Lestat looks ahead and Louis' gaze slides back to him. Feels the weight of their past summoned a little closer. What they did to each other in New Orleans. How it all came apart. How Claudia chose to free them. How Louis felt he'd smelled of Lestat's blood for days, weeks, months, spiraling into despair over what they had done.

He says nothing. They haven't spoken of New Orleans, or Paris. Louis has not spoken about Dubai. They are here. They are making something of the present.

Look where it got them. Louis breathes out, breath puffing white in the cool air. Abandons his study of Lestat in profile, contents himself with the link of their arms as he looks away, eyes falling to the pavement below their feet, the winding path ahead.

"I'm sorry I brought it with me."

Naive to think he could divert the eyes of the vampire world forever.

"I've liked this. Traveling with you both," winds quietly to: "I like seeing you well. And seeing him healthy again."

Is well the right word for Lestat? He is better than he was when they parted. The right choice, Louis thinks. Agonizing, but right for both of them. And see, here is Lestat, having found his way to Daniel and onto his feet with no assistance at all from Louis.