Vincent visits about once every ten years, give or take. By human standards, that seems very infrequent and very impersonal, which is accurate. Too bad they aren't humans, cause infrequent and impersonal is kind of how he prefers Vincent. For Baskervilles, once every ten years is like visiting at Christmas. Actually, Leo thinks of it exactly like that, like relatives invading your space for Christmas. Except less joy and less presents and thank god no holiday music. Vincent is sort of a relative too, in an abstract, 'we're the same species of unnatural abominations born to keep order in a world of overwhelming peace and prosperity so we really just while away our disgusting amount of time doing menial things' sort of way. It's homely, in the unflattering use of the term, and Leo handles it just as well as he handles Lottie's calls once a month, and the occasional picture from Lily. He doesn't really handle Doug's paintings well, so he can't add those to the list. They're too good, they're too real. He hides those away in the haunted room of his mansion, (he calls it that, entirely unashamed) where everything Nightray and Vessalius stay locked away, rarely to see the light of his gaze.
But back on point. That point being Vincent, and his once every (Christmas) ten years visits. One day, they change. Well, not really, but after that one, Vincent doesn't come back. That time, when Vincent shows up at his door unannounced (Sometimes he calls, because he's found that if he does Leo will have food ready like the dutiful master that he is. But Leo honestly has no idea if he like that food or not, because sometimes he calls and sometimes he doesn't.) Leo knows very well it is the last Christmas (ten years) they will have. It is not obvious to the naked eye, but he can see the shreading, the cracks in the fabric that is Vincent Nightray Baskerville's existence. Two chains has shortened his life, and Leo realizes with resignation that another one of his few physical memories is going to slip away. He doesn't even really like Vincent, but it is a sobering thought none the less. Leo insists (forces) that Vincent stay longer. That longer means three days, which is three times as much as their normal one (actually quite a bit more since their average is much smaller than 24 hours, but Leo doesn't count the hours he spends in people's presences, that would be silly and pointless, and is a very bad habit).
Vincent returns all the books he borrowed over the century, and then playfully admits that he didn't read any of them. Leo hits him, but then painstakingly tells Vincent about every book he lent him, chapter by chapter, plot by plot, science by science, history by history, fiction by fiction, because Vincent like to hear people talk (wrong, correction being the Vincent likes to hear SOME people talk. Leo happens to be one of them, though he has no idea why). They spend hours doing this. Vincent playfully teases him, tells him how handsome he's become over the years, (and without actually saying it, how dust and tangled hair and lack of sunlight suits him, but not really, just sort of) how well he's held up against the times and elements. Leo supposes that is all so. He's certainly done better than Gilbert, the poor wasting thing. Leo doesn't pine over dead people (every day) and Leo doesn't isolate himself (He has a pair of cats, that at some point turned into litter of cats, that at some point turned into a pack of cats, and now he owns the cat mansion. It's a legitimate thing that people call the place. He's actually caught people leaving their unwanted cats on his property. He might, or might not have gotten the cats to keep some mice out, but obviously one of them keeps coming back anyway. Not that he minds, but still! He also has a staff of five maids that he pays exceptionally well to keep the smell out and their mouths shut.) and Leo doesn't drown himself in books (He got tired of reading, actually, but that doesn't mean he doesn't still do it because he does, and sometimes he even likes it.) and Leo hasn't kept himself out of the modern era (because he has stalks that he likes to play with, and charities where he throws money away, and damn is modern candy delicious, and the internet is certainly made for porn in so many varieties, and he absolutely cried when NASA stopped their space program). No, Leo isn't like Gilbert at all, and Vincent basically says as much without saying it. They have an unspoken rule that they don't actually say Gilbert's name. (They also never call him the same thing, which makes it sort of a game 'Are you talking about Gilbert or someone new in your life? Oh it's just Gilbert again, keep going') They both know that he is handling this whole thing better than Gilbert is, but it isn't every day that Vincent even alludes to it. That day is different. Vincent is lively and playful and as lovely as Vincent gets (which is really not lovely at all, but on a scale of 'not lovely' to the 'antithesis of all that is lovely', 'not lovely' is higher.), and Leo almost finds the visit pleasing.
