The usual disclaimers: I don't own the characters, I don't make money from them

Somewhere in Dreamland

~gairid

14 juin, 2000

(Takes place several months after Louis and Lestat were reunited and after they left Night Island.)

I watched him, as I spoke to the doorman on the telephone. Clothed in a pair of snug...no, make that *tight* dove gray trousers, made of some shiny, synthetic material, and a collarless black shirt. Black boots on his feet. As I spoke, he gathered his hair back, tying it with a bit of black silk. I hung up the phone, and he smiled at me.

"Stop scowling, Mon Cher, and do run a brush through that mane of yours. Is the car ready?"

"He's bringing it around now," I said, raking my hands through my hair a few times. "I don't *need* a brush. And I wasn't scowling."

He drew me close, his lips brushing mine in a slow, intimate kiss. I slid my hands down to cup his taut buttocks, enjoying the feel of him in the sleek pants he wore.

"Where did you get *these* Mon Couer? They are perfect on you."

I licked him behind the ear, and he made no answer, wriggling out of my grasp, and moving to the door.

"Time to go, Mon Grande Lion." He said. I followed him into the hall.

We had arrived in New York several days earlier and had exhausted ourselves for several nights in the bedroom of the penthouse we owned on Central Park South. Louis had decided a night out was in order.

It was early yet. He gestured me into the car, and give instructions to the driver to bring us to the East Village. He joined me, settling comfortably next to me, his fingers interlaced with mine. There was no hint in his demeanor resembling the passionate creature that seemed to have remained behind in the penthouse.

The driver dropped us off midway down St. Marks' Place, and I told him that we would call him on his cell phone when we needed him. Louis took my hand and we walked. The narrow, old-fashioned streets were thronged with people, and the mood was high. Many of the shops were still open though it was past nine. The little sidewalk cafes were crowded with mortals eating and drinking and enjoying themselves. Music issued from the doorways of the bars, jazz, rock and roll, techno. The evening was pleasantly warm.

I looked at Louis as we walked, and he met my glance, smiling. We left the bustle of St. Marks and walked east.

"Where are we going, Louis?" I asked. He released my hand and slipped his arm about my waist, drawing me close, so that were walking hip to hip.

"Have you ever seen the Williamsburg Bridge from East River Park Mon Cher?" He asked.

"No. I don't believe I have. When did you?"

"Years ago, Lestat. When you were asleep. It's a beautiful old bridge."

When I was asleep. We rarely speak of that. When I asked him what he’d done during that time, he always told me that it didn't matter, that he went through those years frozen. I never pressed him on this, although it niggles at me when I think of the years he spent with Armand. I shook my head to clear it.

Although the walk is many blocks long, we were there fairly quickly. The park was well lit and clean, but there were still some furtive types moving about. We ignored them for they are no threat to us. We walked to the wall that overlooked the river, coming out from beneath a canopy of trees. The bridge was before us its’ cables strung with lights, the huge turrets dark against the sky. We let go of each other to lean upon the wall, still close enough to remain touching

. "It *is* beautiful." I remarked. Louis stood at my right side, and I could see the bridge beyond him, his face bathed in the glow of its lights his black hair lifting in the breeze off the river. He turned to me, and brushed his lips softly across my jaw, slipping his arm back around me.

He laid his head upon my shoulder with a little sigh of contentment. I knew how he felt. We have these little moments together where simple touch speaks volumes. I moved so that my back was to the wall, and drew him into my arms, pressing his face to my neck as I stroked his hair lovingly.

"What are you thinking, Lestat?" He asked, his fingers playing with the buttons of my shirt.

"I was thinking that I wish I had been with you the first time you saw this bridge. I *should* have been. We should never, never have been apart."

He raised his head from my shoulder, and kissed the corner of my mouth

"No, we should not have. But we have each other now, my love."

He moved away from me, taking my hand again. We walked together along the river promenade, watching the lights on the inky water, barges slipping by in the dark.

He spoke again, as we moved through the velvet darkness.

"I was here, Lestat, in 1905. I walked through this city as it was then, numbed. Mourning you. Armand, he was there, yes, though more often than not I barely noticed. I know that I passed words with him, though I would not be able to tell you about what. Strange, as I can remember everything that has ever passed between the two of us."

