A/N:
This fic was actually initially written before The Sandstorm, so I apologise for the sparse knowledge of Desert Bluffs. If I had known then what I do now, I would definitely not recommend it as a vacation spot.
Anyway, I abandoned it early, but due to the recent boost in popularity, I decided to round it off. I couldn't be less pleased with it, but it's just one of those fics that refuses to co-operate.
Names of places, people and shows are entirely fictional.
Carlos comes to the radio tower often. He always comes to Cecil's booth just before the weather segment, causing Cecil to think (hope) that Carlos eithers listened to his show, or cared enough to memorize its schedule. He wordlessly beckons Carlos, instructing him to sit in the extra chair that is hardly ever used until he has a space where he can talk freely. He never stays long, and always gently pushes away the mic when Cecil suggests that he stay for a quick interview, but he gradually becomes a more stable and reliable presence that any of the station interns. Cecil expects this to be yet another visit in which Carlos recounts his weekly findings to a willing listener, unfortunately for Carlos a role many are unwilling to fill, and fortunately for Cecil a role he is all too willing to adapt to, but on this particular night's visit, Carlos tells him of his plans to travel in the name of science.
"Desert Bluffs?!" Cecil cried, staring, horrified, at Carlos over the switchboard. "You want to go to Desert Bluffs? You can't be serious."
Carlos, to his credit, had the decency to look abashedly at the cup of coffee in his hand, plucking absently at the Styrofoam rim before depositing the little white pieces on to his knee.
"There's nothing worthwhile in Desert Bluffs, Carlos. There's nothing scientific in Desert Bluffs." Cecil continued, utterly baffled by the idea that Carlos, perfect, wonderful Carlos, would ever want to waste any of his time on visiting such a vile, backwater town such as Desert Bluffs.
Carlos blinked those beautiful eyes at him uncomprehendingly. "There's always something scientific, Cecil, everywhere." He raises his arm, pushing his glasses up with a thumb before brandishing the cup. "There is science in this coffee cup." Absently, he looks at his watch, which doesn't work of course. "There should be science in this watch, there should, but it's gone." He frowned, his immaculately formed eyebrows scaling down his face.
Night Vale scared Carlos. Not the well versed terror that was embedded in every single citizen, along with the knowledge that they were being monitored, and the further knowledge that there was not a single thing that could be done about it. No, this fear was different. The emotion of fear, Carlos knew, was simply an autonomic reaction to subjective stimulus, a process that was entirely scientific, but therein laid the paradox as science was relatively sparse in Night Vale. At first it had irritated him, how everyone in this cradled desert town simply turned a blind eye to every illogical event. Whilst it was true that this blasé ignorance was usually because they were instructed to forget or reiterate until what could only be perceived as fiction became fact, it had still bothered Carlos.
Then he discovered the clock tower, or lack thereof. It had terrified and excited him. Time, he was taught, was a constant, and would not change unless there was a dramatic shift oF the tilt of the world on its axis, but time did not workin Night Vale. Carlos did not understand how, could not even begin to comprehend how this little desert town could stand to gain an entire day more than the rest of the world, and it lit the Bunsen under his thirst for complete knowledge and he became obsessed with trying to place even a hairline crack in the mystery that was Night Vale.
When brought up, Cecil had looked at him almost pityingly, and said "now I know you're an outsider, Carlos, so there are things you don't know yet..." and then told him a likely story of the unseen, un-stationary clock tower. Talking with Cecil was frustrating as often as it was relieving, perhaps even more so, but Carlos couldn't blame his willing acceptance of the paranormal and unbelievable because this was his world and what he knew. Carlos' world, on the other hand, did not allow such events to go without an explanation.
Carlos knew science. Carlos loved science. Science made sense, and when it didn't it was usually down to simple human error. Carlos worked in factors and mechanics and systems and variables, but since he had arrived Night Vale had taken all of that from him. One by one, his team had either vanished, or suffered a bizarre and painful death, until it was only Carlos left. He struggled with the task of applying explanations to the occurrences in Night Vale, and he frequently warned the citizens to take heed of their own personal safety, but they appeared unconcerned and brushed him off with comments such as "have you had a manicure recently? Your nails are looking quite lovely. I really should go to the salon soon, but of course, the last time I was there the beauty technician got carried away and took my hands clean off. Still, there's nothing more eye catching than a well-manicured stump! I hear it's the height of fashion these days." before waving him away.
