Chapter Text
The first thing he's done every morning for the past few weeks is draw back the curtains of the window overlooking the front lawn, and peer outside to see what had changed this time. Yesterday it had been the small garden gnome, who had vanished only to returned later that night with his signature fishing hat replaced with a bear trap oozing green liquid. The day before that, their prized Venus fly trap, Margaret, had begun to slowly change colors, and seemed to be nuzzling flies that flew by instead of quickly snapping them up, as was supposed to be her nature.
Today he notices the Dogwood out on their front lawn has sprouted patches of fur...not unlike that of an actual dog. If he listens closely, he swears he can hear it panting under the hot sun. He chuckles at this, because he'd never figured the town would have such an ironic sense of humor.
Having lived there for over a year now, Carlos is accustomed to the abrupt changes and mysterious occurrences of Night Vale. He has come to accept that very little stays the same, and that constants are as scarce as the presence of wheat and wheat by-product. That had been the most difficult thing to get used to when he'd first moved. Carlos enjoys consistency in his life, which is why Night Vale seemed so foreign and dangerous at first.
Then came the voice. The rich, soothing tone that filled his ears at the exact same time every day, bringing him news and community calendars and sudden reports and the weather. Cecil. He is a constant. The only constant Carlos can depend on. He knows that every evening Cecil would speak to the town and inform them on things they needed—and from time to time were actually forbidden—to know. Soon that knowledge expands, and Carlos learns that after Cecil finishes speaking to the town, he comes back home and speaks to Carlos specifically, informing him of how beautiful and perfect he is in a voice that whispers words meant only for him.
And every morning that same voice waltzes down the stairs (exactly as it was doing now), jubilantly wishing him a good morning as a pair of strong and gentle arms clasp around his waist. A chin perches on his shoulder, and together he and Cecil gaze out into the early streets of Night Vale, wondering just how everything came to be as it is here, and not particularly caring knowing that they both have each other to keep themselves sane.
"Dear Carlos, I do believe we've found a stray Dogwood."
"It was probably drawn to the house last night. I told you not to leave the window open during our bedtime. Your whine is high enough to be considered a dog whistle."
The scientist's snide-ness earns him a nibble on his ear.
And Cecil's coy-ness provokes Carlos's hand to ever so lightly run up his knee, up, up, until it caressed his face. He shivers with pleasure.
"I actually prefer cats," Cecil nips at Carlos's collarbone, "but I wouldn't want to hurt the tree's feeling."
"I could tell you were more of a cat person," Carlos traces the chiseled lines of Cecil's torso, smirking as they flex beneath his touch, causing the other man to sigh. "You purr just like one."
And then after flirting a few moments more, the two kiss, just as they do every morning. First slowly, savoring each other, for they have been separated by sleep for what seemed like an eternity. Then gradually, it becomes deeper, more passionate, their lips merging together until they are practically one. Cecil sweeps up Carlos, breathes out some comment about his perfection, and goes back to devouring as he brings him into the kitchen.
It's sort of what you'd find in a sappy romantic movie, Carlos thinks as Cecil places him onto the kitchen counter where they both laugh and hold each other, foreheads touching, smile to smile. But he likes that. It's a constant for both of them. And Cecil is just so damn gorgeous in the morning, how could he resist?
But such repetitive activity made it easier to notice when something was different. Carlos can't tell for sure, but it seems as though Cecil is tired. Not of their routine, but like he's ill. Even his forehead felt warmer than usual. That was strange. In his mind, it never really registered to Carlos that Cecil could become ill like regular people...then again, Cecil isn't like regular people. Cecil might not even be classified as a person.
He'll feel better after we eat, Carlos decides, and with one last peck on the cheek he slides off the counter and goes to the fridge.
Just like every morning, Carlos takes out the egg carton, grabs the ceramic squirrel salt and pepper shakers that Cecil bought for him on a whim one day, and decides what kind of eggs to make. They always have eggs for breakfast because Carlos is the one who cooks in the morning and eggs are the only thing he can successfully make without burning. Cecil usually makes the other meals in the house.
