Metamorphosis ficlet
So, the first ficlet from the timestamp meme a while back. snycock asked what happens to Blair and Ellie from Metamophosis. There's gonna be a longer sequel at some point, but here's a bit in between the end of one and the beginning of the other...
"I want to go over the security arrangements for the swearing in ceremony again," said Simon, looking around the City Hall rotunda.
"Simon, we've been over this. Everything's under control," said Jim.
"The mayor's going to be there, and the governor, and the press corps, right?" Simon asked.
"Yeah..." Jim confirmed.
"And you're going to be there?" Simon pressed.
"Of course!"
"And that partner of yours, Doctor Sandburg…" he continued, in his usual tone that might have sounded like he doubted Sandburg's qualifications. That wasn't why he did it. He did it because, despite having gone through nine kinds of hell, the kid lit up like Christmas every time he heard those magic words. Sure enough, when Simon turned to look, Sandburg was grinning back at him over the course catalogue he'd been perusing with Daryl. "...he's going to be there, too? The Air Force isn't taking him away at the last minute for one of those seminars in Colorado or Nevada or wherever the hell they're dragging my police negotiator off to this time?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Simon," Blair promised cheerfully.
"Right. If you and Doctor Sandburg are going to be front and center with the mayor and the governor on the biggest day of my career, I'm not going to be satisfied until this place is terrorist-proof, hostage-taker-proof, and tsunami-proof."
Jim rolled his eyes. "We've got everything under control, sir--"
"Oh no, don't you feed me that line, Ellison. I used it on the chief more times than I can count to get him off my back; you're not using it on me!"
"Simon?" Blair asked, handing the catalogue back to Daryl and getting to his feet. "Can I talk to you a sec?"
Simon growled, but let Blair lead him away from the others, over by the stage and the podium. "You're not really worried about terrorists, or some old case coming back to settle the score on your big day, are you?" said Blair.
"I'm not?" Simon challenged, crossing his arms and drawing himself up to his full height, towering over the younger man. "I suppose you're going to tell me what I'm really worried about?"
Unfazed as always by such warnings, subtle or otherwise, Blair ploughed ahead. "Do you know why we have ceremonies to celebrate important events? Because change is scary. The ritual gives people an arena to acknowledge those feelings, get them out in the open. You went after this position because the Chief of Police has the power to allocate resources, to start all those innovative programs you've been itching to set up for years. You wanted it because it's your best chance to do the most good for the city, and because you're gonna be great at it." Blair sobered a little. "But your whole career, you've always been part of a team. Even when you were the boss, you were still there in the bullpen, in the thick of things. Now that you're gonna be overseeing the whole Cascade PD, just hearing reports from section chiefs, you're worried you're going to be out of the loop, that people are going to be putting one over on you to keep you out of their hair."
Simon squirmed. "You're too damned good at this, Sandburg."
"Hey, that's what you pay me for, right?" said Blair easily. "Look, for the day-to-day stuff, you're gonna have to learn to let go, man. You're not gonna have time to micromanage every department and every precinct. But for the big things..." he smiled ruefully. "You're telling me after six years of dealing with me, your bullshit detector isn't up to dealing with a few measly section heads?"
Simon felt the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smile despite his attempts to glare Sandburg into submission. "If I'm this easy for you to read, how come I cleaned you out last poker night?" he challenged, then his eyes went wide. "Don't tell me you guys let me win!"
"Relax, Simon, your championship title is safe," Blair laughed. "It doesn't take Sigmund Freud to diagnose anxiety when you start raving about terrorists and tsunamis -- tsunamis, Simon?" He drew back his foot to kick the podium for emphasis. "I mean, come on, the chances of something like that happening are--"
***
Simon groaned and tried to sit up, thinking better of it when the heavy weight on his chest and left leg refused to budge. The weight was a broken concrete pillar, and he slowly realized he was lying in the curve of the crushed roof of a car. The parking garage. The explosion must have broken through the floor of the rotunda into the underground parking garage. A little light trickled through the collapsed ceiling, and the emergency bulbs made for sickly yellow light and crazy, black shadows, but from what he could see, he was pretty much sealed into a rubble-strewn space less than half the size of the bullpen.
