Chapter Text
Carlos stirs. Judging by the light streaming in from the open curtains—Carlos will have to remind Cecil again to stop opening them so early; it’s a wonder he managed to sleep so long with all the sunlight streaming in through the windows—it is around nine in the morning. Though it’s always hard to tell with Night Vale time, Carlos thinks he’s improved at estimating it.
He sits up, finds his glasses by the bedside table, and considers the conundrum of whether or not to put on pants. In the end, he ends up foregoing a pair of sweats. He’s sticky with sweat from last night; curse Cecil for being a cuddler. Even though temperatures can drop dramatically at night, Cecil’s penchant for sharing his body heat by snuggling up to Carlos at night always has him waking up too warm come morning. Not that Carlos really minds.
Alright, he’ll admit it, he loves cuddling with Cecil. It’s just that Carlos is pretty sure Cecil has a portable heater running in his chest or something. And this is Night Vale, so it’s quite possible.
He’ll have to take a shower after breakfast, a nice cold shower. Cecil will complain, of course, and demand to know how Carlos can possibly stand having the water so cold. Won’t he be shivering too hard to shampoo his perfect hair? And Carlos will reply that using cold water saves energy and their bill. Cecil will make a face; he’ll open his mouth to protest, think better of it, and stick his tongue out at Carlos instead. Carlos smiles. It’s a sign of just how domestic they’ve gotten that he can internally chart out Cecil’s reactions before they even happen.
For now, Carlos heads downstairs. Cecil always cooks breakfast, since he tends to get up at a ridiculously early hour, despite the fact that he doesn’t work until late. Carlos once suggested Cecil try having his show early and wishing his listeners a good morning instead of good night. Cecil looked scandalized and about ready to go on a lecture, so Carlos dropped it.
Nevertheless, Cecil is always cheery in the morning, and very rarely has an existential crisis cooking breakfast. When Carlos reaches the kitchen, Cecil looks up, catches Carlos’ eye and smiles. Carlos will never get over that look. Cecil’s eyes soften, his smile grows slowly across his face, and two dimples appear. There is something unquantifiable in that face, some component that no scientist and no person will ever understand. All Carlos knows is that it is the face Cecil has always made when he first catches sight of Carlos, and that Carlos thinks it’s the most beautiful expression he’s ever seen.
“Good morning Carlos,” Cecil says, “Breakfast is on the table.”
He gestures to something unidentifiable, but that is normal. It’s part of the fun of Cecil’s breakfasts to try to guess which ingredients went into it. Carlos still isn’t sure whether the breakfasts are the special only Night Vale kind or the only in Cecil’s kitchen kind, though he suspects the latter.
Carlos takes a seat at their small beat up two person table. Today’s breakfast is brown in color and looks very much like oatmeal, smells of cranberry and tastes like…cinnamon and potato chips?
Meanwhile, Cecil’s taken his seat to Carlos’ right. Carlos suspects that people who sit at two person tables usually sit on opposite ends, but that lasted all of two seconds after they had everything set up before Cecil insisted on moving his chair closer to Carlos. Carlos didn’t mind. This way they can eat breakfast and hold hands at the same time.
“How is it?” Cecil says, leaning in close, “There isn’t too much salt, is there?”
“It’s great,” Carlos says and smiles. Waits to see Cecil’s face light up again. It’s amazing how easy it is to win Cecil’s smile. Common items are less beautiful precisely because they are common. It’s why dirt is much less valued than gold. But somehow, no matter how many times Carlos sees that smile, he marvels at it. That he gets to witness that smile every day.
“The sunrise was lovely today.” Cecil says, matter-of-fact, attempting to look like he isn’t overjoyed and failing miserably.
“Really. What time?”
“Eight today. Eight o’ six, to be precise about it. I was paying attention, this time, to the minute hand.”
Carlos leans over and kisses Cecil’s cheek. “Brilliant. A whole twenty minutes later than yesterday. I wonder how this will fit in with the curve. I’m starting to think it’s a wave this week—but shit, now I’ve jinxed it. It’s probably overheard me and decided it wants to be an octahedron instead.”
Cecil giggles. “Oh Carlos, that’s a rooky mistake. But well, if it’s sentient enough to pick up on your speech, it’s possible it knows your thoughts too, so jinxing it was unavoidable. Anyway, with your beautiful mind, I’m certain you’ll figure it out again.”
