notes: this is based off an anon prompt for a typical fight between Cecil and Carlos, featuring my slightly-psychic-Cecil headcanon that he can see about 5 seconds into the future at any given moment. This takes place between Deft Bowman and WALK, just before everything started to really kick up with the Strex arc. As usual: I don't own Night Vale, Commonplace Books does!
"Carlos, stop making this into such a big deal!" Cecil isn't throwing things. He's not. The macrame couch pillow would claim otherwise as it sails through the air before clicking to a halt against the wall and cartwheeling down to the sofa. But Cecil isn't throwing things - he is cleaning passionately, the same way he and Carlos aren't fighting - they are discussing passionately.
"It is a big deal, Cecil!" Carlos retorts, his voice knotted with frustration to mimic the way his arms are knotted stubbornly across his chest. "You cannot keep running off and doing things that you know full well are putting yourself in danger. You just can't!"
"And you can't keep living in fear, Carlos," Cecil bites, taking out his frustration by passionately organizing an untidy stack of coasters shaped like molecular structures. With nothing else left to clean in the now-spotless living area, he braces himself and turns to face Carlos. As expected, the scientist is giving him that look. That look that says 'I scientifically tested this situation with science and it was so far off the danger scale that the last thing you want to do is lie to me about the amount of danger you were in because it was way beyond red on the meter.' It is a look that Cecil can recognize easily from other recent discussions. "Carlos, we live in danger every day of our lives. In fact, danger is what defines life as we know it. It's unavoidable, and it's nothing to fear." Cecil hopes the pretty explanation will placate the scientist, but Carlos only uncrosses his arms to remove his glasses and press a thumb to the spreading patches of silver at his temple.
"Cecil," he starts, intentionally softening his tone. "A bottomless wormhole appears in your recording booth and your immediate reaction is to jump headfirst into it?" His volume rises for emphasis. "And when you come back ten minutes later you claim you lived limitless decades in another world before finally managing to escape back to this reality? And I'm not supposed to worry about this?!" Carlos gestures exasperatedly with his hands, shuffling them through his curls in time with his erratic pitch. "Cecil, you cannot keep doing this! You can't keep being reckless with your life like it doesn't matter!"
"This is life, Carlos." Each syllable is sharp and slow - intentional, like the steps Cecil takes towards his boyfriend. "I'm not going to live it in fear."
"Listen, I know you-" Carlos begins before Cecil cuts in.
"Weird Scout," Cecil corrects Carlos' comment before it even leaves his lips - a side effect of his slightly psychic tendencies. "I was a Weird Scout, the hierarchy was different back when I was young."
Carlos bites down on his tongue as he shakes his curls in disbelief. "It is impossible to converse with you when you do that," he snaps. The scientist turns back towards the kitchen to leave the argument behind in favor of finishing cleaning up the leftovers of a cold dinner. It was supposed to have been a nice gesture - a warm stew to share after a tiring day, except Cecil hadn't come back from work until long after the meal had lost all its heat - and Carlos his patience.
"You know I can't help it," Cecil argues, following after him - not quite ready to surrender.
"Oh can't you?" Carlos tosses over his shoulder, the comment entirely sarcasm with no question to it whatsoever. The scientist is technically right; Cecil can always tell when he's glimpsing slightly into the future, but sometimes he gets swept up in the moment and forgets to wait for the present to catch up before responding. It's a bad habit, and Cecil chides himself for making things worse. He watches the scientist work for a while as he gathers his thoughts on which direction he wants the conversation to go from here. Carlos is so measured and precise - scientific and beautiful even as he angrily scrubs at empty beakers and sticky mugs. There's so much more to this fight than just what happened during the day's broadcast and they both know it. In the end, Cecil decides the need for a deeper solution outweighs temporary peace.
"Carlos, I know this place still scares you. I mean, you've only been here a year and a half, and I get that. But you need to stop living in fear of the unexplainable."
"I'm a scientist, I don't live in fear of the unexplainable," Carlos sighs, "I mean don't you-"
"Of course I remember that conversation at Arby's, but you're still living like every minor warble in space and time is some unmitigated disaster. You're acting like - like an outsider. Like them." Cecil retorts prematurely again without thinking.
"I can't do this," Carlos mutters, tossing the sponge to fend for itself in a soaking pot of lentils and slamming the apartment door behind himself.