He coughed, fighting the pain in his chest. There was dirt in his hair, up his nose, down his throat. He coughed again and spat, trying to get a decent breath, and croaked, "Daryl? Jim?" No answer, but then again, they'd been at the far end of the rotunda, by the exit. "Sand--"
That's when he saw Blair on the floor, pinned by the other half of the broken pillar. He wasn't moving. Then Sandburg's eyes snapped open, flashing with an eerie glow for a split second. With his left hand cradled against his belly, he pushed against the massive pillar with his right hand. Slowly, impossibly, the pillar began to shudder, to grumble, to move. Blair edged out from under it and let it fall back into place, swaying on his feet but standing. He scanned the area with an expression more deliberate and self-contained than Simon had ever seen on that face. And then those blue eyes met his. "Simon," he said, in tones too deep and rich to be human, "Are you all right?"
His gun was at the small of his back, pinned by the car. There was no way he could get to it. "What are you? What have you done with Sandburg?"
"His body is injured, and in considerable pain. I am shielding his mind from it until I can see to his injuries. Are you hurt, Simon? Can you move?"
He couldn't move, as a matter of fact, but didn't think saying so was a good idea. He'd seen Sandburg's eyes glow like that before, once, on a classified videotape. Right before he'd slaughtered a whole room full of armed soldiers. "What the hell are you?" he repeated.
"My name is Ellie," said the thing, in a voice that raised the hackles on the back of Simon's neck. It limped over to him, and he fought not to edge away from it as it rested against the car for a minute before walking around the car to inspect the broken pillar. "I believe I can shift it, Simon, but I need to--" it doubled over, wracked with coughing, and when its hand came away its mouth was dark with blood. "--to heal a little, first. Can you hold on a little while?"
"Sure, take your time," said Simon. "I'm not going anywhere."
Ellie -- he refused to think of the thing as Sandburg -- nodded gratefully and sat down on the hood of the car, gently hugging its stomach. "Thank you. My kind originally chose yours as hosts because your bodies are so easy to repair, but without my tools, it does take a little longer." And before Simon could ask the question a third time, Ellie said, "An alien, Simon. I'm an alien."
"There's no such thing as aliens," Simon insisted automatically.
"You didn't believe Sentinels were real, either, until you saw what Jim could do," Ellie pointed out. "I am an alien. Blair is generously sharing his body with me until I can take a more permanent host."
"You're a parasite," said Simon, feeling colder.
"A symbiote," Ellie corrected. "A parasite feeds on its host. Consumes it. I haven't harmed Blair in any way." He probed his abdomen with careful fingers and pressed down, gingerly, fighting a grunt of pain.
Simon had seen that video more than a year ago, right before Sandburg quit the Air Force and came home. A whole year of working together, of beer and poker nights. Of Sandburg helping Daryl decide what major to declare. And all that time, Simon hadn't had a clue there was anything wrong. "They were supposed to get you out of him. Even if you could fool the Air Force, Jim would never--"
"We have an understanding," said Ellie. "Blair and I have been helping your scientists and your military advance, to make life better on this planet and protect you from what is out there. I understand the technology, the principles behind it. Blair understands how it can be misused, and takes care to prevent another..." Ellie's eyes went vague, as though consulting some internal library, "...another Hiroshima. And in a few years, when I am mature, I will take another host and help rebuild my people."
"And what happens to Sandburg, when you're done with him?" Simon asked.
"He goes back to his life," Ellie replied.
"Just like that."