"Scrambled, fried, or do you want to be fancy and have omelets?"
"Well if you're offering omelets, then how could I refuse?" Cecil replies. His voice is soothing as always and...is it a little bit raspy as well?
Carlos frowns a little as he cracks eggs into a bowl and whisks. "Cec," he calls over his shoulder, pronouncing the nickname as he would the word "cease", "Cec, d'ya mind throwing those eggshells in the trash compactor?"
"Assist the master chef?" Cecil asks, feigning surprise, "of course!" He's just as playful as ever, so maybe Carlos is just imagining something wrong. Although, did he just wince as he got up?
You worry too much, everything’s fine. Focus on making breakfast.
And everything does seem fine for about a minute before there’s a quick whirring sound followed by: “Crapcrapcrapcrap crap!"
Carlos quickly turns and to witness Cecil with knees bent holding up two hands as if defending himself from the blender in front of him. He slowly looks over his shoulder and sees Carlos staring at him anxiously.
He gives his partner a sheepish smile. "Heh, the ah...I got dizzy for a second and I mistook the blender for the trash compactor." He immediately retrieves the bashed up shells and throws them in the correct place. "That would have gotten messy considering if you blend anything other than fruit in this thing; a black void opens up in the ceiling. I think the guy who specializes in that retired to the Whispering Forest a few weeks ago."
And then he gives a small laugh that turns into a cough.
And then Carlos is officially concerned.
Because this is not like every morning.
He goes up to Cecil and places the back of his hand to his forehead. He hadn't been imagining it the first time: It's definitely warmer than normal.
"Cecil, why don't we go and sit down?"
The concern laced through Carlos's voice does not go unheard by Cecil. "Is something wrong? Carlos, as devastatingly cute as you are with your eyebrows scrunched together—"
"Are you okay?"
Cecil smirks. "You're sitting in front of me, aren't you?"
"I'm being serious now. How are you feeling? I mean, you've been all kinds of sick this morning: forehead hot, voice raspy, and now you're having dizzy spells." Carlos searches Cecil's face as he speaks. It's both a nervous habit and a way to make sure nothing new suddenly appears. "As a scientist I'd say those are the symptoms of some sort of virus."
"Wouldn't that be up to a doctor?"
"Who do you think creates medicines for doctors?"
"Carlos, my troubled Carlos," Cecil chuckles and reaches across the table for the scientist's hand, "you really do care." The look he's receiving is almost unbearably cute. He understands Carlos is truly worried for him, but at the moment he can't help but daydream about leaning over and kissing those lips that are now being bitten in concern.
"Well whatever's wrong with you, it obviously hasn't messed with your sex drive." Carlos has noticed Cecil beginning to space out on his face. He smiles. Even if he is sick, Cecil's personality remains constant no matter what.
One question is still nudging the back of Carlos's mind. "Cec...can you even get sick? Normal sick?"
That was a good question. Cecil tilts his head pensively. He hasn't gotten sick in a while, hell maybe ever. He vaguely recalls catching laryngitis when he was young, but the next day he woke up with the deep voice that the Night Vale community radio audience has come to know and love. He wouldn't call that an illness so much as a gift.
"In my experience, sickness doesn’t affect me the same way as most people.”
A small weight lifts from Carlos's mind. Cecil is going to be okay. If illness doesn't affect him normally, then what's to worry about? Still, Carlos wants to make sure this doesn't turn into something more serious. "Why don't you stay home today? I'm sure you just need some extra rest. A day off of work won't kill you, right?"
Carlos obviously still hasn't gotten a chance to meet Station Management. Even with the potential consequences, Cecil considers staying home to give Carlos some peace of mind. But who would fill in? The latest intern, intern Nathan, had quit yesterday after only 14 hours. He had been pale and shaky all day, and left a note of resignation saying something about insanity and animal cruelty. Apparently he didn't like the fact that the station pet Koshak was a cat suspended in the air. Ah well, to each his own.
