[a note: this story takes place somewhere between episode 70 to 100, so any plot developments or characters introduced in the podcast after that point will not be included, which is why a certain character from episode 135 (who will not be named because spoilers [is a name a spoiler?], if you've heard the episode you probably know who I mean) does not exist, and instead we have Diego. Also because elements of this fic were largely inspired by nyxrising's Night Vale Presents youtube series (though this is a different plot) so we have Diego.]

"It's just four days..."

"I knooow," Cecil whined childishly, clinging to his love's arm and trailing his fingers down his chest. He was wearing a button down Cecil had gotten him for his birthday and looked positively dashing. "You're going to wow all those science guys with your...science."

"That's not really the point of the conference."

"They're not gonna know what hit 'em."

"And then I'll be back," he murmured, hands smoothing down the sides of Cecil's neck and over his shoulders, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "And then, soon," he paused, waiting for Cecil to raise his eyes, a twinkle in his own. "You're going to be my husband."

Tingles ran down from Cecil's scalp through the tips of his fingers. He closed his eyes at the sensation, biting down on a smile. "You're going to be my husband," he echoed in a whisper.

"It sounds even better when you say it." Carlos leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. Cecil wilted against him, humming in his throat. He let him do most of the work, which Carlos did not seem to mind. Once their lips parted, he pecked several more kisses to Cecil's mouth before fully pulling back, cradling the side of his face. "I'll miss you."

It was one of Cecil's favorite, most precious things, when Carlos got all sentimental like this. "I'll be waiting for you when you get back."

"I know you will," Carlos said. Cecil wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him close, nuzzling into his hair. Carlos tilted his head to whisper in his ear. "Because you can't leave."

Cecil's nostrils filled with the scent of blood.

He yelped back into consciousness, his heart hammering. He sat up and immediately regretted it, black dots flooding over everything and sharp pain ringing out through his head. Now there was the coppery taste of blood as well as the smell, and he realized his mouth was full of it. Glancing around for a tissue box or a waste basket and finding none, he leaned over the edge of the bed and spat it onto the floor, and noted with a swooping of his stomach that it wasn't the only dark stain on the carpet.

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a moment to mourn the loss of the temporary safety and comfort his dream had provided before it had been twisted and then yanked away, forcing him to deal with the nightmare that was his reality.

He stuck out his tongue and felt a gash in it. He must have bitten it when his brain bounced around in his head like a kid without a seatbelt. A quick, gentle touch to his temple told him there was a bandage there, which was interesting. In the moment he'd been sure Diego was trying to kill him. Of course, now that he thought about it, if he'd really wanted him dead, the knife in his pocket would have been much more 'efficient', as he'd put it. What his actual goal had been, Cecil did not think he was qualified to suss out.

He'd also put him in his own bed again. Where was Diego sleeping? How long had he been out? What time of day had it even been to begin with?

He ran through the symptoms of concussion he knew off the top of his head and realized he'd already been experiencing a lot of them before his head had been bashed. The nausea was worse now, though.

And he really had to pee. The thought of leaving this room, where Diego currently was not, and moving somewhere that would potentially alert Diego to his consciousness, sent a tremor through Cecil's limbs where he sat. No, he would stay put, he had to ignore it.

There wasn't even the sound of the ticking of a clock. When he glanced around to see if there was one anywhere, his neck screamed in protest. Well. It wasn't like he trusted clocks anyway. He had just decided that the most desireable course of action was to curl into a ball on the bed and let himself cry, when the door opened. Anger immediately flared in his veins at the sight of Diego entering, surprising Cecil by rivaling the fear he felt.

"You can't just keep me here forever," he said with more certainty than he felt in the moment. "People will be looking for me. Even if Carlos isn't back yet, I have f-family, I have friends. I have a very public job, they'll notice if I'm not there."

"Well, then you should have nothing to worry about, right?" Diego shrugged. Cecil stared at him. What did he mean? Why didn't he care?

"How long?" he asked, scooting back against the headboard. Any scrap of distance he could get between them felt valuable.

"As long as it takes."

His aggravation spiked. "As long as what takes?"