Carlos wishes he hadn't slammed that door quite so loud. Not only will the neighbors undoubtedly retaliate in some petty way - probably by leaking the luminescent sludge under the baseboards again - but he can picture exactly the effect it had on Cecil. He can perfectly envision the way Cecil flinched, probably stared for a long moment at the door with those sad eyes that just didn't understand. Carlos could never seem to get him to understand just how much he mattered. And Cecil had been right about that much - the lack of a drive for self-preservation was something inherent to the town. They lived in such constant chaos all the time, and Carlos can understand that - appreciate it - probably even grow to live that way too. As he walks down the empty, dark streets, memories resurface of all his own reckless stupidity over the past eighteen months. To his equal glee and dismay, Carlos has to admit he fits right in here in that respect.
But there's more to it now, the new complications of having someone else relying on him, depending on him, waiting for him. The even newer complications of the town changing in menacing ways around them both. In the end, Carlos realizes, that's what this truly boils down to - the fear of a looming, blinding future that even Cecil with all his psychic tendencies can't predict.
Absently, he kicks a tin can on the sidewalk with the toe of his sneakers, smirking slightly as it rolls into a neatly manicured shrug and elicits the surprised squeak of the dozing secret police officer concealed within. There's so much he's become accustomed to in this place, and maybe Cecil is right. Maybe Carlos can't be afraid, even when he finally does have something to be desperately afraid of losing. Cecil has lived here far longer than he has, and although the unknowability of everything easily seems overwhelming to the scientist, maybe he should defer to Cecil's expertise. Learn to let go a bit more, take the risks, even as their world seems to be so unstable and growing more threatening by the day. He's already halfway to the lab by now, but the chilly desert air cuts through his thin flannel, and anyway he can't stop thinking about how hurt Cecil must feel. Carlos turns towards home instead, with an apology already set in his mind.
Cecil doesn't immediately hear the scientist step through the bedroom door. He's perched on his knees on the bed, facing away, eyes focused on a small stack of photographs and fingers unsteadily knotting his dark hair into a lopsided fishtail over his shoulder.
"Ceec?" Carlos ventures softly. Cecil whirls around, startled, and Carlos catches a glimpse of the damp sheen coating the freckles on his boyfriend's cheeks.
"You-" Cecil stammers, turning away and wiping at his eyes. "You came back."
Carefully, Carlos lowers himself to the edge of the bed next to Cecil. "Of course I came back, I…" his eyes drift down to the stack of photos Cecil is absently twirling between his fingertips. He glimpses a few of the faces - Dana, Earl, and a middle-aged woman with dark skin and light eyes and short, curly hair who Carlos recognizes as being Cecil's mother - faces of the ones who left suddenly and didn't come back. Cecil follows the scientist's gaze and sheepishly places the photographs on the bedside table. "You thought-" Carlos begins.
"It's stupid," Cecil huffs, pointedly looking away from the scientist to hide the glisten of fresh tears threatening to spill over his long lashes at the slightest provocation.
"Cecil, it's not stupid." Carlos reaches for Cecil's hands and pulls them gently into his own lap. "I didn't even think-" for once he wishes Cecil would go ahead and finish the unspoken statement for him. "I'm sorry. I would never leave you like that."
"I know," Cecil says softly, the faintest flicker of a smile as his eyes finally wander back to meet Carlos.
"I just needed some air," the scientist explains. "But I shouldn't have just walked out the way I did." Carlos brushes his thumbs reassuringly across Cecil's palms. "I'm still upset with you, you know that, right?" he asks after a moment, but it's much gentler than their words had been before his abrupt exit.
"I'm sorry for not thinking of how my choices can affect you now too," Cecil offers genuinely. "I'm still working sometimes on adjusting to us."
"I know, honey. And I-I understand what you mean, about me and this place," Carlos concedes. "And you're right, I can't be afraid of everything. But if I could pick just one thing to be afraid of, one thing to still keep me up at night - it would be the fear of losing you. You have to let me feel that." Carlos lifts one of Cecil's hands up and presses his lips first to his palm, then the inside of his wrist as Cecil tangles his fingers warmly into the scientist's silvering curls. The tears do spill over then, trailing their way down into the dimples of Cecil's half-smile as he nods in understanding. "C'mere," Carlos offers and Cecil wraps himself in his lover's familiar embrace.
"I'm scared too," Cecil admits, barely above a whisper as he tucks himself close into Carlos' arms. They're quiet until he finally leans away to look into his eyes. "But we're in this together now. No matter what." It's a definitive statement, but it still carries some small need for confirmation. Carlos moves his hands to either side of Cecil's face, caresses his thumbs along the man's cheekbones as he softly presses their foreheads together. If there's one promise he knows he can keep, one fact he can cling to in the midst of the fear - it's this one whispered echo.
"Together."
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