"I like him, Simon. I'm better for knowing him. But I can't have children in a male body, and he doesn't want the health and long life I offer if it means watching Jim grow old and die. In a few years, we'll go our separate ways." He closed his eyes for a moment and probed his belly again. "I believe the ribs are knitted enough not to cause more damage inside." He limped over to the side of the car and braced his shoulder under the pillar, quirking his mouth in a very Sandburg smile. "Give me a lever long enough, and I can move the world," he said, and grunted, the muscles in his neck standing out as he strained under the weight. As the pillar shifted, Simon used his arms to pull himself backwards over the hood of the car. The moment he was free, Ellie crumpled to the ground and the pillar slammed back down on the roof of the car.
"Sandburg? Ellie?" Simon called out. "You okay over there?"
"Yes," said Ellie in that rich, alien voice. "Shit. Ow." It wasn't a voice that could pull off obscenities well, even mild ones. After a minute, Simon felt hands pulling him gently to the ground, checking his injuries. "I think your left leg is broken in a couple of places, but I don't have anything to splint it with. I'm going to have to tie your legs together to stabilize it, all right, Simon?" He winced as he eased himself out of his button-down shirts, leaving himself in only the Henley underneath. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.
"How're the ribs?" Simon asked.
"Not great," Sandburg said, in his own voice. "But at least they're not poking holes in the rest of me right now."
"Sandburg?"
"Yeah, it's me. I mean, not that it wasn't me before, too; I mean, I'm still awake when she does that, but I told Ellie I'm okay to drive for a while. I figured the whole Invasion of the Body Snatchers thing was probably freaking you out a bit." He shot Simon a sympathetic smile, but his mouth was tight, and his movements as he untangled the shirts were small and controlled.
"You okay, kid?"
"Well, internal bleeding is exactly as much fun as you think it would be," he said.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know." Blair sighed. "I'm gonna, can you lift your legs a second, so I can get these underneath?"
Simon managed, hissing in pain, and watched as Blair tied his legs together with the shirts in textbook First Aid form. When had he learned that? During his police training in crisis intervention? In the Air Force? Or before, when he was really himself, just trying to be a good guy? He studied Blair's face, trying to see how much of his friend was really there. "Sandburg, if you... if you need me to end it, I won't leave you like this. I'll make it quick." He could understand why Jim wouldn't -- couldn't -- do that for his lover, but there was no way Simon was going to leave his friend with an alien in his brain like some bit player in a bad Ridley Scott movie.
Blair made a tight, harsh sound somewhere between laughing and weeping. "If it makes you feel any better, man, the Air Force was on the same page as you when they found out about my new 'roommate'. They're not any happier about this than you are. I don't get it, Simon; Ellie's good people. Why can't you give her a chance?"
"I saw them put her in you," said Simon. "I saw her kill a roomful of people."
"Yeah, she did," said Blair. "Saved my life. I can't hate her for that any more than I can hate Jim for emptying his clip into David Lash." He closed his eyes for a long minute, then opened those brilliant blue eyes and looked right into Simon. "I've been back a year, man. The cases I've worked, the times we've all gone fishing together, the times I helped Daryl cram for finals, have I seemed different to you? Have I said or done anything that made you think there was something wrong with me?"
Simon looked away. He had noticed differences, changes in his friend. But if anything, they'd made him proud of the man his friend was becoming. "No," he admitted, finally. "You're still the same pain in the ass I know and love."
Blair grinned around the pain, and after all this time, Simon knew that expression by heart. In six years, it hadn't changed. Even now.
"Jim's really okay with this?" he asked.
"He's been great," said Blair, his voice soft with amazement. "Right from the start. I think he figures, after all the years of working to figure the Sentinel thing out, it's my turn to be the high maintenance partner."
"Before you start cashing in all your backrubs and breakfasts in bed," Simon pointed out dryly, "I'd like to remind you that in those years, Jim had to rescue you from the trunk of your criminal girlfriend's car, talk you out of shooting up the PD parking garage and, for some reason that escapes me, dial up his senses to drink rotten milk."
"Ack! He told you about that?" Blair wailed. "That was an accident, I swear!"
Laughing hurt, but it felt good anyway.
***
They were still sitting beside each other when the cranes pulled back the broken slabs of asphalt to let in the sun.
"Dad!" Daryl yelled.
