Heads up, this chapter mentions sexual assault and violence. but it isn't described :)

6:40 PM. Carlos cursed under his breath as he put the car in park, taking the bottle of wine from behind the seat. He toggled the switch to lock his doors, then slammed the driver door behind him. The agent straightened his off-white coat, and straightened his tie with the internet- emoticon cat in between two brackets that was a joke on Schrodinger's Cat (he changed his shirt and tie for the sake of looking a little more dressed-up. To give the impression to any wandering eyes or ears that this was a date, of course, since Cecil seemed so adamant about a secret meeting. No other reason, he told himself firmly). He consulted the paper in his pocket for which apartment he was going to, then stuffed it back into the pocket of his dull white trenchcoat.

He came to the door, his heart thudding hard in his chest. He swallowed nervously, and took a deep breath to right himself. Why am I so nervous?He asked himself, suddenly feeling very silly at his nerves, This isn't a real date. He isn't really interested in you. He took another deep Ramon, you are trained to handle gunfire, pepper spray, explosions, everything short of godzilla coming up from the ocean, you will not be nervous for a simple act of interviewing a possible suspect casually over dinner, darn it! And before he could lose his spark of courage, he knocked briskly on the door.

"I'll be right there!" Cecil's voice was muffled by the door.

Carlos waited a moment before he heard the door open a few inches. Cecil's face peeked out from behind a small chain. "Oh, good, you're here!" he hummed, closing the door.

There was a little sound of metal against wood, and the door opened again wider. Carlos almost laughed at the violet tunic he wore, paired with a taupe and green pair of pants that looked as if they were made from some strange colored furry beast, but thought better of it. The red apron he had over his front was kind of cute, though. "Hi," he said with a smile.

"Hi," Carlos smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry I'm late… The Ralph's changed their aisle layout from the last time I went in so I got a little lost trying to find this," he passed him the merlot he carried.

Cecil gave a quiet hum of appreciation. "Ah!" he said, eyes darting over the label "Perfect, this will pair well with dinner."

He motioned for Carlos to come in. "Please, come in, make yourself comfortable." he said, "Dinner's almost ready."

Carlos glanced around the small apartment as he shrugged his coat off, hanging it next to-what he could only guess- appeared to be a newspaper-print jacket on a coat rack shaped like three tentacles. Carlos ran a hand over the smooth craftsmanship. Very Lovecraft-reminiscent! "I hope you like beef," Cecil's voice brought his attention away from the eldritch coatrack. "I make a salisbury steak that is to die for!"

Carlos bit his lip. Actually, he didn't eat a lot of meat. Not because of any personal reason or anything, or because he didn't like the taste. More because he usually couldn't afford to eat a lot of meats as he grew up and up until he got his job at the Bureau. But he wasn't going to be rude, and salisbury steak did sound appealing. "Sounds delicious," he called back, following the source of Cecil's voice to the kitchen.

His kitchen seemed like a strange mishmosh of different paints and style schemes. Almost as if Cecil basically took anything that made him say "Oh, this is neat!" and included it somewhere in the kitchen (actually, Carlos was sure that's how it happened). Disorganized, quirky, but at the same time unique and downright homey, much like the reporter himself. The sounds of sizzling meats hit his ear, and he watched Cecil cooking over a hot stove, a few additional pots and pans burbling and hissing. Cecil tapped the side of the pan with his wooden spoon, then put the spoon on a napkin as he turned off the heat on the stove. Still facing away from Carlos, he leaned to his right, standing on tiptoes to open a tall cupboard, taking two wine glasses from the top shelf. "Mmm, this will be good," he hummed softly, "it's been ages since I've had a good glass of wine."

"I hope I did alright choosing a year," Carlos commented, accepting the mushroom-handle corkscrew Cecil offered him and screwing it into the cork. "I've never been all that good with that stuff."

He wiggled it free, and it opened with a loud "pop!" Cecil smiled and placed the glasses on the counter before him, "I'm sure it'll be lovely, Agent Ramon."

"Carlos," the agent replied before he realized what he'd said, "I… I think if I'm here under the guise of a date, you can call me by my first name."

Cecil smiled. "Alright," he replied. "Carlos, then."

Carlos felt a coil in his stomach. He wondered to himself if this was using Cecil, seeing how close he was to the case. It didn't seem fair to the Agent. Not knowing what he knew.

"We checked the files of some of the businesses affected by Strexcorp expansions," Niljana explained, tapping away at her computer. "We turned up a lot of disgruntled workers. It seems when their VP Lauren Mallard took over, she had a 'new broom, clean sweep' approach to things."

