Title: Secrets
Fandom: Person of Interest
Pairing: Carl Elias/Anthony Marconi
Words: ~2000
Author: godsdaisiechain
Rating: PG

Summary: Spoilers for season 4 and season 5.  This is an AU with an alternative ending for the end of Season 4 for Carl Elias.

Carl dimly regained consciousness as the last car moved away. A figure shrouded in a jacket, face covered with a mask, pulled him roughly, tossed him into the back of a car. Zoomed off, crashing into a pier.  Then hands stuffed a mask over his face, half dragged, half carried him to a utility passage pulled off the mask just as the car exploded. Everything went black again.

The next sensations were of pain and the softness of bedsheets. A scent, like cedar, and a firm, comforting hand on his shoulder. “Boss?” Carl kept his eyes closed. It couldn’t be Anthony. He’d made that mistake once before and nearly lost his composure in front of Root. Had let tears fall down his face.  A wave of nausea washed over him. Carl bent over, vomited violently again and again. Not his most attractive moment. At least someone was holding a bucket for him.  He worked on remaining calm.

“It’s OK,” Anthony said, rubbing Carl’s back until the retching stopped. Carl reminded himself that Anthony was gone and vomited again. “Just spit,” said the voice that was not Anthony.  “Good. You’re doing real good.”  Everything went dark and blurry.

“Boss?”  the edge of panic in Anthony’s—no, not Anthony’s, Carl reminded himself again—voice pulled Carl back up from oblivion. He was resting against something soft. A hand was on his face.  A familiar hand.  He opened his eyes.

There was no scar on that face and his glossy dark hair had been bleached and hung forward, but it was Anthony.  Dressed in a soft grey sweater and corduroys.  His beautiful, beautiful Anthony.

“My Anthony?”  Carl moaned and closed his eyes against the pain. “How?”

“Hold still, boss,” Anthony squeezed a shoulder as Carl tried to sit up, adjusted a tube inserted into Carl’s arm.  The pain settled into a dull throb.  Carl opened his eyes again.

Anthony pressed his lips against the top of Carl’s head. “Lean forward,” Anthony said as he helped Carl rinse the foul taste from his mouth, one arm tucked around Carl’s back, his hand on the bare skin left exposed by a hospital gown.  “You’re doing good,” Anthony said again, then turned, and stood up, keeping one hand on Carl’s bare skin.

A tall, blonde man stepped out of the shadows, and Carl took in the room—glass doors with a view of the ocean, shrouded against the late afternoon light.  He was in a large hospital bed in an alcove surrounded by dark velvet drapes. The man spoke. “I would have just shot you, but she has a soft spot for you.”  Then he winked.  “Logan Pierce.”

Carl reached into deeply into himself, and smiled despite the feeling that his heart was about to burst. “Carl Elias. Pleased to meet you, Logan. And I do feel as if I was shot.”

Logan smiled. “OK, I didn’t shoot you. But we did do some work. Replaces the slugs with soft plastic bullets.  Fooled everyone.”

“Even me,” said Carl. Logan smiled.  Anthony clenched his jaw. “Where am I?”

“Safe. You’ll be here while we get your new identity sorted out. Do you need anything?”

“It’s OK. I got it,” said Anthony.

Carl looked at Logan blandly.  “We brought you here yesterday,” Logan continued. “Anthony insisted on caring for you himself.”

“He’s my boss,” said Anthony simply.  “I’m used to it.”  Carl smiled.

“Thank you for saving me, Logan,” Carl said, then moaned and closed his eyes.

“I got it,” Anthony said again and Logan left them alone.

“Is that everyone?” Carl asked. Anthony nodded.

Carl’s body contracted with the agony of grief he hadn’t let himself feel, except in a brief conversation with Root. “Don’t hurt yourself on the needle,” Anthony said and carefully pulled out the IV and then disconnected the monitors. Anthony eased onto the bed and gathered Carl close. “I thought you were dead,” Carl gasped. “And nothing mattered.  Nothing.”

“Harold and the machine?” Anthony asked.

“They got me killed,” said Carl, then he remembered something. “Are you still sick?”

Anthony’s face momentarily went black with anger. “It was a fake. That chick said some computer switched the tests.”