"Sandburg!" Jim called. "You okay?"
"We're here!" Simon called, blinking in the light. He looked over at Blair. "We're good."
End.
"I want to go over the security arrangements for the swearing in ceremony again," said Simon, looking around the City Hall rotunda.
"Simon, we've been over this. Everything's under control," said Jim.
"The mayor's going to be there, and the governor, and the press corps, right?" Simon asked.
"Yeah..." Jim confirmed.
"And you're going to be there?" Simon pressed.
"Of course!"
"And that partner of yours, Doctor Sandburg…" he continued, in his usual tone that might have sounded like he doubted Sandburg's qualifications. That wasn't why he did it. He did it because, despite having gone through nine kinds of hell, the kid lit up like Christmas every time he heard those magic words. Sure enough, when Simon turned to look, Sandburg was grinning back at him over the course catalogue he'd been perusing with Daryl. "...he's going to be there, too? The Air Force isn't taking him away at the last minute for one of those seminars in Colorado or Nevada or wherever the hell they're dragging my police negotiator off to this time?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Simon," Blair promised cheerfully.
"Right. If you and Doctor Sandburg are going to be front and center with the mayor and the governor on the biggest day of my career, I'm not going to be satisfied until this place is terrorist-proof, hostage-taker-proof, and tsunami-proof."
Jim rolled his eyes. "We've got everything under control, sir--"
"Oh no, don't you feed me that line, Ellison. I used it on the chief more times than I can count to get him off my back; you're not using it on me!"
"Simon?" Blair asked, handing the catalogue back to Daryl and getting to his feet. "Can I talk to you a sec?"
Simon growled, but let Blair lead him away from the others, over by the stage and the podium. "You're not really worried about terrorists, or some old case coming back to settle the score on your big day, are you?" said Blair.
"I'm not?" Simon challenged, crossing his arms and drawing himself up to his full height, towering over the younger man. "I suppose you're going to tell me what I'm really worried about?"
Unfazed as always by such warnings, subtle or otherwise, Blair ploughed ahead. "Do you know why we have ceremonies to celebrate important events? Because change is scary. The ritual gives people an arena to acknowledge those feelings, get them out in the open. You went after this position because the Chief of Police has the power to allocate resources, to start all those innovative programs you've been itching to set up for years. You wanted it because it's your best chance to do the most good for the city, and because you're gonna be great at it." Blair sobered a little. "But your whole career, you've always been part of a team. Even when you were the boss, you were still there in the bullpen, in the thick of things. Now that you're gonna be overseeing the whole Cascade PD, just hearing reports from section chiefs, you're worried you're going to be out of the loop, that people are going to be putting one over on you to keep you out of their hair."
Simon squirmed. "You're too damned good at this, Sandburg."
"Hey, that's what you pay me for, right?" said Blair easily. "Look, for the day-to-day stuff, you're gonna have to learn to let go, man. You're not gonna have time to micromanage every department and every precinct. But for the big things..." he smiled ruefully. "You're telling me after six years of dealing with me, your bullshit detector isn't up to dealing with a few measly section heads?"
Simon felt the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smile despite his attempts to glare Sandburg into submission. "If I'm this easy for you to read, how come I cleaned you out last poker night?" he challenged, then his eyes went wide. "Don't tell me you guys let me win!"
"Relax, Simon, your championship title is safe," Blair laughed. "It doesn't take Sigmund Freud to diagnose anxiety when you start raving about terrorists and tsunamis -- tsunamis, Simon?" He drew back his foot to kick the podium for emphasis. "I mean, come on, the chances of something like that happening are--"
***
Simon groaned and tried to sit up, thinking better of it when the heavy weight on his chest and left leg refused to budge. The weight was a broken concrete pillar, and he slowly realized he was lying in the curve of the crushed roof of a car. The parking garage. The explosion must have broken through the floor of the rotunda into the underground parking garage. A little light trickled through the collapsed ceiling, and the emergency bulbs made for sickly yellow light and crazy, black shadows, but from what he could see, he was pretty much sealed into a rubble-strewn space less than half the size of the bullpen.
