Chapter Text
When Carlos wakes up Sunday after the whole Glow Cloud debacle, he’s greeted with several sheets of blue and red dots. He blinks at it for a moment, propped up on his elbows as he considers it. His arms slide out from under him, and he flops back onto the bed with a groan. Ugh, it’s too early for this mess. The team had been up for far longer than normal in the usual last-minute rush to get all their reports in to a demanding AD Hill.
With a fortifying breath, he pushes himself out of bed and gets ready for the day. Once he’s dressed and armed with a mandatory cup of coffee, he heads down stairs with his pages of dots. Most of his team is already there, bleary eyed and awakening under the influence of blessed caffeine.
He knows the answer before he does it, but Carlos still holds up his dot sheets. All of his security team and scientists hold up sheets as well. “Check the calendar someone?” he asks, and Nils obliges. “Dot day,” she reads around a yawn and sip of coffee. “Red for love, blue for hate.” She hums contemplatively. “Guess all of you get red dots then. Cause I sure do love all you guys, and I guess there’s no harm in showing it.”
“What?” Stan asks, blinking. After he and C.C. woke up, they’d been fine with no recollection of what happened to them. The team still kept a close eye on them, but they seemed completely fine. “Why should we?”
“Cause we’re here and we need to blend in. And why not participate? There’s no harm in it,” Nils explains as she puts a red dot on Rachelle's and Cass' nose.
“That’s stupid,” Dave, who is a always a grouch in the morning, mutters. “Do we have to do this?” The question is directed at Carlos, who glances up from a file to see everyone staring expectantly at him. And because they’re good, loyal people, they’d do what he says, even if he tells Nils to put the dots away; he won’t because the Nils and Rachelle are giving him those puppy dog looks that are overwhelming and pathetic and hopeful all out once.
He snaps the folder shut and sighs. “If you want to participate, that’s fine, but if you don’t want to, that’s alright.”
Nils and Rachelle squeal, throwing their arms around him in a crushing hug. He’s not too sure what they’re squealing, but it’s something along the lines of thank you. He thinks. He's gotten pretty good at understanding noises like that thanks to his little sister.
When they finally pull back, he sees everyone’s smiles and it warms him. He blinks as Nils and Rachelle press dots onto the apples of his cheeks. With a small grin, he presses dots into the middle of their foreheads.
They laugh, and he’s laughing, and everyone’s happy as they stick each other with dots. Within minutes, every SHIELD agent, highly specialized and disciplined individuals that were handpicked for this dangerous assignment in Night Vale, is covered with nine red dots, one from every other member of the team. “We should probably be heading out,” Dave observes at last, checking his watch. “You gonna come with us boss?”
Carlos, still grinning, nods. “Sure. Finished up all those reports for the Assistant Director yesterday. It’ll be fun. Just let me grab my radio, I’ll be back in a minute.” He pretends not to notice his team’s grins as he heads upstairs. Those are their triumphant yeah, we finally got our hermit of a boss out of the lab smiles.
It only takes him a moment to grab the radio off his desk, but he hesitates. His eyes are drawn to his drawer on his nightstand as he smiles as he pulls it open. In it is a small photo album his siblings gave him for his birthday a year or two ago.
He flips the album open with a little grin. The first picture is of him right after the twins were born, his chubby three-year-old face bright with excitement as his then six-year-old sister held him. There was the four of them on his first day of high school, a look of nervous excitement on his face because he was always the youngest in his class. All of them at the burger joint right by their favorite beach, the salt water plastering their hair to their faces as they scarf down burgers after a day at the beach. Him and his big sister right before she left for her first deployment. There's him at his college graduation, right after he got his doctorate. His big sister's wedding; his sisters in a picture together with his older sister's baby bump just showing; Carlos, his younger brother, and his brother-in-law; all of them at the hospital after Carlos' niece was born.
A fond smile finds its way on Carlos' face as he studies each face intently. The photo album is a reminder for him, of why he does what he does, of who he's doing this for. His family, the people he loves and cares for, is the reason he works for SHIELD. It's not always easy, but he keeps doing it. It's just like his mamá told him after a rough first week of high school: today is better than yesterday. Tomorrow will be better. And that's alright.