Diego's gaze stopped at a point on the floor, and Cecil followed it to the splatter of blood. The movement of his head sent it swimming. "That'll be a bitch to get out."

"Oh sorry, did my blood ruin your perfect carpet?" he asked flatly. It seemed he wasn't going to get any answers.

For a moment Diego looked sheepish, like maybe he was a bit embarrassed at having violently smashed the head of a man he was holding captive in his house against the wall. He cleared his throat, scratching at the back of his head.

"Kevin is gone."

Cecil blinked. Carlos, I need help reacting to something. "I'm sorry, Kevin?"

There was a low dresser along the wall of the bedroom. Diego sat on it and nodded, his arms crossed over his chest. "You know Kevin, right?"

He gave him a dark look. "I'm familiar."

"Well, he's gone."

"Like...dead?"

"No!" Diego looked offended by the mere suggestion. "Like, missing. Not here."

"I...wasn't aware that Kevin was ever here." It made sense, he supposed, if anything about having two neighboring towns with redundant populations made sense.

"He lives here. But he didn't come home last night. I tried his phone, nothing."

Well, this was a rather surreal conversation. "Do you suppose… maybe, hypothetically speaking, it has something to do with your decision to abduct a man and keep him in your home?"

Diego leaned forward, elbows on his knees, touching steepled fingers to his lips. "It's possible."

"Well maybe, he would come back if you let me go."

His captor slid down from the dresser. "There may have been other factors. Come out, I made breakfast."

Cecil cursed under his breath, watching him go.

It was late. Night Vale was unusually peaceful, the streets quiet and the pleasant kind of warm, compelling Carlos to roll down the window of his car as he made his way back to the apartment. He was exhausted, the last few days having run him ragged, but the thought of finally being home kept his spirits up. The lack of signal to Night Vale from outside had been frustrating. He hadn't been able to talk to Cecil or keep up to date with his team.

He pulled into his parking spot and paused his podcast, popping out the cassette adapter and unplugging it from his phone. Rachelle used to make fun of him for that cassette player when he'd sometimes give her rides back when he lived in the science district, but he liked his car, and didn't mind that it was old. It had always served him well, and more recently he'd made some fond memories with it.

A light was on in their apartment. Cecil had waited up for him. He paused outside the door, straightening his clothes and smoothing his hair, before going inside. He tossed his keys on the counter and put his bag on the floor. On the couch, looking up from a pad of paper in his lap, was–

Kevin.

Carlos stood in the entryway. "Cecil, I need help reacting to something!"

"Oh, hi!" Kevin put his pad and pencil next to him and clasped his hands together. "Oh. This is a little awkward. Cecil isn't here."

"He's not?"

Kevin pursed his lips. "Nooo."

He frowned around at the room. "Where is he? What are you doing in my apartment?"

"I can address both of those questions by telling you that Cecil has been kidnapped."

Carlos froze. "What?" The question came out more breath than sound, his heart chilling in his chest.

"He's been kidnapped. Or is it person-napped if he's not a child? Abducted, let's go with abducted."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, because I saw him in my bed, right before I went to work the other day. He was out cold."

Carlos closed his eyes, breathing in deep and slow through his nose. "Kevin."

"Yes."

"Did you kidnap Cecil?"

"I did not."

"Kevin, you better start saying some really useful things really fast."

"Okay," Kevin leaned forward in his seat, then paused, glancing up at Carlos. "You might be more comfortable sitting down."

"No, thank you."

"Al-right. So basically, Diego's been being a real piece of fuck lately, and also talking about how he was planning on kidnapping Cecil Palmer, and then, he did it."

Maybe he did need to sit down. He walked on suddenly unsteady legs to a chair in the living room, and dropped down into it. "And Diego is?"

"My boyfriend."

No, sitting was no good. He got up again, settling for pacing the length of the room. "Did he say why?"

"No, he's been all moody," he huffed. "But I'm guessing it's part of some plot to take over Night Vale. He's always thought that things would've worked a lot smoother the first time if he'd been around."

"But you know where he is. He's in your house."