"I don't think this was something to do with a disgruntled worker," Rachelle tapped her chin thoughtfully, "if that was the case, almost half the town would've been rioting in the streets."

"I don't know then," Niljana shook her head, "I've searched through their documents with a fine tooth comb and there's not a lot that stands out."

Carlos narrowed his eyes in thought. "Strexcorp is a pharmaceutical company," he muttered, thinking aloud, "Nils, what if this is part of something from before the museums were bought out? Try looking for suits filed against Strexcorp before the buyout."

Niljana's fingers flew across the keys, tapping like a woman possessed. A tiny blip hit their ears. "Bingo," he muttered, "here's something interesting."

He expanded the report. "It looks like there was a class-action suit about seven years ago. About ten people, all pregnant mothers. It looks like they all took a drug called Avancit, and their children were born with spinal problems. A couple of them even died from complications."

"That's horrible," Carlos frowned. "And certainly something to make someone hate Strexcorp."

He patted Niljana on the shoulder. "Good work so far," he said, "try cross referencing the names from the case to those that lost their jobs with the buyouts."

"Can do, sir." Niljana replied, again typing. "Should I restrict it to just the museums or all of the businesses bought by them?"

"All," Carlos said, "this place is a mom-n'-pop community. I'm willing to bet someone had a connection to the Night Vale museums enough to decide that Strex's acquisition was the last straw."

"Carlos?" Cecil's voice brought him out of his thoughts. When did he start drifting off like that?

"Right, sorry," he apologized, shaking his head slightly, tilting the bottle so he poured two glasses to half. "Was just thinking."

"You have do that a lot to be a federal agent." Cecil gave him a playful smirk, taking the glass closer to him by the crystal stem and swirling the red liquid.

Carlos chuckled, taking the other glass. "Yes, I suppose so."

The federal agent took a slow sip, examining a picture in a frame on the wall. Cecil, with a woman with dark, kinky-curly hair, even a bit curlier than Carlos's hair. If he had to guess, he'd almost think she was River Song. "My older sister, Abby."Cecil spoke up, his voice sounding- stifled, almost. "One of the last pictures we took together, actually. She, um. "Cecil swallowed. "She died in a car accident."

"Oh," Carlos's voice was soft. "I'm… wow. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Cecil murmured, "It, um. It just hurts sometimes."

"Yeah," Carlos bit the inside of his cheek. "I know how you feel."

Cecil smiled a grateful smile and took a sip from his glass, bringing it to almost a ninety-degree angle, then back down. "I suppose you were hoping for information on Strexcorp," Cecil's voice had a tone of disappointment, as though he didn't want to talk about it.

"Yes," Carlos admitted, his heart sinking. "We could wait, if you want."

"No, no," Cecil shook his head, putting the glass down on the counter and walking to a desk in the living room. "We may as well get work out of the way." He offered Carlos a sheepish smile. "But all work and no play makes Carlos a dull boy."

Carlos smirked and rose an eyebrow at his implication, taking a sip from the bitter liquid. "You know, I don't usually do this." he said, "But I suppose I could make an exception."

"I'm honored," Cecil smiled, taking a file from the desk.

Carlos took a sip from the glass, examining the knickknacks on the bookshelves. He picked up a picture frame, examining it closely. Cecil, with a man with ruddy red hair and a child that looked like a miniature of the red haired man, and a young girl with long dark hair pleated into two braids. He knew who it was, but he figured he ought to let Cecil tell him.

"Here's one name that sticks out to me," Niljana nibbled on the eraser of her pencil. "Cecil Gershwin Palmer.

Carlos furrowed his eyes in interest. "Cecil Palmer?"

"Yes, Cecil Gershwin Palmer. Age 34, graduated from Night Vale Community College with a degree in Journalism and a second degree in Sound Engineering. It looks like he left to go backpacking Europe for a few months the year he graduated but otherwise has never set foot out of Night Vale. Anyways, Cecil and his sister, Abbigayle Palmer Carlsberg, were involved in the Avancit case. She took Avancit during her pregnancy for blood clotting problems and her daughter, Janice, was born without use of her legs." Niljana explained, typing and clicking different images of the family to make them bigger. "All of the other families accepted settlements and the case was ultimately dropped, but they were the only ones that held out for longer."Her face fell sadly. "Oh… that's awful… Mrs. Carlsberg died four years ago, in a car accident ruled as a suicide, and Janice now lives with her step-father Steve, and Cecil helps them pay their way. But when she died they were forced to drop the case."

