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“Cecil?”
They made a point not to sit on the porch after the sun went down. It was one of the many prudent precautions they took around the house like salting all the dandelions and keeping a flame thrower under the couch. Tonight though, sensibility had been thrown out the window. Carlos had waited patiently in bed for an hour before realizing Cecil had long ago emerged from the bathroom and struck out for the porch swing.
Usually Carlos liked to admire Cecil in the moonlight. He had a beauty that was suited to the darkness, eased in among the shadows that sometimes clung to him. Tonight though, he was the picture of misery and there was nothing Carlos liked about that. It had been an especially traumatic day. Carlos had been preparing himself for some horrific nightmares and a new level to his already multifaceted PTSD. He was considering writing a paper on himself.
For some stupid reason, he hadn’t expected it to effect Cecil. In retrospect, he kicked himself over that. Of course it would upset him. It had been his thrashing body on the cheap carpet of the studio, bleeding out around Carlos’ trembling hands. It had been his strange organs twitching between shades of purple and green as the worm tried to devour his throbbing heart. It had been Cecil sewn inexpertly back together then mysteriously healed by a hideous and awesome angel that no one had ever seen before.
But Cecil always seemed to forget incidents like that. Or at the least, bury them. Pain and bizarre suffering slid off of his dusky skin to rot on the floor. Carlos, shaken and scared witless, had been the one to accept a hug and numerous kisses from Cecil in comfort. Foolish of him, he realized now.
In the moonlight, Cecil was the picture of despondency. He’d tucked his knees under his chin, eyes on some distant unknowable point and even his hair had gone limp despite it’s nocturnal freedom to roam.
“Cecil?” Carlos said again softly.
When Cecil turned at last, there was an unmistakable glitter to his eyes. Carlos sat down heavily beside him, put an arm over his shoulders and drew him close. He kissed the fragile slide of skin over Cecil’s temple.
“I’m so sorry.” He murmured. “I should have made sure you were okay. I should’ve asked.”
“I’m fine.” Cecil sniffed, rubbing his forehead against Carlos’ labcoat bathrobe.
“You nearly died. You don’t have to be fine.” Carlos pressed his lips to the top of Cecil’s head, burying his nose in the sweet ozone smell of him. “I’ve never been so scared.”
“It’s not that.” Cecil sighed. “It was...unpleasant. Not something I’d care to repeat which seems unlikely since you rendered the Devouring Interpersonal Worm Memos extinct.”
“I think.” Carlos muttered darkly. He’d kill them all again if he could. Twice. “So it wasn’t nearly dying that’s got you upset?”
“I was only a little nearly dead. I’ve had worse.” Cecil shrugged and Carlos tried not to think about that too hard. “It’s stupid.”
“If it’s got you this upset then I doubt that.” He rubbed up and down Cecil’s arm. “Talk to me.”
“Ugh. Fine.” Cecil sighed again, this one longer and even more melancholy. “It’s just...when I woke up and I felt something stirring in my stomach, I had such a...it was stupid. Very stupid.”
“What was stupid?”
“IthoguhtImightbepregnant.” Cecil said all in a rush.
“I...oh. Is that a possibility?” It wasn’t that Carlos thought male pregnancy was likely, but Cecil was probably only human in the loosest sense of the word, let alone confined to something as plebeian as a binary gender system.
“No.” Cecil said in that way only he could. The way that implied simultaneously that Carlos was the dumbest man alive, but also the most loveable. “Of course not.”
“Right. Of course not.” Carlos stroked through Cecil’s hair which listlessly tangled around his fingers. “But you were...you thought maybe you could be?”
“I told you it was stupid.” Cecil huffed. “I just wanted...I don’t know. We never talked about it, did we? And I thought it would be...I don’t know. Nice.”
“Nice.” Carlos repeated. “For you to have an unnatural pregnancy?”
“To have a child.” Cecil corrected. “With you.”
“I...oh.” Carlos stopped stroking, stopped breathing for a moment while he reorganized a baker’s dozen world views. “Oh. Well. I never really thought about having children, but if it’s something you want...”
“I never thought about it either. Not until this morning.” Cecil sat up a little straighter, his eyes clear and lovely and dark. “It’d be a terrible idea. We’d be awful at it. You don’t even know how to protect yourself from bus drivers and I’m busy all the time.”
“That’s true.” Carlos allowed because he had only had his first run in with a bus driver last week and how was he supposed to know that they bit off fingers for their fares? Sewing those back on had been excruciatingly difficult.
“Still though.” Cecil threw his long legs over Carlos’ thighs and curled up the way he always did when he was exhausted or annoyed with the world. As if Carlos could shield him from all of it, keep him safe when he felt exposed.
“I know, love.” Carlos held him close. “I know. But we shouldn’t.”