He paused to rub his head against my shoulder as we walked along.

"This bridge was here then, still new, and one of the larger things on the horizon. This little park was here then too. I would come here sometimes, and just gaze at the bridge, at the turrets and the dark sweep of the cables. It was not lit in this manner then, you know."

He looked at me, his eyes serious.

"I always came here alone. When I would come here, I could think about you and somehow, Lestat I knew that you were not lost to me. If you were, I would have *known*."

I remained quiet for once, letting him speak. I knew so little about that time.

"Back then there was an amusement park on Coney Island, in Brooklyn. It was called Dreamland and Lestat it was a beautiful place. The lights outshone the lights of Manhattan, at that time. Every building was outlined with light, designed with light in mind. Right next to it was Luna Park where there was a huge observation tower, equipped with two powerful searchlights, bright enough at that time to confuse the ships coming into New York Harbor. The lights could be seen fifty miles out to sea they were so brilliant.... humans were so entranced with electricity then. But this place... there was a magical quality about it. Like this bridge, it somehow made me feel better, that I would not have it in me to appreciate the beauty of it if you were gone from me forever. I am sorry that we could not have walked hand in hand through that human marvel together, Mon Cher."

I found myself speechless for the moment, and in answer to his memory, I pulled him close, hugging him tightly. I, too, wish I could have been here. I felt him sigh.

"Tell me more about it, Louis." I murmured.

"I would go to Brooklyn some nights, and look across Sheep's Head Bay. That part of Brooklyn was little more than a fishing village at that time. The tenements filled with the hordes of foreigners had not yet pressed outward to that place. It was quiet there at night, and much darker than it is now. There were small fishing boats there, and I would go and sit on the bow of one or another, looking across at Coney Island. It was so beautiful...the light streaming from it, reflected, glittering on the water. That huge tower with its searchlights...it blazed with light, lights in fantastical patterns on the sides, the entire building outlined in fire. The sweeping roller coaster also rimed in lights. Every building on that little island seemingly bathed in fire. I could hear the voices and the music coming from there, and the constant rolling of the surf on the beach across that bay. Dreamland and Luna Park, both ablaze. They were competitors, those parks. Perhaps that was why they strove to light the night sky as had never been done before."

He drew back from me, and looked into my eyes.

"I thought often looking across the bay, that you would have loved the sight of it. It was so outrageously over the top. I went to that place to mingle with the hordes of people there only once. There were wild animals roaming loose, elephants and zebras. People from all over the earth...a whole village of Eskimos on display, and a tribe of Somalian warriors. Re-enactments of the Boer War and Custer's Last Stand. Things unheard of in the time we were mortal men. And walking through there, alone, I could picture your reactions to these marvels, your delight at the blaze of light and color, the stream of humans that broke around me."

"When you were gone from me, Lestat, you were all I could think of with any sort of coherence. In that place, I felt as if I had fallen into some sort of dream. Thinking on it now, I realize you were still awake...you had not yet gone to the earth. But I didn't know that *then*"

We gazed at one another. I could clearly picture the things he described to me. It was as though he had held that in his heart to show me one day. We sat down on one of the benches that lined the path/

"Louis…I have not told you how very sorry I am for the mistakes I made…for my treatment of you…"

Once again, my emotions threatened to overwhelm me. This had happened to me often since we had come together again. It left me feeling both frightened and exalted. He stopped the flow of my words with a passionate kiss.

When he released me I was gasping, and my eyes were blurred with tears. He licked at them.

"There are not tears enough to wash away the pain we have suffered, Lestat nor are there words to describe how I felt when I knew you were looking for me. I have always loved you, and that will not change."

He took the phone from my pocket and called the driver to dismiss him for the night. I looked at him curiously. He smiled, and rose from the bench extending his hand to me.

"I thought it might be nice to walk back, Lestat." He said. But first…would you dance with me?"

I cocked my head.

"Here?"

He nodded, and I went into his arms. He began to sing.

Louis’s clear, beautiful singing voice was always a delight to me, though I had heard it but rarely in the old days. We moved together beneath the susurrating trees.

The lyrics were old-fashioned, innocence from another time.

Once again, that overwhelming feeling, like drowning. I burrowed under the dark fall of his hair.