Author Notes: the title for this last chapter was inspired by the weather in One Year Later, which is one of my favorite weather forecasts Night Vale has ever had.
Chapter 11 - Sunday Morning Stasis
It's funny how a brush with death can make life fall back into place.
The Sunday morning following the attack at the Desert Rose Bowling Alley & Arcade Fun Complex, Carlos found himself walking quite accidentally, or possibly not so accidentally, down Cecil's street. He recognized the little fountain that existed when it wasn't Tuesday and the magenta ivy crawling along the brick exterior of the even little row of townhouses. Outside the ornate turquoise door, he paused for a brief moment to consider his reasons for the visit. Cecil hadn't spoken to him since the evening they had spent at the Arby's. The weather had ended and he had returned to the station to finish his broadcast, and Carlos had gone back to his own little apartment and collapsed on the bed and let life around him spiral into its new focus. Now one week later the whole world had changed. Carlos had changed. And that, he decided, was precisely why he was standing on the steps outside Cecil's door. If anyone should know about the scientist's perception shift, it should be the one who had jump started it in the first place.
Cecil was all smiles when he opened the door. "I was wondering when you'd stop by," he said easily as he shut the door behind the scientist. "I was just about to get breakfast going."
"You knew I'd be here?" Carlos asked distractedly as he took in Cecil's home for the second time. Like the rest of Night Vale, it was so imperceptibly different than it had been before his accident. The colors seemed a little brighter, the light a little softer, the air a little more breathable.
"I was hoping," Cecil admitted as he wound his way through the little dining room and into the kitchen. Carlos lingered a few steps behind, taking in details he hadn't noticed before - a potted flowering plant that appeared to have teeth the color of cotton candy, a small framed photograph of a slightly younger Cecil and Josie in matching florescent green guayaberas, a mason jar filled with ballpoint pens and broken pencils and even a crayon or two. "How have you been feeling?" Cecil asked, snatching the scientist's attention back to the kitchen.
"Better," Carlos replied as he absently traced along the path of crescent scar that was surprisingly painless for his having only graduated from wearing the sling the previous day. Everything was so similar in the little kitchen as the last time they had been in the exact same places doing the exact same things, but it felt so vastly different. There was a strange sense of freedom as he watched Cecil work away at mixing up rice flour and sugar in a little dish. Even though he was still technically nothing more than a guest in an acquaintance's home, Carlos had a vague feeling that he was there on some unspoken invitation this time.
"Sleeping better too?" Cecil asked as he shuffled through a large drawer of small glass jars.
"Sleeping more anyway." Carlos leaned against the counter and folded his arms thoughtfully. "I keep having this one strange dream about-"
"The sting ray invasion, yeah." Cecil finished as he held up one of the jars for closer inspection. "I think it's some sort of coded propaganda for the new aquarium wing in the Children's Museum. Shared dreams are by far the most obnoxious form of advertisement if you ask me." Carlos just shook his head with a resigned little smile. Of course Night Vale would have some way of controlling dreams. "Do you like nutmeg in your pancakes?" Cecil offered, unscrewing the lid of the little jar. The scientist shrugged. "You will."
Carlos watched the steady, practiced motions as Cecil stirred at the batter. His tattoos were showing again, this time tendrils that curled and drifted like smoke into billowing shapes. The same strange liberating feeling seemed to tilt the scale in his curiosity's favor. "When did you get those?" he asked, nodding towards the indigo patterns. Cecil stopped mixing and glanced down as if only realizing now that he had tattoos creeping down his arms.
"Oh, you know, here and there," he shrugged before resuming his stirring.
"Do they have meaning?" Carlos pressed, not satisfied with the vague reply. Cecil gave him a strangely perplexed look.
"Of course they have meaning, Carlos. Everything has a meaning." Cecil set the bowl carefully on the countertop and reached around for a pan, tugging discreetly at his sleeves as he did so until they covered the patterns across his skin.
"Well I like them," Carlos added quietly. Cecil looked at him curiously again, as if trying to decide if he was being sarcastic.
"Thank you," he said finally, pushing his sleeves back up with a hesitant smile.
"So do you cook often?" Carlos asked to change the subject. "Pancakes excluded from discussion," he added with a grin.
Cecil laughed. "I'm not a chef or anything, but I can hold my own I suppose. You can only eat at restaurants so much before it gets a bit dull after a while."
"I'm not much for restaurants either," Carlos agreed. "I don't like eating alone. It can just get depressing."
"Oh, I never eat alone." Cecil spun around the small space and retrieved a relatively normal mug from one of the overhead cabinets. "You know the Secret Police are legally obligated to accompany you, right?" Carlos shook his head. "Oh, absolutely. You see, most people are under 24-hour assigned surveillance. If you're ever by yourself somewhere, you can talk to them and they're legally obligated to join you and listen. It's the only truly enjoyable way to spend evenings alone if you ask me," Cecil babbled on as he filled the mug with the same strange coffee-like substance and handed it to the scientist. "You should try it sometime." Carlos got the distinct impression as Cecil's fingers lingered an extra moment on the mug to trace ever so softly against his as he accepted it that he wouldn't be spending evenings alone much longer. Cecil cleared his throat with a little cough and turned back to the butter melting in his frying pan. "What about you, can you cook?"
"The microwave is my secret weapon," Carlos admitted between sips of coffee.
"Well can you make pancakes?" Not liking the direction the conversation was headed, Carlos crossed his arms tighter across his chest and shook his head.
"Not like yours."