Carlos just takes another bite of Cecil’s strange porridge. He suspects Cecil likes making breakfasts this mushy because it means Carlos won’t be doing a lot of chewing. He also suspects that Cecil is aware that he suspects that and does it anyway. Carlos is okay with this.
Precisely a half a second later, as Carlos is swallowing, Cecil tenses and whispers firmly. “Carlos, quickly. Behind me.”
Carlos has learned never to question a hardened Night Vale resident about these sorts of things. Even so, he’s not quite a native, and he’s opening his mouth to say “Huh?” or some equivalent before he realizes his mistake. He can ask questions later. For now Carlos jumps out of his chair, abandoning his breakfast, and darts behind Cecil. Cecil presses a kitchen knife into Carlos’ palm.
It is quiet except for their breathing. Silence in Night Vale is never a good sign.
“Carlos,” Cecil says, quietly, “Listen. If they’ve taken out the members of the Sherriff’s Secret Police currently watching our home you are in extreme danger. Just stay behind me. If something happens to me… Don’t use that knife unless you’re cornered. Otherwise, run.”
Cecil begins loading a gun, nimble fingers making short work of it. Carlos isn’t big on guns and he’s not sure what sort it is, but he is fairly certain it’s a shot gun of some sort.
“What’s going on?” Carlos whispers frantically, as Cecil places the last bullet into the chamber of his gun.
Cecil shakes his head. “Nothing good, that’s all I know. There haven’t been any calls to report breaking news this morning, so I’m in the dark.”
Then there is a series of knocks on the door. Three than one than two more. Cecil breathes a sigh of relief, and Carlos steps from behind him to get the door. It’s dangerous for Tamika to be out there for too long. Meanwhile, Cecil does a sweep of the apartment, just to make sure. Usually there are at least a couple new Strex bugs in between Tamika’s visits.
Tamika is dressed in a black hoodie and a dark gray skirt. When Carlos closes the door behind her, she takes off the hoodie, and reveals a pale pink T-shirt with sequins on it. He suddenly remembers he is in his boxers, and cringes, but Tamika isn’t looking at him.
She’s too busy watching Cecil for the all clear. He’s dropping a Strex bug into his tea; it dies with a sad little sizzle, and then he gives her the thumbs up.
“Ugh,” she says, “Getting tired of having to wear all these dull colors all the time.”
“Oh, god, I know.” Cecil says, shaking his head. “Daniel’s been outlawing outfits like crazy. Apparently he’s not a fan of kitten sweaters, but I just wear a new one every time I come in. I have plenty.”
Tamika smiles. Cecil’s methods of fighting back aren’t always orthodox, but they’re there, and she obviously approves. Carlos’ chest feels warm with pride.
“I don’t have much time,” says Tamika, “As much as I’d love to talk fashion with you Cecil. They’re getting better at tracking us. I'm sorry for startling you; I had to take someone out this time. They've raised the security around here again.”
Cecil sighs. “They’re better at hiding bugs too. But I still catch them every time. I didn’t get my ‘Alertness to Being Spied upon by Several Different Entities In the Knowledge that they Exist for our Protection’ badge in Scouts for nothing!”
“What do we need to know Tamika?” Carlos asks, before he can stop himself.
She turns to face him, and he tries very hard to pretend he doesn’t know his face is bright red. God dammit. He should have put on pants. “You’re not going to like this. Cecil won’t like it either. Akshara’s cracked their code again. She says Strex has a new plan of attack. They’re going after the weak link.”
“Fuck,” Cecil says, with such vehemence that Carlos jumps.
“Cecil, what does it mean?” Carlos asks, carefully. Cecil hardly ever swears, and when he does it’s because something really awful has happened. Or he’s stubbed his toe. Somehow, Carlos doesn’t think he’s swearing because of a physical injury.
“I should have known it wouldn’t take them long,” Cecil mumbles, “but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. Oh great unfathomable gods, I’ve made it worse by mentioning him so often.”
Tamika shakes her head. “It’s not your fault Cecil. Even if you stopped mentioning him, they would have gone through your old broadcasts and found him anyway. If anything, you’ve just sped things up a little.”
“Not to be rude,” Carlos says, “but can anyone explain to me what exactly is going on?”