He smooths a red dot over the photo album before replacing it with all the care it deserves.
He's just starting to feel a wave of nostalgia when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. He’s covered in red dots, one on the apple of each cheek and seven making up a smiley face on his forehead. This makes him grin, warm and happy, as he heads downstairs to the lab, lab coat billowing behind him.
“Okay,” he says to the milling group, “which of you jokers is responsible for the damn smiley face?” Everybody snickers and starts pointing fingers, chorusing, “He did it!”, “She did it!”, “No you did!”, and other such things.
When the team leaves the lab, armed with equipment and sheets of dots and excited grins, Carlos feels happier than he can remember being in a long time.
/=\=/=\
The moon is barely over the horizon when Cecil arrives, surprising C.C. and Carlos with his silent steps. “Good evening my beautiful Carlos.”
Both men jump, whirling around to face the radio show host who stands a few feet behind them with a pleasant grin. It would be more reassuring if his eyes aren’t shining mischievously and his teeth aren’t pointed to sharp angles. Tonight, Cecil is wearing dark grey slacks, an indigo dress shirt, and a black dress jacket tossed over his arm.
All in all, Cecil looks very good. Which is why Carlos can’t comprehend why someone as intelligent and dapper looking as Cecil can be “in love” with Carlos, who wears ratty flannel shirts, faded jeans, and his ever-present lab coat.
“Oh, um, hello, Cecil,” Carlos says, heart still racing ever so slightly from the shock of Cecil seemingly appearing from nowhere. C.C. nods his greeting as he hovers behind Carlos, no doubt with a stony look of protection and a hand hovering over his gun.
Cecil makes no threatening movement though, just smiles as he says, “It looks like someone’s been enjoying dot day.”
Carlos blushes and resists the urge to slap a hand over his forehead. “Ah, yes, everyone on my team is a joker.” He gives C.C. a not at all amused look. For his part, C.C. looks completely unrepentant.
“Hey, what can I say, boss? You can make the smiley face work.” Cecil laughs at that, the sound clear and ringing in a way that makes Carlos want to laugh too. There’s something genuine and almost childlike about the way Cecil laughs, something completely honest in a way that says he never laughs unless he means it.
“I agree with Mr…?” Cecil’s voice trails off, his inflection implying a question.
The security guard waves an easy hand. “Call me C.C.”
Cecil nods, expression stretched into an easy smile. “C.C. then. I suppose it’s rather redundant, but I’m Cecil. It’s important to introduce yourself properly, wouldn’t you say? If not, you miss a step, and who knows what you’ll fall into if you miss a step.” Cecil’s voice takes on a dreamy, considering voice, one that’s thoughtful and thoughtless crammed into one. Cecil, who’d stared at the moon as he mused, glances to meet Carlos' eyes with a strange look.
For a moment, Carlos swears Cecil’s dark pupils are replaced with thin silver crescents, much like the moon hanging above him.
Then Cecil’s twisting tattoos catch his attention as they move in twisting patterns around Cecil’s arms. There’s so many. Carlos can identify alchemical symbols, ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, ancient Greek characters, native American symbols, and even more unfamiliar ones.
Before the moment grows so tense as to snap (which is where’s it’s heading at this rate), Carlos' walkie-talkie chirps wildly. Fumbling as he bobbles his equipment in one hand and the talkie and radio in the other, he eventually manages to clip the device from his belt.
“Carlos here.”
“Um,” comes Stan's voice, hesitant and vaguely panicky in the way he hums the filler. “You might want to head back to the lab Carlos. Like, now. We may have a situation. And can C.C. come too? I think C.C. should come.”
“Dios Mio, Stan, I know I’ll regret it, but what kind of situation are we looking at?”
A beat of silence. Then: “Spiders. Living spider made of paper, spinning webs in our labs with what looks like ink for venom.”
Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose. “Right. Of course. And where, pray tell, did the paper come from?”
Carlos already suspects the answer, and his hypothesis is proven correct when Stan mumbles, “Our paperwork, sir.”