"Jeez." Rachelle shook his head, "The poor kid."

"Oh, It gets better," Niljana shook her head, typing more, and sighing quietly. "Apparently, Strexcorp didn't just buy out the museums in Night Vale. They also bought the local Community Radio Station. Here our boy Cecil used to be partial owner of the station, as well as work as the host for a nightly news show, but when Strexcorp came in they wanted to pimp their own agenda and advertisement and Cecil refused." she shook her head again. "Dear god… in the three months before he was fired, apparently Cecil was in the hospital four times. Once for a sprained wrist, twice for concussion," she groaned quietly as if in pain, "oh, dear god, can't this poor guy catch a break, once and most recently for a broken nose, lower lumbar contusions and injuries consistent with sexual assault."

Carlos felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He'd researched suspects before. But with Cecil… It felt wrong. Really wrong. As though he should've waited for Cecil to tell him all this himself, not read it on a computer screen. He swirled his wine miserably and sat down at the kitchen table. "This is all of the information I have on StrexCorp." Cecil explained, sitting next to him. "I started investigating them some time ago for an expose."

Carlos pushed his guilt aside for the moment, taking a deep sip from his wine. He shuffled through the papers, finding financial records and approval documents for drugs and chemicals he couldn't pronounce in places he didn't recognize right away. "How did you get these documents?" Carlos asked, feeling his tone switch into FBI mode.

Cecil chuckled quietly. "Let's just say I have very good sources." He said dubiously.

Carlos chose to ignore the fact that these documents had probably been obtained through illegal or immoral methods, and instead focused on the content. "Something about these doesn't add up," The agent murmured, comparing documents, "there's far too much material being ordered for the amount of product being put on the market," he fiddled with his ring. "And it seems as though they've got more money than they can account for… where is this revenue coming from?"

"Why would a pharmaceutical company buy museums?" Cecil asked sagely, "certainly not because they get regular deliveries and shipments of new artifacts, or receive anonymous donations, or be a nice, climate-controlled place to hide crates full of what is probably totally legitimate medications."

"So you think they're using the museums as a front?" Carlos clarified, "for some kind of drug trade?"

"Bingo, Gluten-free spaghettios." Cecil tapped the documents on the counter.

"I don't understand, though." Carlos narrowed his eyes in thought, still twirling his ring. "How is this connected to the Voice of Night Vale? If they're trying to retaliate against Strexcorp and what they've done in the town, it would make more sense to expose the illegal drugs. But take the artifacts? Only to return them to their original owners?" he shook his head. "And what did you mean earlier? About it not being safe to talk about in public?"

"For the first question," Cecil started, leaning on one hip and crossing his arms, still holding the almost empty wine goblet. "I think it would hurt the museums just as much as Strexcorp if they broke in and just started airing out dirty laundry." he took a sip, and looked back at Carlos with a certain gleam in his eye and a mysterious quality to his grin. "That, or the stolen artifacts are a mesage to Strexcorp. 'This is what I can do. Release your hold on my town, or you will regret it.' kind of thing, you know?"

Carlos mulled it over in his mind as Cecil downed the remaining sip of wine with a smooth sip. "As for the latter question…" his tone changed, as if he was afraid they were under surveillance as they spoke. "Strexcorp has their goons everywhere," Cecil kept his face aimed at the ground, eyes closed, brows knit, and mouth drawn into a tight frown. "It's a bad idea to talk negatively about Strexcorp."

"A bad enough idea to put someone in the hospital?" Carlos asked, before he realised what he said.

Cecil appeared to lose three shades of color in his face. "Bad enough that I'm positive that my sister's death was not a suicide." His voice was dark.

The following silence chilled the air. There was a quiet ding, bringing them back to the present. "How about a break?" Cecil suggested, a little too quickly. "Dinner's cooled down just right, I think. We can pick this back up later."

Carlos nodded, closing the dossier and pushing it aside. "Sounds good to me."he nodded, and finished his glass of wine. "More wine?"

"Sure, I'll have another glass," Cecil called from the kitchen. "Good call, by the way, it's a very good year."

"Glad I made a good choice," Carlos smirked as he took the bottle from the table, filling both of their glasses to the halfway mark. "So, do you live here alone?"

"Most of the time," Cecil called back, emerging from the kitchen with two plates of food. "I have a cat, Khoshekh, and My niece stays here with me when her step-father has to work, but she's with him tonight."

"Oh, a niece?" Carlos tried to appear casual, but it was killing him inside to pretend to be surprised by family he already knew about.