"Yes!" Kevin perked up. "And even better, I have a plan."

Breakfast turned out to be bacon and eggs. The smell of it made the waves of nausea rolling through Cecil's stomach worse, which was in itself remarkable considering the natural perfume of the house he'd been breathing in for… however long it had been. One night? Was that really possible?

He must have slipped out of consciousness for a moment because he hadn't even been aware that Diego was finished serving things up, but a plate was under his nose. Diego was watching him with a furrowed brow, and it took Cecil a moment to register the look as concern. It smoothed away as soon as he saw him looking. "Do you think you can be trusted with a spoon?"

Cecil blinked down at the one on his plate. Diego was making a joke. If only he'd been so blasé about it last night. He could still see his own blood streaked on the wall over by the TV. Was it last night?

"I think I need a doctor," he said.

The furrow was definitely not out of concern this time. "What would a doctor do?"

A bout of dizziness hit him and he nearly tipped over the side of the stool.

"Woah," Diego had rounded the counter and put his hand on his shoulder. He flinched violently away from it, almost capsizing the stool in the process. Diego glared at him. "Cut that shit out. Eat your breakfast."

There was a glass of water next to the plate. Cecil pounced on it, narrowing the possible range of time he had been in this house to shorter than the time it takes for a person to perish from thirst.

"I have some meds." Diego was taking his breakfast standing over by the microwave. Cecil appreciated that he wasn't sitting directly across from him, and that he wasn't leaving Cecil to be the only one eating this time. "Like aspirin, or… what hurts?"

"Stomach. Head." Everything, really, but those were the ones making it near impossible to think.

"I have some stuff for nausea too. Hold on."

Cecil held on, because it had taken enough concentration to remain on his feet on the walk from the bedroom to the bathroom and then to the kitchen. Diego came back a moment later and dropped two small pills on his plate, next to the bacon. Cecil pushed his empty glass toward him and he refilled it.

"I know it probably doesn't sound good right now, but see if you can get some food down," Diego suggested, watching him take the pills.

Cecil started on the eggs slowly, and it wasn't until the meds started to kick in and relieve some of the all-consuming pounding that it occurred to him to be afraid again, or to be freaked out by Diego's almost gentle tone.

"You can rest as much as you need while I'm at work."

Work. He worked somewhere. He was going to leave. For hours. Cecil realized he had frozen and took another bite of eggs. "What do you do?"

"I keep time." At Cecil's blank look, he waved his hand, moving to the sink to rinse his plate. "Scheduling, maximizing efficiency for a company."

"Oh." Sounded thrilling.

"Is there something wrong with the bacon?"

He blanched, heart picking up speed in anticipation. It took him a moment to get his mouth to work. "I'm vegetarian."

Diego shut off the faucet, tension crystallizing his posture. Cecil didn't breathe. "And you eat eggs?"

"Yes," he whispered.

An eternity passed between them. Diego put his plate in the sink and picked up his glass. "This is all I made. You'll be hungry today."

Cecil found himself nodding. That's fine, that's perfectly fine.

"I get back around 5." Diego dried his hands on a dish towel. Cecil had no idea what time it was now. "You'll wait in the bathroom."

"The–what?"

"There's a window in the bedroom, one in the living room."

Oh God, he was serious. "No, I don't–you don't–"

"Come on. I have to go." He came around the counter and stood in front of him. When Cecil didn't move, he grabbed his arms and dragged him off the stool.

Cecil's muscles seized up. "You don't have to do this, Diego, I won't go anywhere, I swear–"

"See, I don't believe you."

As Diego pushed him closer to the bathroom door, his body finally kicked in and he began to struggle. Diego's grip on his bicep tightened. All he had to do was dip his hand into his pocket and Cecil stopped, stock-still, his heart slamming into his organs. But all his hand came out with was that little key. Cecil thought he might collapse, if not for the fact that he wasn't allowed to.

He was shoved into the room, the door shut behind him. The lock clicked. "Why am I here, Diego!" he shouted, slamming his fist into the door.

"It won't be so bad," came the voice through the door. "And this way you can go whenever you need to."

