S is for Safe
A deep, hallowing dread filled Carlos's soul upon his tenuous return to reality, a reaction triggered by childhood horror stories told of the strange labs that made up the back of the abbey – Balkov's Abbey – where he'd lived since he was small and the words each story started with: "there was a heavy smell of chemicals in the air…"
Panic built in his heart as consciousness tightened its strings, halting his escape back into the blankness he'd reveled in before. More of those chilling chemical smells – bleach being the most prominent among them– flew into his lungs, leading him to sputter for breath. His eyes remained closed, unwilling to confirm the nightmare he was sure he was trapped in, while his limbs remained locked still beneath the stiff blankets as to not attract attention. Somewhere in a place a far distance from where Carlos thought he was a beeping sound picked up its pace, almost like it was keeping time with his racing heart.
Yelling came from somewhere, a thunder of footsteps – though not the thudding clump of military footwear on stone, he noted, somewhat confused – following behind. His confusion was lost quickly though to instinct as soon as the first pair of hands came into contact with his trembling skin.
Animal power reared up in him as he jerked himself free of the grasp, his eyes snapping open only for the sudden light to disorient him. The dull presence of pain he'd felt in his torso and back flared to vivid life with his sudden movements, leaving him breathless, nauseous, and too weak to do little more than curl in on himself and hiss threats in what he hoped was understandable something; the three languages he knew – Russian, English and Japanese – having become muddled in his brain.
That was when he felt them; a pair of large, strong, soothing hands on his back, shortly accompanied by a warm voice in his ear, speaking in soft Americanized tones. He knew those hands, Carlos realized dizzily, and that voice had lulled him to sleep more times than his dignity would let him remember under normal circumstances.
Rick, the street blader thought achingly, one brown eye slipping open haltingly, hopefully – utterly terrified of what he'd do if it was an illusion brought on by Biovolt drugs or his own mental instability. To his relief, neither the hands resting lightly on his back – careful of his newly bleeding injuries, no doubt – nor his lover's sweet voice faded.
Slowly familiar features – smooth, cocoa skin, steely eyes, white hair – came into focus, the most treasured of which being the look of utter, painfully sincere love on the other's face, the unchecked worry and care; things Carlos had come to associate with home over the months and had almost died without over the last few weeks.
A strangled little laugh slipped past Carlos's chapped lips as he was pulled under by something once again, perhaps a sedative of some sort, the panic leaking from his frame more so due to the person beside him than the drugs making their way through him.
Rick was there, after all, Carlos rationalized, his eyes growing heavy; and if there was one person he trusted to keep him safe, it was his American.
T is for Triumph
Rick lay beside Carlos with barely disguised exhaustion in every line of his body. In his arms, Carlos slept peacefully, a rare occurrence even after some two months having passed them by since the black-haired blader had regained consciousness in the hospital.
Gently Rick ran his fingers through the younger blader's choppy hair, more to reassure himself that Carlos was still there, that the nightmare that had woken him up hadn't been real. As it turned had out, physical or legal repercussions of Biovolt's last stand were the least of their worries.
What had really seemed to stick, Rick thought bitterly, were the nightmares. They had become a common point in both their lives, to the point that sleeping solidly through the night was becoming a dream of its own. The physical wounds, the media attention (most of it having been diverted early-on via Kai's influence), all of that faded over time. The memories, on the other hand… not so much.
Sighing, Rick buried his head amongst the pillows and pressed himself as close as he dared to Carlos; taking comfort in the presence of the other. He would never be able to express how glad he was to have the shorter teen back.
Biovolt could have their victory in his nightmares, Rick thought, so long as he had his triumph in the real world.
U is for Us
Carlos had survived with an 'Us verse Them' mentality for a long time. This hadn't changed since he'd been small, nor had it after meeting Rick, or after defeating Biovolt for what had to be the last time.
He still thought stadium bladers were weak, annoying, arrogant and thoroughly in the Them category, along with the media, most authority figures, and the common public. He still thought there was nothing wrong with street blading and all that came with it, and he still wished Dickinson's do-gooder recruiters would quick hanging about the blading slums, trying to 'help' out the more talented individuals.
In fact, the only thing that had changed about Carlos's way of thinking was who was on the Us side.
And, leaning back against Rick's strong chest (as he'd been wont to do since his wounds had healed), the dark-eyed blader thought that a better change couldn't have come from the latest fiasco.
V is for Viewed
The media viewed him as a fallen sports legend, the All Starz as a bumbling disgrace, Dickinson with a grandfatherly frown, and most everyone else with great shock. This was how Rick summed up the world's perspective of him when he had announced that he was leaving professional blading for something 'less restrictive'.
(It should be noted that he'd never said what his new something was less restrictive about, be it rules or scheduling, but Rick figured those who should have been told could figure it out on their own, if they bothered.)