He coughed, fighting the pain in his chest. There was dirt in his hair, up his nose, down his throat. He coughed again and spat, trying to get a decent breath, and croaked, "Daryl? Jim?" No answer, but then again, they'd been at the far end of the rotunda, by the exit. "Sand--"
That's when he saw Blair on the floor, pinned by the other half of the broken pillar. He wasn't moving. Then Sandburg's eyes snapped open, flashing with an eerie glow for a split second. With his left hand cradled against his belly, he pushed against the massive pillar with his right hand. Slowly, impossibly, the pillar began to shudder, to grumble, to move. Blair edged out from under it and let it fall back into place, swaying on his feet but standing. He scanned the area with an expression more deliberate and self-contained than Simon had ever seen on that face. And then those blue eyes met his. "Simon," he said, in tones too deep and rich to be human, "Are you all right?"
His gun was at the small of his back, pinned by the car. There was no way he could get to it. "What are you? What have you done with Sandburg?"
"His body is injured, and in considerable pain. I am shielding his mind from it until I can see to his injuries. Are you hurt, Simon? Can you move?"
He couldn't move, as a matter of fact, but didn't think saying so was a good idea. He'd seen Sandburg's eyes glow like that before, once, on a classified videotape. Right before he'd slaughtered a whole room full of armed soldiers. "What the hell are you?" he repeated.
"My name is Ellie," said the thing, in a voice that raised the hackles on the back of Simon's neck. It limped over to him, and he fought not to edge away from it as it rested against the car for a minute before walking around the car to inspect the broken pillar. "I believe I can shift it, Simon, but I need to--" it doubled over, wracked with coughing, and when its hand came away its mouth was dark with blood. "--to heal a little, first. Can you hold on a little while?"
"Sure, take your time," said Simon. "I'm not going anywhere."
Ellie -- he refused to think of the thing as Sandburg -- nodded gratefully and sat down on the hood of the car, gently hugging its stomach. "Thank you. My kind originally chose yours as hosts because your bodies are so easy to repair, but without my tools, it does take a little longer." And before Simon could ask the question a third time, Ellie said, "An alien, Simon. I'm an alien."
"There's no such thing as aliens," Simon insisted automatically.
"You didn't believe Sentinels were real, either, until you saw what Jim could do," Ellie pointed out. "I am an alien. Blair is generously sharing his body with me until I can take a more permanent host."
"You're a parasite," said Simon, feeling colder.
"A symbiote," Ellie corrected. "A parasite feeds on its host. Consumes it. I haven't harmed Blair in any way." He probed his abdomen with careful fingers and pressed down, gingerly, fighting a grunt of pain.
Simon had seen that video more than a year ago, right before Sandburg quit the Air Force and came home. A whole year of working together, of beer and poker nights. Of Sandburg helping Daryl decide what major to declare. And all that time, Simon hadn't had a clue there was anything wrong. "They were supposed to get you out of him. Even if you could fool the Air Force, Jim would never--"
"We have an understanding," said Ellie. "Blair and I have been helping your scientists and your military advance, to make life better on this planet and protect you from what is out there. I understand the technology, the principles behind it. Blair understands how it can be misused, and takes care to prevent another..." Ellie's eyes went vague, as though consulting some internal library, "...another Hiroshima. And in a few years, when I am mature, I will take another host and help rebuild my people."
"And what happens to Sandburg, when you're done with him?" Simon asked.
"He goes back to his life," Ellie replied.
"Just like that."
"I like him, Simon. I'm better for knowing him. But I can't have children in a male body, and he doesn't want the health and long life I offer if it means watching Jim grow old and die. In a few years, we'll go our separate ways." He closed his eyes for a moment and probed his belly again. "I believe the ribs are knitted enough not to cause more damage inside." He limped over to the side of the car and braced his shoulder under the pillar, quirking his mouth in a very Sandburg smile. "Give me a lever long enough, and I can move the world," he said, and grunted, the muscles in his neck standing out as he strained under the weight. As the pillar shifted, Simon used his arms to pull himself backwards over the hood of the car. The moment he was free, Ellie crumpled to the ground and the pillar slammed back down on the roof of the car.