"Most important girl in my life," Cecil smiled fondly, placing a plate in front of Carlos and then at the corner across from him. "Such a smart, lovely girl. I love her to bits. She makes everyone that meets her love her, though."

"Well, maybe someday I'll get to meet her." Carlos smiled, trying not to die inside.

Cecil smiled, staring down at his plate with interest. "Y-yeah. I think she'd like you a lot. I know I do."as soon as the words left his mouth he was blushing hard, like he hadn't meant to say that.

Carlos almost choked on his wine. He blushed, and tried not to notice the verbal blunder. "S-so, ah, cat! Khoshekh!" he now tripped over his words as he picked at the food- salisbury steak with mushroom gravy, carrots, and green beans.- "That's an interesting name."

"It's Hebrew for 'darkness'," Cecil explained, hastily cutting a piece of meat with his fork, "He's about the blackest cat you've ever seen, and looks like something straight from the void. So, 'darkness' just seems fitting." he chuckled. "He's getting old now; he's got a bunch of white hairs over just his head. It makes him look like it's just his skull or something. Plus he's outside a lot, and gets into fights sometimes. Lost an eye that way. But he's still my baby boy." Cecil laughed nervously. "Gosh, I'm talking a lot, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Carlos replied, swallowing the food in his mouth. Cecil was right, his salsbury steak was to die for. "Really. You should hear me when someone gets me on a tangent about something."

"Oh?" Cecil tilted his head in intrigue, taking a sip from his wine and swirling it idly. "Like what?" he smiled tenderly. "What kinds of things hold your attention when you're not at work?"

Carlos was a little thrown off by the- almost seductive?- tone in his voice, but he continued, "I'm really into science," he explained, with a smile, "especially chemistry and theoretical physics."

"Wow," Cecil remarked, taking a bite from the green beans and taking his time to chew and swallow them. "That's a big departure from police work."

"I know," he chuckled, "Originally I wanted to be a scientist with emphasis on physics. But I couldn't handle the teachers for the classes I was in. The Academy was much more workable for me."

He took a sip from his wine, letting the bitter liquid wash over his tongue. "I still keep up on the studies from time to time." he said, "But I'm more of a hobbyist scientist in what little free time I have."

"I see." Cecil nodded, still stabbing at his dinner, eyes now transfixed on Carlos's left hand. "Um… well, stop me if this is too personal, but I was wondering…"

Carlos tilted his head in curiosity, eyes aimed at Cecil. "I just noticed you, um, you have a ring on your left ring finger," Cecil looked like he was forcing out the question. "Um… well, I was just wondering if it was… you know…"

"A wedding ring?" Carlos finished for him.

"Yeah," Cecil nodded, and seemed disappointed to hear the answer.

Carlos smiled and shook his head. "It's not even an off-the-market ring." he explained, and Cecil appeared visibly relieved. "My father gave it to me when I graduated. Mostly I just wear it there to keep unwanted attention away." he realized the fault in his words. "I-I mean! Not that you'reunwanted attention, I mean! It's just that I'm-!" he blushed.

"Oh my god," Cecil seemed to lose all the color from his face,"Oh my god you're straight. You're straight and I'm totally unwanted affection oh my god. I'm so sorry!"

"No!" Carlos exclaimed, almost choking on his food. "No, no, no definitely not straight, not even a little bit. Gay as they come, actually. But, no, I didn't mean that at all, more like I'm kind of, um, never got the time…if that makes sense?" He chuckled nervously. "Wow. I'm sorry, I'm not usually this bad at talking." Don't lie, Carlos, yes you are.

Cecil laughed, looking very relieved, and it sounded as though bells were ringing. "I know what you mean," he said easily, "You're married to your work."

"Yeah," Carlos sighed internally. "It's not that I don't want a relationship. But it really wouldn't be fair to the other person. This job kind of… takes over. Sometimes."

"Ooh, the stoic noir detective-type FBI agent," Cecil narrowed his eyes, a playful, mysterious shine to them, "backlit by the setting sun as he roams the city, looking for answers where there are none, destined to be lonely with crime and the justice system as his only lover."

Carlos chuckled, taking a bite from his food (he noticed with some interest that he was already almost done. He didn't even realize before!) "You really are a wordsmith."

"Tool of the trade," Cecil shrugged in reply. "I wrote all my own scripts when I worked at the Radio station."

"Radio station?" Carlos asked, again dying internally at the relearning information. "You worked at the Radio Station?"