That wasn't even what he'd meant by here in the moment, but that was great, being talked to like a dog.

"Diego!" he shouted again. There was no response this time. He heard sounds of movement for a few moments, and then the creak of the front door.

Then nothing.

He slumped against the door, sliding down until he was sitting. The cool tile seeped through the relatively thin material of his pants. He hadn't changed clothes in maybe two days.

Supposing Diego worked a regular 9-5 job, it would be about eight hours in this bathroom. But he didn't know if it was nine right now. It could be a lot earlier. The dark curtain had been covering the window while they ate breakfast, giving no hint of natural light.

He stuck his finger under the door. It fit, but only just. He stood and tried to rattle it on its frame, but it was solid. The screws of the hinges were on there tight. He cast around for something that might work as a substitute screwdriver, but the narrowest thing he could find was Diego's toothbrush. Mustering all the strength he could piece together, he walked over to the bathtub and ran at the door full speed, ramming his shoulder into it. All that probably accomplished was ensuring he'd have a bruise later.

There was a box of tissues on the counter. He unfolded one flap of the cardboard box and ripped it off, then stuck it in the meager gap where the latch was, sliding it up and down. He'd done this with a credit card a few times when he'd locked himself out of the apartment, but that wasn't a very good lock.

The very existence of a lock on the outside of this door, letting him know that Diego had clearly planned on locking him in the bathroom even before he was here, was more than a little unsettling.

The cardboard seemed to push at something and his heart leapt. He wiggled it a little more and then tried the handle.

Nothing. A sob of frustration tore out of him. When a few more minutes of wiggling and shoving proved fruitless, he sunk back down to the floor, the piece of tissue box clutched in his hand, bent and crumpled. Even if he had gotten out of here, he'd just be in a larger prison. There was still the front door.

He cupped his hands on either side of his mouth and screamed, first wordlessly, then HELP, HELP until his throat was raw and his headache was fully back. Nothing happened.

He closed his eyes, letting his head tip back against the wood and immediately straightening again with a hiss. There must be a sizeable knot on the back of his head.

Well. He was in a bathroom. If nothing else, he could get clean. He pulled himself to his feet again and stripped down, turning on the water in the tub. The knob was easy to figure out, turning one clearly labeled way for hot, the other for cold, and pulling out to send the water to the showerhead.

The warm water felt reviving. He felt like his head was clearing for the first time in a long time, and as he stood there letting it pour over his skin he realized he didn't remember how he had gotten here. Clearly Diego had knocked him out by some method or another, but he didn't remember encountering him at all, or the last thing he'd been doing. It wasn't exactly a new phenomenon for Cecil, having problems with memory, but it didn't mean he liked it or even had learned to deal with it very well.

He let the water keep running even after he'd gotten all the shampoo out of his hair and soap off his skin, out of spite as much as anything else. Yeah, maybe you've got me trapped in your house and there's nothing I can really do about it, but your utility bill is gonna be a little high this month, buddy. Besides, he was slowly becoming more relaxed than he'd been since he'd woken up here, and he was starting to fully digest that Diego wasn't here. Maybe he couldn't do anything that you couldn't do in a sparsely stocked bathroom, but for the next several hours there was no one to threaten him or hurt him or keep him on edge with borderline pleasant conversation. He was alone.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Eventually his fingertips began to prune, so he stepped out but left the water on, eager to avoid the silence that had reigned before he'd turned on the shower. He toweled off and regarded his dirty clothes. He supposed he could wash them in the sink, but then they would be wet. There hadn't been a blow dryer in the cabinets he'd checked when he was trying to break out. While the idea of putting dirty clothes back on was less than desirable, the thought of hanging out in Diego and Kevin's bathroom naked was somehow worse, so he got dressed.

That was when time really started to drag. He tried to sleep, and he might've even succeeded for a little while, but it didn't last long. Or maybe it did. In any case, it wasn't long enough. After hours of avoiding his own reflection, he gave up and took both towels off the rod, draping them over the mirror to cover it.