"As tempting as a day off with you sounds, I have to go in. You understand, don't you?"
Carlos sighs. He assumed Cecil would say something like this. Although the scientist knows Cecil loves him, he'd had his job long before he'd had Carlos. "Fine. I'm coming with you. I want to make sure nothing happens to you off air when no one can hear you."
Cecil's eyes grow wide with excitement. "Ooh, this'll be fun!" He flashes a big grin, the kind that shows off his sharp incisors that Carlos often teases him about being "vampire teeth."
"It's settled then, sick boy." Carlos is relieved Cecil is so enthusiastic about this offer. "I'll call into work. I'm keeping a close eye on you today." He gets up to turn on the stove and cook the eggs that have since been abandoned.
Cecil gets up as well, stretches and lets out a tremendous yawn. He stands behind Carlos; hands on the other man's shoulders as he watches him expertly fold the omelets. "So, since you're taking care of me today, are you going to wear a cute nurse's outfit?"
Carlos rolls his eyes. "Definitely not in public, but if you're feeling better tonight well..." He scoops up the first omelet with his spatula—plain, nothing inside for him—and turns to tap Cecil on the nose. "Plate please."
"Of course, Doctor."
See, he's teasing. He's fine.
Carlos wishes he could believe himself.
-:-
It happens during the weather.
Carlos is in Cecil's booth, sitting across from him and looking around. Cecil has placed plastic glow-in-the-dark stars on his black ceiling so that they form an eye, with a crescent moon in the center as the iris. They mirror the sky of Night Vale come evening, something Carlos has become used to and even fond of. Another constant is fine by him.
Other than this little bit of decor and the "On Air" sign in the top right corner, the booth is pretty much empty with deep purple walls and a concrete floor. There's a small sound board in front of Cecil filled with various buttons and small switches so he can cue any sounds or recorded announcements he may use during his show. In front of both him and Carlos are two vintage microphones, which the scientist absolutely adores.
"It's so different being inside the studio instead of just listening to the sounds that come out of it over the radio," Carlos observes.
"And it's so different having you inside the studio, because now when I talk about you I can do it to your face." Cecil winks and gives a gentle kick to his partner's foot under the table.
The door to the booth opens and the intern—a new girl named Lacy—pokes her head in. "Ready, Mr. Baldwin?
Cecil gives a thumbs up, and with that, the "On Air" sign turns red.
"Shut your doors, turn off the lights, hide under the covers and close your eyes. Now, let my voice guide you as we search for whatever it was you lost last week. Welcome to Night Vale!"
Carlos closes his eyes and lets Cecil's voice wash over him. He absolutely adores listening to him on the radio, because his radio voice is the thing that made Carlos fall for him in the first place. It's deep and booming and never changing. Beautiful. Just like its owner.
After a few seconds of the show's introductory tune, Cecil begins speaking again. "Night Vale, you're not gonna believe this. Guess who's with me in the studio as we speak? Carlos! Yes, my beautiful, perfect haired, fantastic Carlos is sitting across from me as I speak, listeners! You see, this morning I wasn't feeling too well, and so Carlos, my worrisome Carlos, decided to come with me to work to keep an eye on me."
Carlos can't help but smile. The way Cecil talks about him reminds him of a teenage girl. It's adorable. Throughout the broadcast he shares quick, loving gazes and winks with Cecil as his rich tone seeps into the microphone and through the speakers of every radio in town.
For the most part he seems fine. He shivers a few times as though he's cold, and then moments later wipes beads of sweat off of his brow as if he's boiling hot. Carlos also notices he's becoming increasingly pale.
Maybe the vent system is screwy. He's talking, he's happy, relax.
Carlos wishes he hadn’t trusted himself.
A minute after announcing the weather, Cecil's content expression falls and he begins breathing heavily.
Carlos hears and breaks his gaze from the starry ceiling to see Cecil clutching his head with one hand as the other claws furiously at his tie to loosen it, as if it's choking him.
"Cec?" Carlos says slowly. "Cec, what's wrong?"