They wound up at the Night Vale Orphanarium, Planetarium and Used Car Lot Compound at the end of the week anyway.
“Just to look.” Cecil insisted. “Because it’s a terrible idea.”
Carlos only nodded. The Compound squatted on the outskirts of town, uncomfortably close to the Whispering Forest and his attention was mostly on the encroaching treeline. It didn’t surprise him that the building took up so much space. There were a lot of things in Night Vale that created orphans.
“May I help you?” A pleasant elderly lady sat behind a desk. A python curled on the desk in front of her, tongue flicking lazily.
“We wanted to see the children.” Cecil reached out to grab Carlos’ hand. “Just to look.”
“Oh my, are you Cecil? I would recognize that voice anywhere. I listen to your broadcast every night. My name is Anthea the Orphanmaster, I called in with the recipe for Blackbird Cheery Pie last week!” She got to her feet, shoving the python out of the way. It hissed disconsolately and stared at Carlos.
“Don’t look at me. He does that to everyone.”
After several embarrassing minutes of fawning that Cecil took with good grace, Anthea led them down a dark twisting hallway into the bowels of the earth and then back up again into a huge glass dome.
“We generally let the children out free range.” She told them, gesturing around at the tall trees and eyes glittering in the dark beyond. “Lessons are informal until they’re old enough to go to school. All of them are ready for adoption immediately. Just let me know if you’re taking one on the way out.”
Carlos waited until she’d left to ask, “That’s it? We just...take one?”
“No.” Cecil said in that special tone. “You have rename them first or they won’t come with you.”
“I-” Carlos followed after Cecil. “But what if someone sinister took one?”
“Then the python or Anthea would have eaten them before they got this far. That’s what an Orphanmaster is for. Honestly. Sometimes I wonder about your education.”
“It’s more complicated where I come from.” It was a nearly pointless defense by now, but Carlos still repeated it. “I don’t see any of them.”
“I hear something up ahead. A group of them.” Cecil loped down a stone path, hands tucked casually in the pockets of his cow spotted pants.
Carlos jogged to catch up, scanning the trees as they went. As they grew closer, Carlos could hear it too. It was the ordinary buzz of small children, their voices rising and falling. The path widened into a clearing.
“Good afternoon.” Cecil said cheerily.
The entire village stopped moving. And it was a village complete with rough dwellings, a cook fire in the middle of the square and dozens of occupants. Most of the teenagers had rudimentary weapons or in one case, an extremely sophisticated crossbow. The younger children were engaged in a Scotchop game that Cecil had tried to teach Carlos a few months ago. It seemed to require some sixth sense that Carlos lacked, but they’d had sex on the mussed chalkboard afterward so losing hadn’t stung much.
“What do you want?” A lanky teenage girl stepped forward. She wore a girl scout’s uniform with a violently purple sash covered in bloodstone patches.
“We’re investigating our options.” Cecil smiled winningly at her.
“Oh my God.” The girl dropped her spear. “Are you Cecil?”
“Um. Yes?”
All of the teenagers flooded together, some of them already clutching the infamous Night Vale Community Radio Intern Application, recognizable from the Station Management’s horrible signature. Cecil beamed at them as they swarmed.
Carlos wandered over to the Scotchhop game. He watched three rounds of chanting and observed at least four near fatal accidents, but they all seemed to right themselves the moment before catastrophe converged. One boy twisted the same way Cecil would, ducking to miss an arrow shot by his nose.
“Are you taking notes?” A small voice asked him.
“Um. No.” He stashed away his very illegal pen and very very illegal pad. It was habit more than anything and he hadn’t even realized he’d begun to scratch out familiar patterns. Scotchop reminded him suspiciously of a specific demon summoning ritual.
“You were.” The voice said smugly. “It’s okay. I won’t tell.”
“I thought tattletelling was mandatory.” Carlos located the speaker down around his knees.
She was about six years old with two stubby red pigtails and skin that was more freckle then pale. Her glasses were neon green and there appeared to be a tiny laser mounted on the left lens.
“You shouldn’t do everything they tell you.” She flashed him a smile. One of her canines was longer than the other.
“But you should do most of them.” He squatted down until they were the same height. Her eyes were brown, nearly the same shade as his own, except for a tiny gold fleck dancing in one pupil. “It’s a dangerous world out there.”
“I know.” She fished in her pocket and pulled out a small vial. “That’s why I carry hydrochloric acid.”
“Where did you get that?”
“I made it. With this.” From the other pocket, she issued a complex combination of paperclips, chewing gum and scrap metal.
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you!” She picked up a stray rock and dropped it into a slot. “Watch! Are you watching?”
“I’m watching.”
