Work Text:
Romeo’s eyes trailed after Carlo as he paced around the room. “You know you don’t have to get him anything significant, right? You can get him a birthday card and say something nice. If you really wanna get fancy, you could get him some wine.”
Carlo stomped his foot and groaned. “I don’t know why I feel compelled to get him anything! I don’t know why I’m thinking about this so much. Like you said, I could just send a greeting card. Sign it with ‘Congratulations on not dying yet. Sincerely, your estranged son’ and hope he actually looks at it.” His brows furrowed as he chewed on his bottom lip, irritated. “It’s so dumb. I feel like an idiot.”
“Hey, stop that.” Romeo frowned. “Having complicated feelings towards your dad doesn’t make you an idiot.” He reached out and grabbed one of Carlo’s hands, fingers lacing together.
Carlo squeezed his hand in return. “I know… I know,” he sighed. “Every holiday… every birthday… I think about what you said. About how I’m lucky to have any family at all. I’ve been trying to focus on that more–be thankful instead of resentful.”
Romeo’s frown slowly shifted into a gentle smile. “I had no idea you actually took that to heart. I figured you’d brushed it off.”
“I’d never brush off what you say!” Carlo huffed indignantly.
Romeo couldn’t help but chuckle. “Of course, of course. My apologies, darling.” He pulled Carlo into his lap, wrapping his arms around his waist to hold him steady.
Carlo wound his arms around his partner’s neck. “Do you think I should try to do more? Maybe offer to take him out to dinner?”
“I think… you should do what makes you the most comfortable. I think the fact you’re even bothering to acknowledge your father’s birthday is wonderful. He should be grateful you even remember it.” He cupped Carlo’s cheek. “I’ll support whatever you choose, even if what you choose is to ignore him entirely.”
Carlo closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Romeo's hand on him, letting it ground him. Tension and anxiety slowly seeped out of him as lifted his hand to cover Romeo’s. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.
Romeo broke the kiss, only briefly, to respond, “Of course you do.”
* * *
Carlo clutched the wine bag with white knuckles as he stood outside his father’s villa. He took a few slow, deep breaths to calm his nerves—a technique Lea had been drilling into him—he tended to get in his own head a lot and work himself up. Sure, he’d been taught to take deep breaths to calm down when he was younger, but Lea was adamant about him doing it more to ground himself. She’d always said his ability to feel things so intensely and deeply was a double edged sword; it led to him wanting to do a lot of good—try to fix the injustices he witnessed—but also caused him an unnecessary amount of emotional distress.
After a couple more steadying breaths, he finally knocked on the door. He still had a key, but he felt awkward using it. It didn’t feel like the house he grew up in. He felt like he was intruding. He waited a few seconds before knocking again, louder. Just when he was about to bang on the door, a puppet butler answered.
“Apologies, Sir Carlo. Master Geppetto was not expecting company.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. It’s a surprise… or whatever. For his birthday. Is he even here?” He felt silly that he hadn’t considered the possibility of his father not even being home.
The puppet regarded him with what Carlo could only assume was curiosity. “Of course.” The puppet bowed and moved aside to let Carlo in. “I will go fetch Master Geppetto from his study if you’d like to wait here in the foyer.”
Carlo nodded to the puppet as he walked inside. He awkwardly shifted his weight from foot to foot as he waited, unsure of what to do while he waited. He grew up here, he should feel fine waltzing around—going to sit in the parlor, getting a drink of water from the kitchen—but he felt like an outsider. He hadn’t felt welcome here in a long time. He glared down at the wine bag in his hand, upset with himself for letting his resolve crumble. He was dedicated to getting his father the cheapest, nastiest wine available, but in the end he grabbed one he knew his father enjoyed; a vintage French red wine. Still looking to please him after all this time… he was disgusted with himself.
He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the telltale sound of his father descending the staircase. He put on what he hoped was a pleasant smile, and not a grimace. “Happy birthday, father.” He extended the gift to his father as he approached.
“Son, I didn’t know you were coming today.” Geppetto eyed the bag of wine with an annoying amount of suspicion before taking it from his son’s hand. “Thank you,” he said without even looking at what was in the bag. He passed it off to the puppet butler, who’d silently approached them.
Carlo really wishes he’d stuck to his guns and gotten the nastiest wine available. He took a deep breath and mentally counted to five. He was not going to tell his father to fuck off and storm out of the villa. He was not going to snatch the wine from the puppet’s hands and smash it. “You’re welcome,” he replied, doing his best to keep his voice light.
“I’d honestly forgotten what today was. When you get to my age, birthdays are just another day.”
“Being lucky enough to have so many birthdays should be celebrated, right?” Carlo countered, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.