They have tea, and spend time talking, but also, they spend a lot of time not talking, which is equally as pleasant. Leo has his current favorite cat on his lap, purring up a storm, and Vincent just daintily drinks his tea. It is nice.
That evening, Leo cooks, and for once in his long torturous life, Vincent actually helps (that isn't really fair, because Vincent has helped a lot, Leo will admit that, but never in the kitchen, so it sort of is still valid). It turns out horrible, and instead of suffering through the horror of their joint venture, they order pizza. (The pizza delivery men love him, he leave them little notes every time that they come to bring this, or do that, or other outlandish things. He doesn't like being a master, because that is responsibility, but he's never gotten over ordering people around without obligation.) They can't agree on which pizza, so they end up getting two. And cheese bread. And those cinnamon things he likes. And Juice. And chicken wings. And Sprite. And lots and lots of ranch dressing. And he tells the driver to get him a red box movie of some sort, but they leave it up to him because they can't agree on that either, but in the end, they don't end up watching it. Instead they torrent the latest cool looking block buster with gore (no sex Leo is sad to say) and watch it in the movie room. They also complain about how actors these days are far too focused on their looks, and not their skills (they ogle the pretty actors anyway). They both also agree that Jurassic World (they aren't even watching that, but somehow it comes up) would legitimately be a fabulous idea and that they should both invest in it.
The three days sort of pass in that way. It is nonsense and they act like frat boys without the alcohol (because Leo has seen Vincent drunk and it is not pretty at all). They drive each other crazy, and they can't agree on anything, and Leo always wins the arguments, but it isn't any fun at all.
The three days pass too quickly.
At the end of the third day (the cats) Leo is almost ready to be rid of him for good. This was a decent way of going about it, as far as Leo is concerned. He and Vincent have never been friends, there's bad blood there, and there's something about Vincent that makes his skin crawl (it's actually the yellow eye, and not the red. He likes the red one) but as he stands on his porch, looking up at the stars with a glass of lemonade in his hand, long after Vincent has departed for the last time, Leo realizes that he is going to miss Vincent. Not as much as some of the people that have walked out of his life, but none the less, he will miss him. They live in these traps, where they live and breathe the same air as others for a time, before it turns poisonous, before that life is gone and the carbon dioxide that came out of their dying lungs eats him alive. He's gotten better at it, as old men do, but it doesn't make it easier, not really. He pets the cat in his lap with a sort of reverence, for the life she is living, the lives she will make, the love that she inspires in him. There are no choices for such things. He cannot be Gilbert, locking his door and keeping the world out. He can't do it, it isn't sane, and he refuses. He values the person that he is too much. He values the love that others gave him too much.
It's as he wanders back into his bedroom, long after Vincent is gone, that he notices the folder on his desk. He is positive it was not there before. It also has "For Master Leo" written on it in scrawling cursive red ink, which makes it disgustingly obvious. Leo thinks about throwing it away, but he takes that fatal leap, and cards through it. It is, and is not, what he expected.
This Elliot is four years old. He has pudgy cheeks, and pouts an awful lot. This isn't his Elliot, (because his is dead.) but this does seem to be an Elliot. He should put the pictures and information into his haunted room (where Vincent will now go) but he can't. This Elliot is still alive, still has his life to lead, and that is something special. This Elliot will never be his, he's old enough to know that, to accept that fact, but that is alright. This is a new, vibrant person that he would very much like to meet. This is one of many traps, but once again, Leo has no problem stepping right into it. The joy of living so long is that the world can continue to surprise you, just as much as it can hurt you. He gives it the chance to do both, time and time again.