She pressed down on the makeshift trigger which started a grinding rotation of motion. After a second, it flung the rock with startling speed past Carlos’ ear and into the trees. In the distance something cracked.
“It took me three tries to get it to work right.” She said solemnly. “Isn’t it cool?”
“It’s awesome.” He sat down on the grass. “Tell me how you got it to work.”
By the time Cecil wandered over, she was sitting in Carlos’ lap with the jerry rigged gun nearly reassembled between them with a few improvements. They added a stick for stability, twine to increase the velocity and a bit of pink paint for aesthetic purposes.
“You’ve got paint on your forehead.” Cecil laughed kneeling down beside them. Apparently talking to the children had excited him, his hair dancing around his cheeks.
“We’re reverse engineering.” Carlos explained. “How many new interns did you recruit?”
“Future interns. We can only take eighteen and over for legal reasons. But enough.”
“Carlos, look.” She tugged at his collar. “It’s all finished.”
“Let’s show Cecil.”
Cecil was duly impressed by the improved firing.
“It uses any kind of ammunition.” Carlos tried not to get too excited. It was only a little girl’s toy after all. “Like a blunderbuss.”
“I wouldn’t mind having one.” Cecil looked down at the little girl, who was watching them both now with a sort of wistful sadness. “I like your dress.”
“Thank you.” It was really more of a sort of armor, overlapping straps of leather and metal. There was a large flower picked out in studs on the chest. “The Sheriff's Secret Police's Sunshine and Birthday Club donated it last year.”
“The annual Orphanarium, Planetarium and Used Car Lot Compound Charity Drive. I always donate canned goods.” Cecil said apologetically.
“I like beans.” She smiled tentatively. “Did you send those?”
“I might have.” Cecil glanced up at Carlos, mouth in a thin line. It was the same evaluating look he always gave right before he wanted to do something...very Night Vale. Carlos gave him the same return look he always did. One he hoped read ‘Really? What could scare me off at this point?’.
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t for Cecil to begin snoring. Or at least issuing that same barely there vibrating tone he gave off when he was asleep. Carlos had assumed that Cecil wasn’t aware of it or least couldn't control it. He liked it when Cecil proved him wrong.
The girl watched Cecil carefully, head cocked and listening. The other children stopped what they were doing, waiting in careful silence. The base of Carlos’ spine began to itch.
Then the little girl’s pigtails twitched. She smiled to show off her sharp tooth and hummed right back at Cecil at the same exact pitch. It was weaker than Cecil’s and faded quickly, but it was clear.
“My mother’s name was Boudica.” Cecil reached up to slide his fingers through Carlos’. For once, Carlos understood him immediately.
“My grandmother’s name was Luna.”
“Boudica Luna.” Cecil said firmly. “Would you like to come home with us?”
She let out an ungodly screech and threw herself at Cecil, toppling them both to the ground. Carlos couldn’t be sure, but he thought she might have licked Cecil’s face a few times before springing to her feet and launching herself into Carlos’ arms.
“Woah, easy.” He laughed hugging her close. She fit there, just like Cecil did. Fit so well that he carried her all the way back through the tunnels and the entire duration of Anthea’s painful small talk even though he really had to work more on his upper body strength.
They had to do a lot of shopping that afternoon. Boudica parted reluctantly with her armor, but took to jeans with a surprising amount of affection despite Cecil’s obvious horror.
“She has your fashion sense.” He despaired when she forwent a rack of tunics for a Batman t-shirt.
“There are worse things.” Carlos laughed.
They ate lunch at the mall food court, Boudica ruthlessly chewing through three nearly raw steaks and ignoring all other options. Carlos started planning on how to sneak vegetables into her diet. Bleeding mushrooms might do the trick.
“A bed!” Cecil cried out when they were almost ready to leave. “A nightstand! There’s no place for her to sleep or put her pre-sleep glass of mandatory Ecto-Cooler. Toothbrushes! Hairbrushes! Hair ties! Tie brushes!”
By the time they made it back to the house they were all exhausted. Boudica, now hanging off Cecil’s back, kept yawning hugely though her eyes stayed valiantly open. The bed, an ebony affair with undercarriage death traps, had arrived assembled in a rare incident of accidental competence. Cecil put the sheets on while Carlos shepherded Boudica through teeth, hair and tie brushing.
Out of the pigtails, her hair didn’t cling or dance. Though when Carlos ruffled it, it twitched once afterward. Apprently returning to its default style of a side part and flopping into her left eye. The one with the gold fleck.
“Do you want it back?” He reached tentatively for a hair tie.
“Um.” She glanced up at him and then away again.
“You can wear it any way you like. Cecil wears his back, but I like mine down. Whatever you want.”
“Down.” She said firmly. “I hate pigtails. I only had them because they made me.”
“Down it is.”