Geppetto nodded solemnly. “I suppose you have a point, son.” He waved the butler puppet away and glanced around the foyer. “Are you here alone?”
“No, you’re here.” Carlo replied, purposely obtuse, unable to help himself.
Geppetto finally looked his son in the face, his ever present frown deepening. “You know what I meant.”
“Romeo’s not hiding in the shadows if that’s what you’re asking,” Carlo scoffed. “I just came by to wish you a happy birthday while I had some free time.” He watched his father dig his pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket to check the time. It felt like a very obvious ploy to get Carlo to leave given the grandfather clock ticking away just across the room. “If you’re busy, I can—”
“Join me in the dining room, will you?” Geppetto cut him off and trailed after the butler he’d shooed away.
He always did this! Acted as if Carlo had nothing better to do than follow him around like a puppy. And after being so dismissive too… If Carlo was thinking rationally, he’d have stomped out the front door and slammed it. But Carlo’s curse was that he rarely thought rationally when it came to his father. Even after all this time he was still desperate to have some kind of relationship with him. So against all better judgement, he trailed behind his father, scowling all the way.
When they got to the dining room Geppetto took a seat and gestured for Carlo to do the same. The butler appeared with two glasses and the wine Carlo had brought. When had his father instructed him to do that?
“Sit, son. Have a glass with me.” Geppetto one again gestured to the seat across the table from him.
This was new. Carlo wasn't sure how to process what was happening. Things like this—his father willingly spending any time with him—never happened. Never. He slowly sat down as the butler puppet poured him a glass of wine. He glanced between his father and the butler before taking a sip of wine.
“Thank you, Lorenzo.” Geppetto nodded his thanks to the butler.
Carlo's attention snapped to the butler—Lorenzo, apparently—and then looked at his father. It was unlike him to assign names to the puppet staff. At least Carlo didn't think he had since Camille. “Thanks, Lorenzo.” He parroted his father and took another generous gulp of wine.
“Slow down, son,” his father chastised. “Lorenzo, top him off and then kindly take your leave.”
Lorenzo bowed. “Of course, Master Geppetto.” He refilled Carlo's glass, probably more than he should have if Carlo was being honest, and then disappeared out the door.
“So, where's your fellow apprentice?” Geppetto said the word like it pained him. “You two seemed attached at the hip these days.”
Oh great, here it goes. Carlo made a show of rolling his eyes. “ Romeo,” he stressed his fellow apprentice’s name, “is at home. Probably being domestic and cleaning the kitchen or something. Why do you care?”
That caught Geppetto’s attention. “Home? As in Lea’s residence?”
“Well it’s not like we live at the Rose Estate anymore. We graduated a few years ago, not that you’d remember that,” Carlo said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. He picked up his wine glass and eyed it before downing half of it.
Geppetto’s eyes narrowed at his son. He chose to ignore Carlo's retort and instead said, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you, but I haven’t known how to broach the subject.” He took a sip of his wine.
Carlo rolled his eyes again, already beyond fed up with his father’s antics. “Okay? Well, I’m here. Ask away.”
“Would you consider resigning from your apprenticeship with Lea and coming to live here? You could have a promising future as a Technician, you know. You’d have the best Technician around to teach you,” he said, obviously referring to himself.
“Excuse me?” Carlo nearly dropped his glass, eyes growing wide. There’s no way he heard his father correctly. “You have the… the audacity to ask me to give up my life and move in with you?” He stood up, chair screeching as he pushed it back. He didn't know why he was so quick to anger. Maybe it was the wine hitting him. “Why are you asking this out of the blue?”
“As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been saddled with regrets—”
“ Regrets? You mean like abandoning me? Throwing me away? Pretending I didn’t exist?” Carlo’s voice rose, unable to keep his anger bottled up. “Oh, I’m so sorry you’re mournful of your choices in your old age, but you don’t get to ask me to drop my life and come play pretend happy family with you!”
“Son, calm down will you? There’s no need to get so loud—”
“No! You don’t get to dictate what I do or how I react! You had your chance to have a life with me, and you threw it all away! That was your choice, and you don’t get to pretend to care now!”
“I’m not pretending!” Geppetto shouted. He slammed his hands on the table, the movement knocking over his glass of wine. “I’m worried about you! With this new illness running rampant, being in the field all the time is more dangerous than ever. We’re on the cusp of an epidemic.”
“You think I don’t know about the Petrification Disease? I’m not stupid. I know the risks.” Carlo grabbed a cloth napkin from the holder on the table and leaned across the table to drape it on his father’s spilled wine. “We take precautions, but if I die from that disease because I stayed with Lea and Romeo… so be it.” He finished off his own glass of wine and sat back down. He felt a sense of calmness wash over him, his anger dissipating as he mentally counted to five. He was not going to get into a screaming match with his father. He was not going to waste his energy and emotions on that.