Carl mulled this over, didn't bother to ask about the chick. He didn’t want to tell Anthony about the day he was nearly killed. “It did that to hurt you?”

“No. You.”  Carl ran fingers over the place where Anthony’s scar had once shown. A faint trace remained, if you knew where to look.

“What did they do to you?”

“I never liked it anyway,” said Anthony.

Carl’s heart contracted again. “Why didn’t you say so?  We could have…”

Anthony shrugged and Carl felt an overwhelming wave of love.  “You always did anything I asked, Carlie.  And you loved me however I looked or whatever I did.”

“Not whatever,” Carl said.

Anthony chuckled. “Don’t go complaining about that chardonnay during our loving reunion.”   Carl’s lips trembled. “Aw, boss,” Anthony said, voice shaking, as Carl fought back sobs.  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t….”

“You must have been so badly hurt,” Carl said. “And I wasn’t there to take care of you.” Anthony’s face clouded.

“I almost didn't make it,” Anthony said, cleared his throat. “The only thing that kept me going was knowing that you might need me. I tried to get away.”  He pulled up a pant leg to show an ankle bracelet.

“I nearly didn’t make it, either,” Carl whispered.

Anthony made a shocked little noise, cupped Carl’s face in a surprisingly soft hand.  “You’ve been out a couple of days. Just in case,” he said. “But you were never…”

“That’s not what I meant,” Carl said, flexing the hand Dominic had broken with a hammer. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Maine,” said Anthony.  “Middle of nowhere.  Not much to do.”  Carl rested against Anthony and they both watched the light fade over the ocean through the windows.  “Hungry?” Anthony asked when the room had gone dark.

“Not really,” said Carl. “You?”

Anthony pressed his lips against Carl’s head again. “I’m good.” He moved slightly and pressed their mouths together.

A light flicked on, and Logan was there with a bottle of sparkling water.  “How…” he began, and stopped when Anthony and Carl both raised their heads. “Oh,” he said, setting the water down on a table. “Oh.  Wow.”

“Hello Logan,” said Carl.

“I’m sorry. I came to see if you were hungry,” stammered Logan. “I didn’t think.”  He looked at Anthony.

“Anthony?” Carl asked.  Anthony shook his head slightly. “Thank you, Logan, but we’re fine.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Logan. “I didn’t realize. Did Harold know about this?”

“No, Logan. And we would appreciate it if you would keep our secret,” said Carl.  “I am truly grateful that you saved Anthony. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I’ll knock next time,” said Logan. He walked to the bed, pulled a plastic key from his pocket and handed it to Anthony. “I apologize.  I didn’t understand why you wanted to go so badly. I’m sorry.”  Anthony tilted his head.

“I could have said.”  Carl’s face broke into a happy smile, and he patted Anthony’s hand.

“Thank you again, Logan,” said Carl. They waited until the door clicked shut.  Carl unlocked the ankle bracelet for Anthony, then peeked below his hospital gown.  “Anthony, will you help me? I’m feeling uncomfortable.”

“Sure,” said Anthony. “But take these first. Before your head starts hurting again. You got a nasty bump on the back, too.” Carl obediently swallowed painkillers with a mouthful of water while Anthony pulled the drapes shut. Then Anthony carefully removed the tubes and electrodes. “You’re doing good,” he said while carefully working out the catheter.  “Relax, Carlie.”  Carl gasped as the tube came free and Anthony covered him again modestly.

“I’m sorry,” said Carl, curling forward. “I know it’s not sexy.”

Anthony rubbed Carl’s back, carefully massaging the bruises with a special gel, and kissed the top of his head again, then gave him a glass of water.  Carl tried to wave it off. “Please. Just a little more. I don’t want you getting dehydrated. You want a shower? Wash off all that goop?”

“I’m not sure I can stand that long,” said Carl.

“You won’t have to,” said Anthony. He helped Carl into the bathroom—an impressive expanse of marble and glass—and seated him on a bench before helping him remove the hospital gown.  He shed his own clothes, folding them neatly and setting them on a counter, to reveal a new collection of scars and a rippling set of muscles.

“My word, Anthony,” said Carl, tracing pink scar tissue at Anthony’s side and along one leg and an arm.