Under the August the Fluffy Salamander themed bedding, she looked smaller somehow. More vulnerable. They had someone else to protect now, Carlos realized and it scared him straight to the bone.
“Do you want me to leave a light on?” He hovered his hand near the switch, casting a nervous glance to where Cecil loomed in the doorway.
“No.” She bit her lower lip. “Um. But.”
“Whatever it is, just ask.” Carlos offered. “Truly.”
“I...can you tell me a story?”
“He can.” Cecil confirmed. “He’s very good with explaining things.”
“I don’t know any proper stories though.” He wanted to apologize, but really fairy tales didn’t come up that often in his line of work. Or they hadn’t. “I know some history. Outside history.”
“Like what?” She asked.
“Well there’s your name.” He cast his memory back to the strange class in the sub-basement of the Chemistry department. History for Scientists taught by a hunched old man, who sometimes lapsed into Latin for no reason. “Do you know who Boudica was?”
“Cecil’s mother?”
“Well, yes.” Carlos grinned. “But she was a famous warrior too. The queen of Iceni.”
“Who were the Iceni?” Her eyes went wide.
So Carlos told her about the Romans and the Britons. About Boudica and her massacres. He didn’t go into detail, less concerned about the gore and more that she might get ideas. Cecil sat beside him at some point, resting his chin on Carlos shoulder. Eventually their Boudica fell asleep and Carlos trailed off into silence. She didn’t snore, but she did tuck herself small and keep her hand clenched around her little unloaded gun.
“What have we done?” Cecil asked, half-terrified, half-ecstatic. “We have a daughter.”
“We do.” Carlos swallowed hard. “We need a list. Or I do. You need to tell me how school works here and what she need to protect her from and what we can-”
“I’ll teach you.” Cecil wrapped arm around his waist. “And you’ll show her science and how to save the world.”
“I think she can figure that out all by herself.” He shook his head. “She’ll need you more than me.”
“No.” Cecil nipped at him, warning and kind. “You’ll take care of her. Love her. Differently that I will.”
“You’re very good at loving.”
“I’m obsessive and blinded.” Cecil said with a two-toned laugh. “Beautiful, perfect Carlos. Who loves with both eyes open.”
“Gorgeous, extraordinary Cecil. If there wasn’t you then I wouldn’t love at all.”
“Ew.” Boudica opened one eye. “Trying to sleep here. Go be gross somewhere else.”
“Right.” Carlos flushed. “Of course. Good night.”
“Good night, Boudica.” Cecil sang. “Good night.”
They crept out into the hallway and back into their own room. It was unchanged from this morning which seemed wrong. Everything should be different now. They curled together just the same, clingy hair and fingers from Cecil, noisy yawns and possessive legs from Carlos.
In the morning Carlos woke up early as he always did. He made coffee as he always did. He even went and sat on the porch as he always did and waved at the hooded figure with it’s trailing sedan. The hooded figure didn’t wave back, but the men in the sedan did. Except today, Boudica had come out from her room and he had brushed her hair again while the coffee percolated. He’d given her a glass of milk and they sat on the porch swing together. She’d waved back at the men in the sedan.
“Blasphemous Daystar.” Cecil cursed, not long after, sliding into the space on Carlos’ other side.
“Good morning!” Boudica grinned up at him.
“There’s two of you.” Cecil groaned, burying his face in Carlos’ neck. “Morning people. Ugh.”
“Is he always like this?” Boudica asked, giggling.
“Until nine or so.” Carlos winked at her. “We’ll just have to get by without him until then.”
“I can hear you.” Cecil grumbled.
A siren sounded in the distance, a primal wail criss-crossing the silence. Boudica sat up and howled right back, looking altogether too pleased with herself.
“Ugh. No loud noises until Daddy wakes up.” Cecil groaned. “Rule one.”
Carlos held his breath while Boudica considered this. Presumably she’d had a father once. And a mother. They’d have to ask one and he wasn’t looking forward to the doubtless horrific explanation. Did they even have therapists in Night Vale? They probably just reprogrammed them. He added another ‘Children’s Psych Textbooks’ to his ‘Buy while Out of Town’ mental list.
“I can wait.” She eventually decreed, leaning back against Carlos.
“You don’t have to call either of us Dad.” He ventured. “If you don’t want to.”
“Okay.” Boudica said in the same exact tone Cecil used. The one that implied simultaneously: you’re the dumbest man alive, but also the most loveable. “Papa.”
There was nothing for it, but to put his arm around her. They’d get up and make breakfast soon. Carlos had almost perfected the wheat-free waffle and won the last three fights with the oven, so he had high hopes. For now though, they swayed together on the porch swing in a motion as old as time and new as the dandelion at the edge of the driveway, showing off its blood stained teeth.