with him.” Armand kindly refrains from asking how Lestat plans on getting anywhere by himself in his condition.
“He can’t even look at me.” Lestat is grateful for the sunglasses he chose to wear that shield his watery eyes.
Daniel slaps a hand on his shoulder, making him hiss. Daniel quickly apologizes but keeps his hand in place. “It wasn’t your fault, man. You have to know that. The driver was drunk and-“
“Daniel, we should be going. Come now.”
Lestat tips his head at Armand in thanks. If he has to listen to one more person tell him it wasn’t his fault, including his trauma therapist, he’s going to scream or punch someone. Possibly both.
He will happily be Louis’ emotional punching bag if that’s what his dear husband needs. Speaking of Louis, he should really get him out of the rain.
Lestat hobbles over to where Grace is speaking with Louis, trying to calm him down. He isn’t actively crying which is better than he appeared to be five minutes ago.
“Let’s get you out of the rain, chéri.”
Louis looks at him for the first time today. Lestat can only find hopelessness written across his features. Louis’ eyes roam over the stitches near Lestat’s lip, then the ones between his eyebrows. Down to his bruised jaw and up to the bandage peeking out from his curtain of blonde hair, darkened from the rain.
Lestat insists again. “You will catch a cold. You’re soaking wet.”
When Louis says nothing, Grace cuts in. “We should get you off your leg. Bet it’s aching by now.”
Lestat closes his eyes briefly and nods. Grace helps him over to Louis’ car and he lets her, his dignity long gone. Louis trails behind so he can unlock the doors.
Grace helps Lestat into the passenger seat with only a few French swears slipping out under his breath. “Thank you, Grace. Truly.”
Grace places a gentle hand on his shoulder as she whispers, “It’s gonna be okay. Give him time.“ Lestat can only manage to nod in response. She takes his crutch and the umbrella, quickly storing them in the backseat so he has more leg room.
She shuts the door as Louis opens the driver’s side. He tells Grace goodbye with a long hug before he climbs in. Lestat toggles with the heat controls while Louis fastens his seatbelt. They pass rows and rows of mossy headstones on the way out of the cemetery.
Lestat wills his panic away once Louis turns onto the main road which leads back to their house, attempting the breathing exercises his therapist suggested—quietly, while facing the window so Louis won’t worry.
This morning was Lestat’s first—no, second time in a car since the accident, making this officially the third. The first time, coming back from the hospital, he was too loaded on pain pills to really notice he was back in a car. Thankfully, his car was totaled so he never has to see it or sit in it again. Louis’ sedan looks nothing like the vintage Camero, yet the sounds of the road, the traffic zooming by, the memories of the pain, the fear—it all fucks with his head and probably will for some time.
They stay silent on the quick drive home, minus Lestat’s breath-work Louis pretends not to notice. They would’ve walked to the cemetery from their house, but Lestat is still recovering from surgery and can barely make it from the living room to the downstairs bathroom without needing to take a break. He really overdid it today. He shouldn’t have been on his leg at all. His physical therapist is going to be cross with him tomorrow when he cancels the appointment.
To Lestat’s surprise once Louis parks, he grabs Lestat’s crutch and swings his door open, helping the blonde out of the sedan. Lestat leans on him—the first time they’ve really touched since Lestat got home from the hospital two days ago. Louis helping him change his bandages doesn’t count, it’s robotic.
Lestat mumbles his thanks, fully in pain now. All he can think about is lying down with a pill under his tongue, sleeping for the foreseeable future.
Louis walks beside him until they reach the steps, making sure Lestat doesn’t slip on the wet cement. He waits for Lestat to even his breathing before he unlocks the green gate followed by the heavy, wooden front door.
The silence of the house hits them first. Lestat swallows hard, pushing down his grief.
He props his crutch by the umbrella stand and shrugs off his suit jacket before he slowly starts to make his way into the kitchen on unstable, socked feet, not wishing to scuff the hard wood floors with the bottom of the crutch.
“What do you need? Go sit down.” Louis follows him, hovering.
“It’s fine, I-“
“It ain’t fine! Go before you tear all your stitches, Lestat!”
“I need a pill. It’s hurting.” Lestat has no fight left in him. He just wants to feel nothing.
Louis was expecting him to argue. The honesty catches him off guard, so he softens. “Fine. Go on. I’ll get them for you.”
The blonde hangs his head and uses the wall for support as he goes to the couch where his makeshift bed is. He can’t climb the stairs, so this is the next best thing. He’s grateful they updated their furniture for comfort after their wedding, when they first decided to start a family.