"I did," Cecil nodded, a sad smile over his features. "But your friendly neighborhood corporate regime bought it out and forced me out for," he made bitter finger quotes. "Artistic differences."

"Ah, I see." Carlos nodded. He tried to change the subject, he didn't want to infect this moment with work. "This dinner is delicious."

Cecil lit up like a christmas light at the praise. "Thank you." he murmured happily. "I didn't know what you'd like. I was a little worried I wouldn't deliver."

"Well, you definitely did," Carlos replied, taking one last bite and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I don't think I've eaten so well in a month."

"You flatter me," Cecil smiled, staring down at his plate as he stabbed the remaining vegetables onto the tines of his fork and devoured them in one bite.

Carlos put his fork down and took a sip from his glass. Once he placed the glass back on the table, he stood and picked up his plate. Cecil immediately put out a hand, as if to stop him. "Oh, don't worry about dishes, I'll get to them later," he said.

"No, no, it's fine," Carlos said, taking Cecil's cleaned plate and fork. "You cooked, I'll clean."

"Well, if you say so," Cecil took a demure sip from his wine, "how about you wash, and I'll dry?"

"Fair enough," Carlos smiled, and Cecil seemed as though he was about to melt.

Cecil followed him into the kitchen, getting a towel from the drawer. There weren't many dishes left over from dinner, just their plates and silverware, and three pots from cooking after Cecil had put away the leftovers. This meant they were done fairly quickly, but the two were also sidetracked by a clumsy slip of the hand, and a splash of red wine dribbled down Carlos's front. "Oh, darn it," Cecil grumbled, looking embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, I'm such an idiot. Let me wash it for you before it stains."

"No, no, it's fine, really," Carlos tried to say, but could barely get the words out before Cecil was easily untying the knot in his tie and unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt.

"No, no, I insist," Cecil reached the bottom-most button so fast Carlos might've sworn he imagined it. "It's such a nice shirt, I'd hate to let it…" Cecil slowed his movements, as if he'd suddenly realized he was undressing his guest. "...stain…" he finally finished,his voice a little softer than before.

Carlos lost all his words as the reporter's smooth, slim, cool hands ghosted easily up his torso, resting finally over his heart, and the scar there that was a reminder of one of the times he cheated death. Cecil traced over it lightly with his pointer finger, silently asking the question too uncomfortable to voice. "Gunshot wound." Carlos answered quietly, moving the shirt to show the scars more completely. "A little over a year ago…. was working in the Organized Crime division when I first graduated the academy… was caught in a firefight with armor-piercing rounds. It passed through my vest, and only just missed my heart." he put a hand to Cecil's, guiding it just slightly to the left. "Two centimeters to the left, and I wouldn't be here now."

Cecil's hand uncurled under Carlos's, thumb bending slightly as if to stroke his fingers. "I'm glad it missed." he said quietly, wrapping his other arm around Carlos's waist and letting his head rest on his chest.

"Most of the time, I am too." Carlos said softly, hesitantly bringing his other hand around to rest on Cecil's back.

Carlos was positive the other could feel his heart beating. He could hear it in his own ears, blood rushing and pulse pounding. He closed his eyes. Cecil had such soft hands. But this was wrong. Cecil was a suspect, this-and by this his mind gestured vaguely to what could only be seen as a budding relationship between an FBI agent and the suspect in a federal investigation- was not fair to Cecil. But his hair smelled so nice… And his skin was so soft… And his touch was so gentle and comforting… "Cecil," Carlos's voice was soft. "Cecil… We shouldn't… This…"

"I know," Cecil's voice was soft, but his arm around Carlos tightened. "It's wrong… I'm involved in the case just living here," he said softly, "but… I want to forget about that… Just for tonight." Carlos felt his heart melt under Cecil's gentle hands. "I'll go back to being Mr. Palmer… And you'll go back to being Agent Ramon tomorrow, but… At least for tonight… let's simply be Cecil and Carlos."

Carlos sighed quietly, his eyes sliding closed. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he had been held like this. Not since graduation, at , just for tonight. He reasoned with himself,Yes... just for tonight.

He took his hand from over Cecil's hand, letting it trail up to Cecil's chin. He gently tilted it up, his thumb stroking his cheek. Cecil gazed up at him with widened eyes, black pupils dilated.

Carlos silenced the racing thoughts in his mind by closing the gap between their lips, gently, tenderly even, but at the same time urgent and wanting.

*whispers* the next chapter is my first attempt at sexytimes soooo, yeah. it's its own chapter that anyone that doesn't want to read the porn, and there will be a summary of the few plot-related events at the very end. :)