"Sandburg? Ellie?" Simon called out. "You okay over there?"
"Yes," said Ellie in that rich, alien voice. "Shit. Ow." It wasn't a voice that could pull off obscenities well, even mild ones. After a minute, Simon felt hands pulling him gently to the ground, checking his injuries. "I think your left leg is broken in a couple of places, but I don't have anything to splint it with. I'm going to have to tie your legs together to stabilize it, all right, Simon?" He winced as he eased himself out of his button-down shirts, leaving himself in only the Henley underneath. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.
"How're the ribs?" Simon asked.
"Not great," Sandburg said, in his own voice. "But at least they're not poking holes in the rest of me right now."
"Sandburg?"
"Yeah, it's me. I mean, not that it wasn't me before, too; I mean, I'm still awake when she does that, but I told Ellie I'm okay to drive for a while. I figured the whole Invasion of the Body Snatchers thing was probably freaking you out a bit." He shot Simon a sympathetic smile, but his mouth was tight, and his movements as he untangled the shirts were small and controlled.
"You okay, kid?"
"Well, internal bleeding is exactly as much fun as you think it would be," he said.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know." Blair sighed. "I'm gonna, can you lift your legs a second, so I can get these underneath?"
Simon managed, hissing in pain, and watched as Blair tied his legs together with the shirts in textbook First Aid form. When had he learned that? During his police training in crisis intervention? In the Air Force? Or before, when he was really himself, just trying to be a good guy? He studied Blair's face, trying to see how much of his friend was really there. "Sandburg, if you... if you need me to end it, I won't leave you like this. I'll make it quick." He could understand why Jim wouldn't -- couldn't -- do that for his lover, but there was no way Simon was going to leave his friend with an alien in his brain like some bit player in a bad Ridley Scott movie.
Blair made a tight, harsh sound somewhere between laughing and weeping. "If it makes you feel any better, man, the Air Force was on the same page as you when they found out about my new 'roommate'. They're not any happier about this than you are. I don't get it, Simon; Ellie's good people. Why can't you give her a chance?"
"I saw them put her in you," said Simon. "I saw her kill a roomful of people."
"Yeah, she did," said Blair. "Saved my life. I can't hate her for that any more than I can hate Jim for emptying his clip into David Lash." He closed his eyes for a long minute, then opened those brilliant blue eyes and looked right into Simon. "I've been back a year, man. The cases I've worked, the times we've all gone fishing together, the times I helped Daryl cram for finals, have I seemed different to you? Have I said or done anything that made you think there was something wrong with me?"
Simon looked away. He had noticed differences, changes in his friend. But if anything, they'd made him proud of the man his friend was becoming. "No," he admitted, finally. "You're still the same pain in the ass I know and love."
Blair grinned around the pain, and after all this time, Simon knew that expression by heart. In six years, it hadn't changed. Even now.
"Jim's really okay with this?" he asked.
"He's been great," said Blair, his voice soft with amazement. "Right from the start. I think he figures, after all the years of working to figure the Sentinel thing out, it's my turn to be the high maintenance partner."
"Before you start cashing in all your backrubs and breakfasts in bed," Simon pointed out dryly, "I'd like to remind you that in those years, Jim had to rescue you from the trunk of your criminal girlfriend's car, talk you out of shooting up the PD parking garage and, for some reason that escapes me, dial up his senses to drink rotten milk."
"Ack! He told you about that?" Blair wailed. "That was an accident, I swear!"
Laughing hurt, but it felt good anyway.
***
They were still sitting beside each other when the cranes pulled back the broken slabs of asphalt to let in the sun.
"Dad!" Daryl yelled.
"Sandburg!" Jim called. "You okay?"
"We're here!" Simon called, blinking in the light. He looked over at Blair. "We're good."
End.