Lestat lays down, elevating his leg, turning on his right side to face the tv screen. The crash had been into the driver’s side of his car—a truck slamming into them when the driver ran a red light while drunk at eleven in the morning. Lestat ended up with a concussion, a sprained collar bone from the seatbelt digging into his chest, various cuts from the window shattering on him and a femur fracture in his left leg. He’s covered in bruises and pretty much in pain all over. Their sweet Claudia wasn’t so lucky.
Louis returns with a half-full glass of water and two pills. He knows Lestat won’t drink it all and would rather not waste the filtered water. Lestat places the pills into his mouth and cranes his neck so he can take a sip of water without spilling. “Thank you.”
“Yeah. You good otherwise? I need to change out of these wet clothes.”
Lestat regards Louis’ soaked suit and his ruined hair. He should probably change as well but he doesn’t have it in him right now. He wants to put his hair up and out of his face, but doesn’t want to ask Louis for help. It hurts to lift his arms that way.
“I’m alright. Will you come sit with me after?”
Louis purses his lips. “We’ll see.” He leaves the room and Lestat hears him slowly climbing the stairs. He wishes he could follow—could be with Louis the way he needs him to be right now. He’ll act tough, but Louis needs to be held. He needs to be able to fall apart.
Lestat gets a wave of numbness. He knows it’s a defense mechanism probably caused by PTSD, but he’s grateful for it right now. He doesn’t want to cry again. He doesn’t want to sit in his sadness, thinking about how he’ll never get to see Claudia again. Never get to hear her chubby feet running along the floor, her excited laughter when one of them drew it out of her, the delicate little noises she made when she would fall asleep against his chest. He can’t process any of that. It has not sunk in that his tiny, favorite person is gone forever.
Armand and Daniel had been kind enough to come over the evening of the accident while Lestat was still in the hospital with Louis worried sick at his side. They tidied up the townhouse and stored everything that belonged to Claudia in her bedroom. All her toys that had been spread out, her crayon art on the fridge, even her tiny, colorful dishes she had just started using all by herself. They threw nothing away of course, just tucked it out of the men’s immediate line of sight, neatly in boxes. Three and a half years of her—narrowed down to one bedroom.
They told Louis it would be easier once they came home, to not be surrounded by her things. That way, when they were ready, they still have everything in her bedroom. In his immediate grief and with Lestat unconscious, Louis had agreed.
Lestat was discharged a few days later and came home to a house void of all reminders of their daughter. He screamed at Louis until he popped the stitches attached to the side of his lip. Louis cried and then completely shut down, unable to stand the sight of Lestat’s bloody face. He locked himself in their bedroom where Lestat could not reach him. A nurse came by and restitched Lestat’s lip after he called and sweet talked them with a blood-stained paper towel against his face.
Lestat knows Louis blames him. It wasn’t his fault of course—the man who hit them ran a red light. And that lucky bastard hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt so he was thrown from the vehicle and died almost instantly. Lestat knows if the man had survived, his husband would’ve killed him. He would’ve done the same.
No, he knows Louis blames him. In a very particular Louis way. He has to put his grief somewhere and by transforming it into blame, anger and avoidance, maybe he can resist the urge to hang himself in the upstairs hallway closet. Lestat will take it if it means Louis is still here.
Lestat should’ve taken a different route to the grocery store that day, even though it’s the way they always take. Lestat should’ve moved Claudia’s car seat to the right side of the backseat, even though it’s always in the center. Lestat should’ve waited five minutes before leaving the house, even though he wanted to get the errand finished early so he could take Claudia to the park after and meet Louis and Grace for lunch.
These are all things Lestat should’ve done that Louis screamed at him while sobbing uncontrollably last night as they laid out their funeral suits.
Lestat’s stomach growls. Annoyed at his body for demanding anything from him right now, he curls up the best he can and allows himself to fall asleep.
—
Louis is over visiting at Grace’s house and texted a list of groceries they were in need of. They had discussed it the night before. Lestat doesn’t mind going to the store so Louis can have extra time with his sister.
After waking, Lestat gets Claudia fed and dressed in an adorable, little Prince t-shirt, purple leggings and a matching skirt. He fixes her hair the way Louis taught him. She is in such a good mood despite her Daddy being gone this morning—being left with “the spare”, as Louis calls Lestat as a joke.
“D’accord, ma petite. Are you ready to help Papa pick out groceries? Maybe if we do a good job, Daddy will let me give you a little sibling tonight. How does that sound?”, he coos at her in a voice Louis told him to stop using around her. “Just talk normal”, Louis always insists. Lestat can’t help the baby talk.
Claudia giggles as Lestat secures her into her car seat. “Papa! I get candy? Peeease!”