None of that mattered to Rick, though. Not when he came home to Carlos, who greeted him with a kiss, or met eyes with Kai and saw something warmer than grudging respect but not quite friendship (yet) shining there. It didn't matter at all, when he walked down the streets of the seedy side of Beycity and knew he was viewed as a comrade rather than an intruder.
From his own point of view, Rick thought, things couldn't have been any better.
W is for Wander
Neither Rick nor Carlos had ever been very stationary people. Yes, each had tended to keep in their respective areas (New York and Beycity), and Rick had stuck with the PPB for a rather long spell, but at heart neither of them had ever really thought of what they were doing as permanent, or of settling down.
They still didn't, Carlos thought, deeply amused as Rick tried and failed at snorkeling during their trip to Hawaii some four months after the Biovolt attacks, but at least now they had someone to wander with.
X is for X (the Roman Numeral)
Ten months from their first meeting found the pair drastically different from where they had begun.
Rick was no longer a PPB All Star; rather he was currently a blading coach for a minor's league, where he taught self-defense after training them to blade. Carlos, with knowledge gleaned from his years of scavenging beyblade parts, no longer taught how to do so in alleyways but rather how you could repair your own stuff with some simple tools. They were together – almost always, some of their students would note, giggling – and living in a sea-side Australian town where it was warm all the time, the media didn't bother them and, if need absolutely be, the people who mattered could find them easily.
Kai and Miguel dropped by sometimes, though not enough to be bothersome. More annoying (to Rick at least) were the calls they received from Carlos once third-in-command (who Rick still didn't know the name of), now the leader of the Bey-Sharks. It seemed the brat always needed help with something and only Carlos's advice would do. Said blader found it funny, Rick found it redundant.
Their wounds had healed well, leaving behind thin white lines on Carlos's back and a couple bones that ached every now and then. Nightmares were becoming less common and while, technically, Rick could now be called a murderer he was rather guiltless towards it; the same way the fucked with don't feel guilty over killing their tormentor, he supposed.
Looking back, Rick couldn't call the last ten months kind, exactly. They'd been too tainted by Biovolt's madness for that. The future ten months, hell, the future infinitely, would be spectacular, however, if Carlos answered one little question the way Rick hoped.
With that the New Yorker placed the little black ring box in his pocket and left the store, the sales attendant smiling giddily behind him.
Y if for Yes
The ring was simple, the band made of Damascus steel with a stripe of something shiny and black – black Alaskan diamond, perhaps – cutting through the middle. It was tied to the neck of the beer Rick had handed him with a piece of white string, innocent and casual but for the border-line terrified look his lover of ten-ish months was giving him.
They were sitting down by the water, legs dangling over the side of the dock, the sun going down in front of them and casting everything in orangey light. Rick had offered him the bottle in a happier parody of the first time they'd met to drink somewhere high off the ground, on the eve of Carlos's second-in-command's death.
Carlos looked at the ring with something akin to shock in his chest, the feeling bleeding into a crazy kind of happy rather quickly. Placing the bottle and ring in a place where he wouldn't accidently knock them into the ocean Carlos spun on his boyfriend (now fiancé, though the actual wedding would have to take place in a country where it was actually recognized, he thought, somewhat annoyed) and proceeded to kiss the hell out of him.
"So, this mean yes, I take it?" Rick asked some hours later as they lay in their bed, Rick wearing nothing at all and only a small strip of skin on Carlos's ring finger hidden away from his new fiancé's eyes.
Carlos flashed him a wicked smile and kissed him soundly once again, "yes, forever and always, love."
Z is for Zenith
It was a rare rainy morning, the sun shining lazily through the window as though it weren't worth the effort. By an even rarer streak of luck both Rick and Carlos were free that day too, which allowed them to side with the sun when it came to whether or not doing anything noticeable was worth it. A couple of barely understandable noises later, they had decided that their bed was the best place to spend the day.
Hours melted by in an identical way, lost between hazy kisses and light dozing. Eventually Carlos had gone for food, returning a moment later with something sweet and hot that Rick now thought was his favourite. When the night eventually came the rain had stopped the couple decided to do what most young people did and head out for a night of clubbing, something neither had experience in but both wound up finding enjoyable, to the degree that when they wound up back in their bedroom it certainly wasn't to sleep.
This was what their zenith looked like, their high-point; and like hell if they would ever let it fall to where it had once been.
And it's done! I hope you all had fun reading this, like I did writing it, and that I didn't mess anything up too much ;)
And that the fandom finally realizes that Carlos exists! Jeez, people. He's like the very first antagonist the forming Bladebreakers face!
Anyway, special thanks to Garfakcy-chan! The only reason this thing was even written/completed!
Love to you all and please Review!
Sincerely,
BlackRoseGirl666