"Can't....gah...head...breathe..."
"Cecil." The word is a whisper as it hisses from his lips. Then it registers: someone he loves is in trouble. Carlos shoots up and runs to the broadcaster's side. "Cecil! Cecil, try taking deep breaths."
He sees the other man's pupils dilate. Shit. This was bad. This was extremely bad. Shitshitshit shit.
Carlos helps Cecil stand up and guides his shaky steps as he leads him to a wall and makes him sit on the floor. God knows how much longer it would’ve been before he’d fallen off the chair he was sitting on. He takes off the sweatshirt he's wearing and wraps it around Cecil.
Fuck, now what? I can't tell if he's having a stroke or seizure or heart attack or whatever the hell is happening. His mind is racing. He doesn't do well under pressure.
Carlos runs to the door and opens it, shouting, "LACY! Lacy I need you!"
The intern comes rushing. "Sir?"
"Cecil...he's...are there any ambulances we can call?"
Lacy peeks over the scientist's shoulder and her eyes grow wide. "Mr. Baldwin!" She looks at Carlos, "is he okay?!"
"I don't know. One minute he was announcing the weather and the next he's freaking out." A cry sounds from behind him. "Fuck. Lacy, just call someone, an ambulance or whatever this town has, I don't know. I guess I have to try to calm him or something just..."
Carlos shakes his head as he trails off. Lacy rushes off to call someone and he returns to his partner's side.
"Cec. Cec it's okay I'm here. What hurts, what's wrong?"
"Head...chest...can't breathe." Cecil is practically white as he gasps out these words. His tie's been thrown to the side and his shirt is unbuttoned and open at the throat.
Carlos grabs an icy hand and places his palm on Cecil's forehead.
"Ah!" He cries, retreating his hand and shaking it. Cecil's forehead is scalding, impossibly hot.
“In my experience, sickness doesn’t affect me the same way as most people.”
Carlos and his stupid optimistic mind had taken that to mean that Cecil was practically immune to sickness, that while other people would catch colds and recover in a week, Cecil might only take a day, if not hours. He never once considered that the cold that was a nuisance to some may be deadly to him.
Suddenly Carlos’s vision is blurry. He’s tearing up. He furiously wipes at his eyes, refusing to break down. But he’s so confused, and Cecil is so…fucked up right now.
He begins running his fingers carefully through the pale man’s hair, trying to sooth him. “Shhhhh, it’s okay.”
“Carlos—”
“Shhhhh.”
“Stay with me.” It’s heartbreaking to hear such a strong voice broken and pleading.
Carlos cautiously kisses the top of Cecil’s head and feels that the heat has gone down. “Shhhhh, it’s alright, Cecil. After all, didn’t you realize? I couldn’t possibly leave your side when you’re the only thing I know that makes sense.”
Lacy opens the door. “Sir, the ambulances are all under inspection. Apparently the hooded figures have been—”
“Thanks for trying, Lacy,” Carlos interrupts, not even the slightest bit surprised that one of the only forms of help would be unavailable the moment he needed it most, “but I think he’s beginning to calm down.”
Cecil’s pupils have returned to their normal size, his face was beginning to look less pale, and his hand has moved away from his head. He's still breathing heavily, although he manages a weak grin as he croaks, “I’m starting to…come to my senses.” To prove himself, he gets up, wobbles, and then makes his way to his seat in front of his microphone. Carlos stands behind him as a precaution. He gives the intern a thumbs up and she immediately turns the “On Air” sign back on. Cecil gives a small cough and begins to speak.
“Listeners…there's been a setback in the studio…so I believe we’ll end here. Tune in next for a lesson on how to speak the African clicking language taught to you in mandarin Chinese, followed by a mandatory-but-only-if-you’re-feeling-up-to-it hypnosis session. Goodnight, Night Vale, Good—” He dissolves into a fit of coughing before he can finish.
“On Air” goes dark. Carlos walks over to Cecil and takes him by the shoulders.
“Tomorrow, you’re taking the day off.”