“Of course, ma princesse. Since you asked so sweetly.” He kisses her little nose which only makes her giggle harder. Her laughter is music to his ears.
He double checks the straps as she wiggles her little boot-covered feet, excited to be going out. With a kiss to her chubby cheek, he closes the door and then slides into his own seat, turning on a mix tape she always sings along to in her high pitched, toddler voice. She knows so many words. It warms his heart how she shares his love of music. She gives her honest opinion and says “No, Papa! Neck one, pease” when she wants him to skip a song.
It happens less than four blocks from the grocery store as they are both singing along to The Doors. He hears it before he feels it. Tires screeching, metal against metal, glass shattering. The airbag punches him in the face. His ears are ringing and then he is in pain like never before. Searing. His face. His shoulder. His chest. His fucking leg feels like it is on fire before it goes numb.
His Camero rolls over once from the impact of the truck, leaving him upside down and frantic. He touches his face and finds blood staining his hands. He desperately attempts to unfasten his seatbelt to no avail with shaking hands.
“Claudia! Clau…di…” He can barely see her in the cracked rear view mirror. She isn’t screaming. She isn’t moving and her head is down towards her chest. He loses consciousness, hanging limp in his seat.
—
Lestat wakes up with a gasp, clutching at his chest. He groans when he tries to sit up. “Putain!” His cheeks are damp.
“You alright?”, Louis calls from the landing. He rushes down the stairs after hearing Lestat’s pained sounds—his short curls freshly washed, dried and secured in his silk bonnet.
“I had a nightmare. I’m sorry for disturbing you, Louis”, Lestat chokes out, trying to hold back more tears as he avoids his husband’s eyes.
Louis comes into the living room properly, perching next to Lestat on the foot stool by the couch, visually checking him over.
“What happened in your dream, Les?” His voice is soft, softer than it’s been since he told Lestat Claudia was gone after he woke up in the hospital, frightened and delirious, asking for her—demanding to see her.
Lestat’s resolve breaks and he chokes out a sob. “I can’t do this, Louis! How am I supposed to keep living? It should have been me!”
Louis leans forward and buries his face in Lestat’s curls, holding him the best he can while Lestat weeps, trying not to disturb any of his wounds in the process. “‘S’okay, baby. S’okay. Can you stand up? Long enough for me to help you change into something more comfy?” Lestat didn’t realize he was still wearing his slacks and button down. His comfort is the least of his worries.
Louis feels Lestat slowly nod against him, so Louis stands and goes to retrieve the softest sleepwear Lestat owns. When he returns, the blonde is standing and his blue eyes appear dull and grey, filled with more unshed tears.
Louis unbuttons Lestat’s black shirt with care, sliding it off his shoulders. He unfastens his belt next. Getting Lestat’s pants off is trickier, avoiding the bandage on his leg as much as possible. It’ll need to be changed soon, tomorrow morning at the latest.
Louis helps Lestat put on a long sleeve shirt and silky, black pajama bottoms. He ties them under Lestat’s bruised hip bones and guides him to sit back down.
“You warm enough? I can light a fire.”
“I’m fine. Just lonely. I miss our bed.” I miss you goes unspoken.
“It’s waiting for you. Soon as you can climb the stairs again.”
“Can you sleep down here? I can’t be alone tonight, Louis. You shouldn’t be either.”
“I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Sleep on the side.” Lestat gestures to the long end of the L-shaped couch next to him.
“Maybe. Yeah. Let me get my blanket.” Louis disappears up the stairs.
He returns minutes later, clutching his kindle, the gold comforter from their bed, his phone and his water bottle.
Louis deposits everything onto the couch, then grabs a few extra pillows from the closet by the front door. Once he settles into his temporary bed next to Lestat, the blonde opens his mouth.
“I love you, Louis. Do you still love me?” Lestat holds Louis’ gaze now, searching for any sign. Good or bad.
“Of course I do. How can you say that?” Louis’ brow wrinkles, hurt that Lestat would think otherwise.
Lestat reaches for his hand and Louis lets him take it. “I was reading an article that said, statistically, couples tend to break up after losing a child-“
Louis yanks his hand back. “Don’t. Don’t say that shit. Don’t read that shit! Come on, I’m grieving, Lestat! I almost lost you too!”
“I’m sorr-“
“I would do anything to bring her back, but not if it meant losing you.”
Lestat makes a shocked sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob. He never imagined his husband would confess anything like that. Louis and Claudia had been inseparable. Even before she was born, Louis was obsessed with the mere idea of her.
Louis links their hands once more. “It’s going to take a lot of time for me to be even remotely okay. But right now, I have to take care of you. If anything happened to you…that would be it for me”, Louis admits.