Most of his thoughts were not things he wanted to dwell on, as it turned out, but there was little else he could do. He wondered if Carlos had gotten home yet. He should have done by now. Cecil was almost positive of that. He wondered if he was worried, what kind of conclusions he was coming to. He wondered if Janice needed watching anytime soon. He almost wished he had eaten the bacon.

His thoughts got stuck in a loop, and he didn't want to be thinking anymore. He wanted a distraction, any distraction. He wanted–

God, he wanted Diego to come home.

Was that why he'd locked him in the bathroom, so that his return would somehow be a positive experience? How many years long was his workday?

He turned the water off.

A lifetime later, his ears picked up the groan of a door opening. He stood, his heart fluttering in his chest. His only thoughts were to get out, out, to see something other than the shower curtain and the towels over the mirror. Maybe Diego would let him watch TV.

Footsteps came closer and the lock clicked. The door opened and he lost his breath; for a moment all he saw was Carlos, come to bring him home.

"I brought dinner," he said, holding up a plastic Panda Express bag.

Cecil squeezed his eyes shut. Not Carlos. He reopened them and focused on a thin scar down the side of Diego's neck. Carlos didn't have that. There were other differences, but that one was easy.

He followed Diego out into the living room. Diego put the bag on the coffee table, pulling out containers. He seemed relaxed.

"Good day at work?" Cecil's voice came out like sandpaper. He cleared his throat.

Diego shrugged. "Decent. Did the meds help?"

"Yeah." At least until he'd screamed his headache back into existence, but he didn't feel nauseous anymore.

"Good." He sounded genuinely pleased. He sat on the couch and passed a bowl and a little take-out box to Cecil. "These are yours. I wasn't sure what you would like. That drink is yours too. I hope Pepsi is okay."

"It's fine." Not that it would matter if it wasn't. He opened the bowl and the box. Eggplant tofu and fried rice. Vegetarian.

"Something wrong? You don't like it," Diego guessed.

Cecil realized he was just staring at the food. "No, I–" He shouldn't be this touched that Diego had done the bare minimum by getting him something he could eat, but his voice betrayed him, thick and a little wavery. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Diego smiled faintly. It made him look more like Carlos. Cecil looked away.

"Go ahead and sit," Diego said, and it actually sounded like a suggestion rather than an order. He picked up the remote. "Do you have a show you wanna watch? I have Netflix."

Cecil hesitated. All of the shows he was interested in these days were ones he was watching with Carlos. "Whatever's fine." He sat gingerly on the other cushion.

Diego had just started scrolling through shows when a loud, pulsing buzz sounded, vibrating the couch. He pulled out his phone and Cecil remembered that other people existed. Diego had been poised to swipe to answer seemingly unthinkingly when he stopped, his posture going brittle. Cecil stared.

"I don't know this number," Diego said, his voice eerily calmer than anything else about him. In quick succession so that it blended into one fluid motion, he put his phone down next to him, drew the knife out from his pocket, pulled Cecil closer to himself by the shoulder, and placed the knife against his throat. "I am going to answer it. And you are not going to speak. You are not going to make any kind of sound, or I will slit your throat. Understand?"

Sick terror curled in Cecil's gut. He was afraid that if he nodded, the blade would split the skin it was pressed against. Just his trembling alone might do the job. He thought he could already taste his own blood, and realized that it was the gash in his tongue, still unhealed.

Diego picked up the still-buzzing phone and slid his thumb across the screen. Cecil imagined himself snapping and screaming bloody murder, and immediately tried to banish the thought, terrified that just by thinking about it too hard it might accidentally happen.

"Hello?" Diego's voice was relaxed again. The knife-wielding arm around Cecil's shoulders stayed rigid. He listened for a moment before making a small, irritated grunt, bringing the phone away from his ear slightly. "Hold on a sec, I'm gonna put you on speaker."

He removed the knife from Cecil's throat and placed the phone on the coffee table. Cecil didn't dare move. "It's Carlos," Diego said before hitting the speaker button.

Carlos! Cecil stared at the phone like it was manna from heaven. If it was possible to pass out from hope or emotional whiplash, he might be about to find out.