C.C., who’d seemed vaguely horrified thus far, and Cecil, who appeared silently amused by either the situation or the other men's reactions, both let out a sigh. And then Cecil is in Mendez’s personal space, far into his personal space, leaning over his shoulder to speak directly into the walkie-talkie. “You put a blue dot on it, didn’t you? The paperwork, I mean.”
“Oh, um, Cecil, hey, yeah, I put a blue dot on it,” Stan splutters, shocked by Cecil’s sudden presence. To be fair, so is Carlos, who’s rigid as Cecil’s chest is nearly pressed into his back.
Carlos shoots C.C. a grateful look when he distracts Cecil, gaining Carlos some much needed space. Carlos' lungs expand with a shuddering breath as Cecil explains into C.C.’s walkie-talkie, “To get rid of them, just take the blue dot off.” As if it’s obvious.
“I don’t know how that’s gonna work Cecil,” Stan huffs. “The things are aggressive, and I think the one with the blue dot is on the ceiling.”
Of course the damn thing is.
“Everybody back to the lab,” Carlos groans through his walkie-talkie. “We need to take care of this now.”
He’s met with a chorus of confirmations; C.C.’s already half way down the street. Collecting his gear, Carlos is about to follow when Cecil says, “Wait, Carlos!”
The scientist pauses obligingly, turning to see Cecil staring at his shoes, a frown puckered across his face. The man takes a deep breath and says in a steady way, “I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable.”
Carlos sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Cecil, look, it’s not a big deal--”
“Yes it is!” Cecil interrupts, head shaking vehemently enough to send starlight silver hair going everywhere. “It is a big deal Carlos! You feel uncomfortable, I make you feel uncomfortable Carlos, that’s not fair to you! I, I didn’t mean to, I just…” His eyes slide from Carlos' to his shoes as he mumbles, “I just want to help. But not if you’re at all uncomfortable with me.”
Carlos heart does a funny little flip in his chest as he blushes up to the roots of his hair. “Cecil, I’m not uncomfortable with you. It’s just, I've never been good with relationships or people who have romantic feelings for me, and it makes me awkward and kind of embarrassed, like when you talk about me on the radio, but you don’t… You’ve never made me uncomfortable. I promise.” He hesitates, then adds, “Where I came from, people just don’t fall in love at first sight.”
Cecil gives him a sad look. “That’s a very lonely place you come from then, Carlos.”
Carlos thinks of his empty apartment he went home to after work. Thinks of all the relationships that sort of crumpled in on themselves. “Yeah, it can be sometimes.” He manages to smile at Cecil. “It’s not so lonely anymore. Today is better than yesterday. Tomorrow will be a little better. And that’s alright.”
Cecil smiles back just a bit, his pointed teeth suddenly not so intimidating. “That’s a beautiful thing to say Carlos.”
Carlos shrugs. “It helps with a lot. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make sure my team isn’t being bested by a bunch of paper spiders. Because that’s pathetic, even for them, and I refuse to fill out the paperwork for that. I don't even thine there is paperwork for that situation.”
Cecil laughs once more, ringing and true. “Of course, my dear Carlos, of course. Can I give you something before you leave?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Just this.” Cecil grabs Carlos' right wrist in a careful grip, tight enough to bring the appendage closer but loose enough for Carlos to pull back if he wants to. He doesn’t, and Cecil places a red dot on the inside of his wrist, just above the pulse point, with cool, gentle fingers. “There you go,” Cecil beams, still holding onto Carlos' wrist.
“Ah, thanks Cecil,” Carlos mutters, gently pulling his arm closer to his body.
“No problem, dear Carlos. I’d best be going myself. Station management tends to get fussy and add an extra hour onto their required ritual keening if I’m late. Good luck with the spiders.”
“Good luck with your bosses.”
Something warm fills Carlos' chest as he watches Cecil scurry away, tugging his jacket on. Cecil isn’t so bad. Not really.
If anything, Cecil makes Carlos think of a lovestruck teenager. And it amazes him that anyone can be fascinated with him in such a way.
C.C.’s voice crackles over the walkie-talkie. “You coming boss?”
“Yeah C.C.,” Carlos replies, a small smile curling across his face. “ETA is five.”
“Good. Cause these things are pissed off and the more, the merrier.”