Carlos was exasperated, and so the idea came to him to survey the surrounding areas first to gauge just how strange Night Vale was in comparison. Perhaps if he went to Desert Bluffs he would be able to get something more than unnervingly scripted excuses and gushing compliments.
It was for this reason that Carlos came to Cecil. Over the course of his stint in Night Vale, Carlos began to consider Cecil as something that mirrored a friend. At first, it had just been Intel gathering. Cecil was at the centre of all that went on in Night Vale, and he allowed Carlos to leaf through the reports that stacked on his desk as he delivered traffic, which proved integral to Carlos' scientific investigation. Cecil had unnerved Carlos more than anything else that he had encountered in Night Vale initially, due to the fact that he seemed a product of the town itself. He delivered reports without batting an eye, and enforced each of the rules set by the local government with a tone of authority in his voice.
When he had been nothing more than a voice drifting over the radio, Carlos had pictured a balding man with a drawn face, his monotonous drone booming and overbearing, but the Cecil Carlos met was the absolute antithesis. His hair was well kept and his face was expressive, his voiced teetered on the edge of formal and excitable constantly and was frankly a delight to the ear. The radio voice changed drastically when he was off air, and he babbled about this and that, bustling Carlos around the station whilst pointing out areas of interest. Carlos waved to nervous, high strung interns, intently took samples of a medium sized pink growth that had latched itself to the staff coffee machine, and allowed a bizarre floating cat that Cecil had introduced affectionately to nestle and paw about in his hair. At the sight of Khoshekh stretching across Carlos' shoulders, Cecil knew for certain that he loved the scientist.
During his visits, Carlos tried every few minutes to keep Cecil on point, to tell him that he was here on strictly research duties, but Cecil was having none of it. He often talked over Carlos, changing the topic to something more close to home, and although that had irritated Carlos to no end at first, now he found that it was quite endearing. However, at this moment in time, Carlos was determined to have his say.
"I think that Desert Bluffs is an appropriate place to continue my research." he stressed, getting an exasperated head roll in response.
"But Carlos, have you ever been to Desert Bluffs?"
"No," Carlos began, slowly "have you?"
Cecil stared at him for a bit. "No, actually, I haven't. Why would I go to Desert Bluffs?" he reached over his desk and grasped Carlos' hands, placing them between his own and the table. Carlos let a sigh escape his nose. "Carlos. Intelligent Carlos. I know you are practically vibrating with curiosities that for reasons unknown you cannot fulfil in Night Vale. You are-" he cuts himself off, noticing the red glow at the crown of Carlos' head, the signal light flashingoverheard to warn him that he would be on-air again in seconds. "Hold that thought for a moment, please."
Carlos agrees patiently, earning him a soft smile from Cecil, who lifts one hand to flip a switch, leaving the other still pressing warmly against Carlos'. He clears his throat sharply before beginning.
"Listeners, during our break I was handed a letter by Jason the intern - have I introduced Jason? He is replacing Terence after his unfortunate accident at the biennial Single Mother's Cement Mixer Showcase. I have left announcing it until this moment, as Terence's fate was, until just now, uncertain, but sadly this morning progress was made as the last of the cement was chipped away to reveal Terence's petrified, solid corpse. A true tragedy, but I have some good news listeners! One of the single mothers, one Jacqueline Rushton, had the wonderful idea to place this avant-garde work of art in the centre of town. How quaint! Thank you, Jacqueline, for your brilliant stroke of genius, you have truly enriched Night Vale's already brilliant culture."
Carlos normally didn't stay this long in to the show, and was certain that he could have left minutes ago as he had come to say what he needed to say, and anything extra could be arranged by phone, but he found himself rooted to the chair in Cecil's booth by the continuous motion of Cecil's thumb sweeping over the back of his hand. Cecil was often quite physical, especially with small touches such as these, but it was hard to say with Cecil not looking in his direction whether the action was deliberate or unconscious.