“But you have an out. You don’t have to subject yourself to that.” Geppetto matched his son’s demeanor, lowering his voice.
“I’m living the life of my dreams, father. I’m an apprentice of the Legendary Stalker; something I thought was only ever going to be a far fetched fantasy. I have the most wonderful family that loves me. We play music together, we help people together… I couldn’t ask for a better life than that. And if I die by choosing to stay there and by continuing to live that life, then that’s fine by me. I’d rather die living like that then live an extra few decades by abandoning it all and settling for being a Technician. I don’t want that.” Carlo took a deep breath and fiddled with the ring on his left hand. “Technicians are important, but that’s not what I’m meant to do.”
“Carlo—”
“I wasted so much of my childhood and adolescence mourning my relationship with you. Wanting your attention and your love. I hated you… or at least I thought I did. I hated what you did to me.” He sighed. “And I’m sure a part of me will always crave a proper relationship with you…”
“Carlo, I know it was hard, but I truly believe my absence was what was best for you. I was—”
“I know. That’s not an excuse though, is it?” Carlo raised an eyebrow. “I lost my mother. I needed my father, but you got rid of me instead. So I found family elsewhere, and now you want me back? It doesn’t work that way, father.”
“I—”
Carlo raised a hand to silence his father. “In some weird way I guess I should thank you because if you didn’t do that, I would have never found my purpose. I would have never met Romeo…” He lifted his left hand and wiggled his fingers, showing off the gaudy ring with an R that adorned his ring finger. “Lea got us rings with our initials on them to commemorate us officially being her apprentices. Romeo and I exchanged ours as some silly engagement thing.” He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “It’s ridiculous, but it’s so us and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is much better than some diamond or gold band.”
Geppetto stared at the ring with disbelief written across his face. “You’re engaged to that delinquent? How long have—”
“Don’t call him that!” Carlo tried to keep his voice steady. He refused to let his father rile him up again. “He’s not a delinquent. We’ve been together for a few years at this point. I don’t know if we’ll ever actually get married given the chaos going on—seems rather trivial all things considered—but he’s my partner. I love him. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him, and whether that life is another few months or a few decades doesn’t matter much to me. I’m happy.”
Carlo pushed himself out of the chair again with a sigh. He locked eyes with his father, surprised to see a look of resignation staring back at him. “I appreciate you worrying for me, but this is the life I want. If I fall victim to the disease, then it happens. Like I said, we take precautions… but I know we aren’t immune. I’ve built an amazing life, and I’m not going to give it all up for the sake of security.”
“If that’s truly how you feel, then nothing I can say is going to sway you.” Geppetto broke eye contact with his son to stare at the cloth napkin in front of him, still absorbing his spilt wine. “Thank you for coming to see me, Carlo.”
Carlo swallowed the growing lump in his throat. He knew the second he got back home he was going to collapse into Romeo’s arms and sob, but right now he had to be strong. He couldn’t show any weakness in front of his father, especially not after everything he’d said. “It was Romeo who suggested I be more grateful that I actually have family instead of focusing on resenting you for what you did. So call him any name you want, but it’s because of him that I’m here today and you didn’t just get a card in the mail.” He watched his father adjust his monocle, clearly taken aback by what his son had said. “Despite it all, and despite the resentment… I do still love you, you know. I’m glad you’re well. Happy birthday, father.”
Carlo pushed his chair in and left the dining room. He didn’t hear his father following after him, but didn’t let his guard down until he was through the front door. He finally let his shoulders sag, the weight lifting off of them. He’d meant every word he said, but he found himself feeling guilty at snapping at his father like that. Hadn’t he always wanted his father to be involved in his life? To show an interest in his life? Suddenly he does, and Carlo argues with him over it! He felt ridiculous. But at the same time… who was he to say stuff like that out of the blue? It made Carlo think his father felt entitled to him even after everything he’d done. No, he wasn’t going to regret his outburst. His father needed to hear every word.
His father's words had struck a chord with him though. He didn’t want to die. He hoped, really and truly hoped with every fiber of his being, that he would get to spend many more years with Romeo. That he could continue to work alongside him and Lea for years to come. He knew the Petrification Disease was worse than any of the papers made it out to be, and he was scared. He was so scared; his father’s words only fueling his fear. But Carlo Geppetto never let fear stop him from doing what he felt was right.
And it felt right to fight and work with Romeo and Lea throughout this horrific outbreak. It felt right being a Stalker. He’d worked so hard for this. And if he lost his life by living his greatest dream, then that was alright by him.