“Louis…” Lestat brings one of his large hands up to his husband’s damp cheek, softly caressing the skin there, to the side of his beauty mark.
“I mean it. I love you, Les. We’ll be okay. We have to be.”
Lestat nods as tears stain his cheeks. “I love you too.” He pulls Louis’ hand up, kissing it, keeping his lips there for a long time.
“You know, that morning, she told me she wanted pancakes for breakfast…” Lestat chokes out, accent thickening so much he’s becoming difficult to understand. “And I told her no, she needed to eat her oatmeal and fruit. And she said that’s okay. She did it with no fuss. I should’ve made her pancakes!” He covers his mouth, trying not to rip the stitches from his anguish.
“Lestat.” Louis is crying again now too. He climbs onto Lestat’s side of the couch, pulling himself against Lestat’s chest, careful not to hurt him too much. He’s sure he’s hitting a bruise, but Lestat doesn’t react—just wraps his arm around Louis’ waist, burying his face against Louis’ neck below the elastic of his bonnet.
“It’s okay. She knew you loved her so much. She knew we both did. She was obsessed with you, honey.”
Lestat nods against him. “She was obsessed with you. She was your little twin.” He sniffs and lets out a wet laugh that hurts more than anything.
“Baby, you were such a good Papa to her. When it was just me and her, when you were with the band, she talked about you nonstop. You were her best friend.” Louis smiles through the tears and tilts his face to kiss Lestat’s cheek. “I’m sorry I’ve been cruel. It’s…god, it’s been unimaginable, but I can’t even begin to understand how it’s been for you. I’m sorry for the things I said last night. It’s not on you.”
“You needed to put the pain somewhere, mon cher. I will be that vessel for you, always.”
“You shouldn’t have to be, baby.”
Louis’ weight against Lestat hurts but the comfort outweighs the pain right now. His Louis still loves him and they’ll be okay.
They fall asleep together. Louis helps Lestat to the bathroom in the morning. They’re quiet, but it’s not unpleasant. Louis reaches for him often—like he would with Claudia. He was such a good father.
By the time the stitches dissolve on Lestat’s face and he’s left with two visible scars, he’s able to walk somewhat regularly again. He uses a cane now, but he can manage the stairs if he goes slow enough. They haven’t gone out much because Lestat insists on walking everywhere—doing whatever he can to avoid being in a car.
They have groceries delivered once a week. They go on short walks in the Quarter. Lestat even plays the piano once. They both cry, but it feels good to stretch his fingers over the ivory keys.
They measure the rest of the year through holidays and milestones. It speeds by, despite their grief.
Father’s Day hurts. They spend it fighting because Louis sees a flirtatious message from a work colleague on Lestat’s phone.
What would’ve been Claudia’s fourth birthday hurts worse, but they plan a spontaneous trip to Mexico to distract themselves. They drink too much tequila and Lestat ends up sunburnt and peeling by the time they return to New Orleans.
Louis’ birthday is celebrated at Grace’s and it’s good to spend time with her and the kids. They don’t ask about their cousin, Claudia—they’ve been instructed not to. Louis finds himself on the living room floor playing dolls with the twins while Lestat chats with Grace about her upcoming kitchen renovation, eyes cutting to his husband occasionally, watching him laugh freely as he plays with the girls.
Lestat’s birthday is spent in New York with Armand and Daniel. Louis stays home. They’re fighting again—this time about having another baby. Lestat sleeps on Armand’s uncomfortable, modern couch to the sound of his two friends fucking loudly in their bedroom down the hall.
They don’t decorate for Christmas or get each other gifts. It’s simply another day they survive. Louis doesn’t even go see Grace and her family. They used to go all out for Claudia, spoiling her with gifts, making the townhouse look like a winter wonderland. They’d set out cookies for Santa even though she didn’t understand the concept of a magical man breaking into their house to gift her toys. Lestat argued that it would confuse her. Louis told him to lighten up.
On New Year’s Eve, Louis shocks Lestat when he takes him in his hand while they watch a film on the couch. Lestat finishes embarrassingly quick, even though the hand job lacks any flare and is on the painful side of too dry. They haven’t been intimate in eleven months. Lestat lost count of the times he’s tried to initiate, giving up after three months of rejections.
Louis lets Lestat make love to him on Valentine’s Day, their anniversary. They’ve been together for twelve years, married for five. Lestat cries after it’s over and Louis holds him, kissing his jaw, the scar by his lip, his damp cheeks. Louis trails his lips lower and gets Lestat ready for a second round. They sleep together regularly after that.
It has been one year since Claudia died and they’re having another baby.