"Now, on to the letter, which seems to be - ugh. Ugh, listeners, I regret to tell you that this letter is from Steve Carlsberg. I would love to spare you from the farcical dribble that is no doubt contained within this page, but unfortunately it is my job to report to you all what the citizens of Night Vale, no matter how irrelevant they are, have to say. From scanning this letter, I can see that it is Steve's second letter documenting the abandoned shirt factory just off the overpass bridging Birdman Canyon. He reports that he has seen teenagers sneak in late at night, and then leaving the following morning with a little extra on their person. Listen, Steve, you're not making any valid point here. The shirt factory was safely detained many years and is no longer a hazardous zone, and frankly, I am glad that the youth of Night Vale is taking an active interest in to this town's history. And as the saying goes, four legs are better than two. Probably."
Cecil wraps up his show smoothly, wishing the town a good night as usual, before his attention is placed fully back on Carlos. Surprisingly, he is able to continue the conversation from the exact point they left off.
"You are" he begins, again "like atoms gaining kinetic energy from a steady increase in temperature. Vibrating rapidly and, um. Vibrating rapidlyand..." he continues, and the sentence lacks the usual flow his voice grants it, indicative of the fact that he has clearly been reading a book on molecules. Carlos can't help but smile at this, the toothy grin that is directed at the floor more than anything causing Cecil to simper and lose his train of thought for a second.
"Vibrating rapidly until the energy can no longer be contained?" Carlos offers, simply, and Cecil nods.
"Precisely." and he would feel very silly indeed for forgetting that were it not for the warm smile that Carlos still had on his face. "I understand that you are very passionate about scientific discoveries, Carlos, and that you feel the need to explore all areas of possibility. Still, I refuse to believe that you've completed your research fully here in Night Vale."
Carlos frowns. "That is true, but I am not sure that this is where I should be at present. I think that Night Vale is too big for me right now."
Cecil's heart melts as he watches Carlos, his perfect genius Carlos wallow in his own self disappointment. He places his free hand just under Carlos' angular jaw, fingers lightly tracing the close-shaved stubble, and shakes his head.
"Not for you. Every scientist I have met until now has been a comedian first, and a pursuer of knowledge second, just like scientists are expected to be, but you? Well, you're quite the anomaly." Carlos blinked at him, firstly as a result of the gesture, which had skipped past friendly and now bordered on intimate, and secondly at the idea that Cecil, Cecil the resident of Night Vale, had called himan anomaly. The message behind Cecil's bold statement travelled abnormally slow to Carlos' high functioning brain, before the meaning seeped in.
Cecil believed in him.
Carlos hadn't known he needed validation from the radio show host until that moment, but as soon as he had it Carlos realised that maybe that is what his research had been lacking; someone who truly believed that Carlos could do what he had set out to do.
Carlos nodded slowly, and said "thank you, Cecil" before deciding that that was insufficient and he stood, a snowfall of Styrofoam fluttering from his lap, to pull Cecil in to a grateful embrace. He wasn't sure if he heard correctly, but it sounded faintly like Cecil had whimpered.
"Thank you, Cecil". Carlos repeated, before pulling back. "However, I still want to go to Desert Bluffs."
Cecil's face fell, and he opened his mouth to object before Carlos cut him off.
"If it wouldn't be a problem with the, uh, station managers, how would you like to join me?"
Cecil thought first of how much he didn't want to go to Desert Bluffs, and then of how he would very much like to go to Desert Bluffs with Carlos. He bent ever so slightly to kiss at Carlos' cheek, straightening up again to beam at him and nod enthusiastically.
"I suppose if I mustgo to Desert Bluffs at some point, I couldn't be in better company than with you. Give me a moment." Cecil says, before turning again to the switchboard and flipping the switch for the old fashioned mic that hung above the desk.
"I apologise for interrupting the hour long special of What's In My Blender listeners, but I have some very exciting news. I will be taking a short vacation, if the station permits it, and not only that, but I will be travelling with Carlos. Oh happy day, listeners, let us hope that we enjoy a blossoming holiday romance."
Carlos, once tempted to balk away from Cecil's advances, finds himself glad that the man was so open and forward. It may take him some time to create a dent in the shell that Night Vale has created around itself, but he feels that one of its mysteries, perhaps the most intriguing and challenging, will not prove much difficulty at all.