"They don't have to be like mine," Cecil assured him, tugging the sleeve of the scientists's lab coat towards the stovetop. "I just want to see what you can do." Cecil propped an elbow on the counter and rested his chin against his palm to watch the proceedings. Carlos was not entirely inept at cooking, but he hadn't done much of it since his own little kitchen was the source of the strange breathing sounds in his apartment. He tried to remember how his grandmother used to make pancakes on the weekends. She always started by drawing a smiling face in the pan and letting it brown. His attempt to do the same did not go as smoothly.
"What's that?" Cecil asked quietly as he tilted his head curiously to one side.
"A cyclops," Carlos mumbled as he poured a small ring of batter around the one-eyed creature he had accidentally created.
"They prefer the term 'monocular being.' Cyclops is a bit offensive," Cecil corrected gently. "You should probably flip that." Carlos poked at the edge to find it was already stuck to the pan. With some effort he scraped it enough to flip. The blackened monocular flapjack grinned up at Carlos tauntingly. "You can try again, it's alright." Cecil reassured. Carlos scraped the pancake onto a plate and poured another one without a face this time. "So last time you were here you mentioned there's a breathing sound in your apartment. What is it like?"
Carlos shrugged. "It's not really all that loud. More just eerie I'd say. Sometimes it hisses a bit. It seems to only come from one room." The next pancake flipped with more ease.
"Sounds like a poltergeist. You know, I've been taking some defensive dark arts evening classes up at the community college. I'm top of my class in exorcisms if you'd like me to give it a shot this afternoon," Cecil offered.
"That would be great, but-" the scientist's response was cut short by the acrid smell of smoke. He swore under his breath and tried to pry the second failed attempt from the pan. Cecil just laughed again. "You might want to take over before I set off your fire alarms," Carlos said in a fluster as he abandoned the pan entirely.
"Fire alarms?" Cecil asked as he casually took over the rescuing of breakfast. "Why would I need an alarm in case of fire? Flash flood alarms, sure, but a fire alarm?"
Carlos shook his head. "I'll never adjust to this place," he muttered as he went back to crossing his arms and watching Cecil do the cooking.
"On the contrary, I think you're doing rather wonderfully in comparison to the last time you were here," Cecil smiled. "Speaking of adjusting, have you talked to any of your scientists since-" his voice stumbled again, catching slightly on the words. "Since the incident?"
"I've talked to all of them actually. Well, the ones that are still here. Three went home a few months ago, and our archaeologist Tom he..." The scientist's eyes lowered to the pale slats of the wood floor for a long moment before he cleared his throat. "Most of the others were offered jobs up at the college. Apparently all their new supervisor does is yell at them in Portuguese so all but one were eager to come back to work for me on the condition I stop asking them for explanations they don't have."
"So science will continue as normal?" Cecil asked with a grin as he flipped a stack of flawless smiling pancakes out onto a plate.
"I wouldn't say normal, but it will go on," Carlos chuckled. "Actually that's what I came here to tell you. I'm leaving for Phoenix in-" he checked his watch, which read 3:49 AM. "Actually I should probably leave right about now. I'm catching a 6:30 flight home." Cecil abruptly ceased his fidgeting with the coffee pot, sloshing a bit of the brown liquid onto his burgundy shirt. "I'll be back," Carlos amended quickly. "I just have to work on getting my grant renewed. Twelve months went by fast, and now I need to somehow come up with something to present so I can keep my funding."
"Are you going by yourself? I can give you a ride to Phoenix if you need it," Cecil offered as he dug out a plastic container to send with Carlos.
"Actually I'm taking my whole team with me. Except Jake who swears he's soulbound to one of the hooded figures now and can't leave the city limits."
"That's rough," Cecil commented as he sorted through the stack of flapjacks for the most evenly browned specimens.
"That's just Jake. Anyway, it shouldn't take more than a week or two. I might need a few extra days just to sort out a few personal matters."
Cecil glanced up at him, eyes a curious mint green. "Personal matters?"
Carlos was thoughtful for a moment as he tried to find the best words. "I guess I just left home with the doors open, y'know? I didn't end things the way I should have. If you can believe it, I used to be scared of changing the status quo." Cecil laughed again in his musical little way. "I just need to get my past put away and close the doors behind me before I can think about a future," the scientist added. He risked a cautious glance over at Cecil who had taken to leaning against the counter next to him. The radio host was smiling his cheshire grin at the floor, his face slightly more flushed than usual.
"Okay," Cecil finally said quietly, handing the tupperware of flapjacks to Carlos. A strange nervous silence settled between them like two teenagers unsure how to end a first date. Carlos pushed his haphazardly-taped glasses up on his nose in a fidgety habit he had almost forgotten he had.
"I'll call you when I get back," he stuttered as he stepped towards the entryway to the dining room.
"I look forward to it, Carlos." Cecil's voice still carefully purred the syllables to his name in a strange adoration that made the scientist smile. His smile didn't falter during the entire drive to Phoenix as Andrea played country music obnoxiously loud in her little station wagon, or even as he was singled out by airport security for the strange radiation levels in his luggage that set off the detectors. He had been through hell and back in the past year, but if that's what it had taken for him to end up with a half-dozen smiling pancakes in his carry-on and a new text message from a peculiar radio host on his cell phone, then following the mysterious lights in the desert all those years ago had been more than worth it.
End Notes: so there you have it, the last official chapter before the epilogue! I kinda wanted to end it parallel to the conversation they had in Paper Fortune to show the shift in direction of their relationship. I actually wrote two versions of this chapter though, each ending vastly differently because one led into a semi-cliched but humorous side venture. If I ever take the time to write that up better, I'll probably post it on tumblr and link to it in these notes. For now, I like how this version wraps up the story pretty nicely. Anyway, the epilogue will be posted later today. :)