“It wasn’t good,” said Anthony. “Had stuff right through me.” Carl fingered the scar on Anthony’s arm “They sawed through the floor. The explosion pushed me down, chair and all.”

“You’ve been working out,” said Carl, fingers tracing a taut buttock.

Anthony shrugged. “Not much to do.” He took Carl’s hand before the fingers strayed too far.  “You’re getting me riled up.” Carl smiled. “You’ve lost weight, too.”

“I lost my appetite after,” said Carl. Anthony squeezed Carl’s hand, touched the new bullet scar on his chest, lifted his eyes in a question. “Let’s not talk about it tonight.”  Anthony turned on the shower. They washed then dried off on fluffy towels.

Anthony taped a new bandage to Carl’s forehead and coated his bruises with more pain gel, then opened another door. “Come to my room?”

“Of course, Bello,” said Carl. Anthony wrapped him in a towel and supported him as he walked.

Carl left the towel on a chair, settled into Anthony’s bed, fingered a pile of books.  Travel guides to Italy.  Washington Irving.  Jane Austen.  Odd replacements for the well-thumbed copies of The Art of War, The Prince, and various books of chess moves and military history that usually accumulated near the beds in Anthony’s apartments.

Anthony picked up Carl’s towel from the chair, hung it up neatly beside his own. He moved easily, but Carl could see the caution behind certain motions, the way Anthony flexed his hip and nodded as if testing his range of motion. Carl thought he’d never seen anything as beautiful. “Tired?”

“Exhausted,” said Carl.

“Hungry?”

Carl shook his head.  “Not yet.”

Anthony settled into the bed and took Carl in his arms. They lay quietly, bare skins together. Eventually, Anthony turned Carl’s face and kissed him.  They kissed for a long while, then broke apart, breathing raggedly.

“I’d forgotten what a wonderful kisser you are,” Carl murmured. “How good you taste. Wonderful.” Anthony nuzzled his face.  They kissed a while longer and fell asleep.

In the morning, they began to investigate their new scars in the early light, but Anthony pulled back when Carl’s face grew dark. “I don’t want to forgive them for what happened to you,” Carl said quietly.

“You got revenge?” Anthony said. Carl nodded. “So it’s all square. I…” Anthony paused, licked his lips. Carl looked up, his face suddenly open again, eager to listen as he always was when Anthony spoke.  “I had a year almost to think and I want…”  his voice broke and Carl gripped his hand.

“Tell me, Anthony,” Carl said. “It’s all right. What do you want?”

Anthony swallowed, looked down. “I wanted it to be over then. Now I want to have time with you. Just us. Maybe take care of something besides a city that’s trying to kill us all the time. And I don’t want to kill people no more. We got enough revenge.  We won that city from men.  The only thing that got in our way was that Machine.”

“I’m sorry,” Carl said.  “For not protecting you better.”

“No, boss,” Anthony said, looking back up. “Don’t. You done your best. Dying made me think. I never had time on my own like that before.  Hardly anything to do but work out and read.” Carl waited. “I…” Anthony looked down, then up. “I shouldn’t have left you to do all the hard thinking. I should have helped you more, especially after Yogorov shot you.”

“Oh, no, Anthony,” Carl said, gently, touching his face.  “No.”

“It was wrong,” Anthony insisted.  “I know I asked you to be the boss, but it got too easy to just follow along.”

“No,” Carl said, moving closer and kissing Anthony’s forehead. “You never, ever have to apologize to me. You’ve spent every minute of your life doing for me, and thinking about me, and protecting me. I counted on you every instant for that, for your thoughtfulness, for taking care of things I couldn’t do. I didn't realize until you were gone how much you did. And you always were the one who kept me thinking straight. Except once.” Anthony went very still.  “You asked me to let them kill you.”

“I’m sorry. I was so afraid they’d hurt you,” Anthony said. “And I thought I was dying.  It would have been a good death. Better than the other…”

Carl kissed Anthony’s forehead again.  “I couldn’t say no to you.  I never could.”

“Does that mean I can give you a good looking over?” Anthony asked.  “Make sure everything’s in working order?”

Carl quivered. “If you like,” he murmured.  Anthony closed his mouth over Carl’s.