“You’re the weak link,” Tamika says. “You’re an Outsider, with hardly any combat training. Plus you’re Cecil’s biggest weakness. Makes you the perfect target.”
“Oh.” Carlos says, “Right.”
There’s a pause. It seems strange, but Carlos isn’t afraid. He tries to be, but all he can seem to do is wonder why Strex didn’t think of this plan of action sooner.
“Cecil, stop wigging out or I’m throwing my copy of the Great Gatsby at your forehead.” Tamika says. “You’re lucky I like you, or it’d be The Complete Works of Shakespeare instead.
Carlos looks to Cecil. He’s visibly shaken, to the point where his skin seems to have lightened a few shades.
“Cecil, calm down.” Carlos says, leaning a little against Cecil’s side, attempting to reassure him without resorting to PDA in front of Tamika. “We’ll figure something out. I’ll be alright. I’ve survived for this long in Night Vale, haven’t I?”
Cecil does not look reassured. Instead, he looks grim and his face is locked in a serious frown. “Thank you, Tamika. For letting us know.”
“You two be careful, alright?” Tamika tells him, and then gives Cecil a quick hug. Carlos is not prepared for her to hug him as well, but once he’s gotten over his surprise, he hugs her back before she pulls away.
“And you. Don’t do anything stupid.” Tamika tells him. “Listen to Cecil. He’s got good instincts, unlike you.”
“Thanks.” Carlos grumbles, trying not to be too offended.
Tamika slips into her hoodie again, waves, and in the next second, she’s gone.
Cecil unloads the gun again, stows it away, and goes to sit heavily at the kitchen table. Carlos sets down the knife and follows. “Cecil,” He murmurs, unsure if Cecil’s in a mood where he won’t want comfort or if he’s going to leap up, hug Carlos, and never let go.
“I’m so sorry.” Cecil says, hanging his head. “Oh Carlos, I should never have aired that story about your heroic rescue of the tarantulas from the Teach a Spider to Read program. No matter how incredible you were combating those awful sentient wasps.”
“Spider wasps.” Carlos corrects, gently, because he just can’t help himself, and then he takes a seat by his boyfriend, leaves his hand hanging just slightly away from his body in case Cecil’s inclined to take it. “Cecil, I promise, this is not your fault. It was the logical choice to go after me. Honestly, I’m surprised it took them this long.”
“You have to leave,” Cecil mumbles, “Oh god, you’re going to have to leave. You have to go somewhere safe, come up with an excuse, right now, or it’ll be too late.”
“Cecil! I’m not leaving! I couldn’t abandon you and Night Vale in your hour of need!”
“Carlos, I appreciate your heroism, but this is not remotely the time.” Cecil snatches Carlos’ offered hand at last, but he glares at it like it’s personally offended him. “You have never been in more danger. We’ll have to stage a breakup or else they might follow you, or hide you so well they won’t be able to, but from the sound of things safe houses where you’re from don’t even have basic warding at all, so I have no idea where we’ll be able to find a decent one-”
“Cecil.” Carlos interrupts, raising his voice a little, “I’m not leaving. And there is no way I’m pretending to break up with you. I’m staying. Night Vale does not need anyone running out on it right now. What this town needs are people to stand up and fight this. Tamika’s army can’t win this thing alone, and they shouldn’t have to.”
He’s so impassioned, so determined to convince Cecil of the truth in his words that he doesn’t notice until after he’s finished speaking that Cecil’s been crying. Silently, shoulders shaking, so as not to interrupt Carlos. Carlos brushes gently at the tear tracks with the hand that isn’t currently being held hostage by Cecil’s grip.
“I may not be a Night Vale native. I may not have the training or the combat experience. But I can be useful. I can help. And you need all the help you can get.”
“I know.” Cecil says, softly. “Oh, Carlos, I know. I never meant to give you the impression that I thought you didn’t have any value for our cause. You and your fellow scientists would be invaluable, in fact. But my dear brave Carlos, you must understand. I can’t bear the thought of losing you. If you-If something were to happen, Carlos, I don’t know that I could take it. I’ve already nearly lost you once.”
“Cecil.” Carlos squeezes his boyfriend’s hand, kisses his tear-stained cheeks. “I’ll be alright. A scientist is always fine. That’s something a scientist always is, Cecil.”
“Oh.” Cecil replies, and flings his arm around Carlos.
They hold each other for quite some time before they return to breakfast.