"Diego, are you there?" The sweet, beautiful voice of Carlos filled the cursed house in which they sat. It sounded tense and annoyed. "Were you listening to what I was saying?"

"I heard like half of what you said. You know I have Cecil."

"Yes. And I want him back. In exchange for Kevin."

Cecil's eyes widened. He glanced at Diego to see how he was reacting to this. The man's eyes were narrowed. "You have Kevin?"

"I do. And I'm not letting him go until you give me Cecil."

"How do I know you even have Kevin?"

There was a short fumbling sound and then a sunny voice Cecil recognized well carried over the speaker. "Yeah, hi, Diego."

Diego's brows drew together, and if Cecil had to describe the expression that overtook his face then, he would choose the word longing. "Hi, baby." His voice was quiet.

Cecil had never seen him like this, or anywhere close. Oh God, he was going to get to go home. Even if for some psychotic reason Diego didn't agree to this, and the look on his face suggested otherwise, Carlos knew he was here!

When the phone spoke again, it was back to Carlos. "I want to talk to Cecil."

Acutely aware of the threat to his neck, Cecil stared at the side of Diego's head. The man shrugged and nodded. Cecil sagged.

"Carlos." He was a bit mortified that it came out as a sob.

"Cecil! Honey." Carlos' voice had gone from stern and authoritative to soft and warm in an instant. "I'm so sorry. It's going to be okay."

"I know."

"I love you. So much."

"Oh, Carlos, I love you too."

"Alright, that's enough." Diego rolled his eyes.

Carlos' voice hardened again. "So do we have a deal?"

Diego stretched, his back arching with a small pop. Just making Cecil sweat. He nodded to himself, expression resolved.

"No."

Carlos didn't seem to expect this. "No?" Cecil honestly wished he felt more surprise himself.

"Here's a counter offer: I keep Cecil for fifteen days. After that I let him go. You don't come around here before that, you don't involve the police, secret or otherwise. I've been keeping Cecil alive as a courtesy, but if you break my rules, I will kill him."

"Fifteen days?" There was no mistaking the anger in the scientist's voice now. "What are you going to do to my fiancé for fifteen days?"

"Well," Diego looked sidelong at him, "Cecil didn't mention that congratulations were in order. Trouble in paradise?"

They hadn't gone very public about it. Their close friends knew, but keeping himself from gushing about it on the radio had been one of the hardest things Cecil had ever done. "I imagine he hasn't been feeling very chatty." Carlos' tone was caustic.

"Anyway," Diego said breezily. "I think you understand my terms. Whether you keep them is up to you. Goodbye, Carlos."

He hung up and picked up the remote, leaning back and putting on an episode of Jessica Jones. Cecil felt like his soul had gotten lost somewhere in the middle of that conversation. He didn't move. He didn't think he ever wanted to again.

Diego started in on his chow mein.

"Diego!" Carlos glared at the phone. "He's gone."

Kevin was slouched next to him on the couch, looking positively forlorn. "He said… no." He seemed to not quite be able to believe it.

"I'm sure it's not personal," he said as if it could be anything but personal. He kind of had more pressing matters to deal with. "Kevin."

The man looked at him despondently.

"I'm sorry," Carlos told him. "Really. But you know Diego better than anyone. Do you think he means it? Would he kill Cecil?"

He wrinkled his nose and tipped his head from side to side, considering. "Yeah?"

Stability was fracturing and sliding away, a strike-slip fault. Carlos tried to take deep breaths. "I-I don't know what to do, then."

Kevin hummed, maybe in agreement, and drew his knees up to his chest. The two of them sat side by side, the phone clutched loosely in Carlos' hand. After a long, quiet moment, he put it down on the table in front of them.

"You can… I mean, if you want, you can stay here tonight."

He turned to him with tentatively hopeful eyes. "Really?"

Carlos shrugged. "Yeah. You can take my bed, it's the door on the left. I'll be fine out here."

Kevin tried to protest and take the couch, but Carlos insisted, showing him the towels and finding him a clean pillowcase. He stood in the living room once the door was shut, staring out at the empty space blearily. It wasn't like he was going to get any sleep tonight, anyway.