Chapter Text
Name: Illim 713
Home Pool: La Cañada
Host Status: Good relationship with host Anthony Tidwell – member of the Yeerk Peace Movement.
Seeking to a) leave Earth (form is complete, disregard further questions) OR b) become a nothlit
If b – seeking to be a) human or b) other animal
If a – specify human age range: 5-10, 10-15, 15-20, 20-30, 30-40 , other
If b – specify animal __________
Please write any additional requests of information here: No additional requests.
You will be contacted to arrange for your specified post-war outcome when your request has been processed. If you relocate or your host status changes before your request has been processed, you must notify the post-war task force. Failure to do so will result in disciplinary measures, up to and including execution.
~
It took a few months for Illim to have his request processed. Every time he fed there were less and less Yeerks in the pool with him. The ones who had elected to return home were sent off quickly. And then the remaining Yeerks just started vanishing, usually in batches of ten or so. He tried not to worry about when he’d be contacted. He had access to kandrona, he had Anthony. It would just be a matter of time.
The message came in late April when he went in to feed. It had been a warm day, a Tuesday. Until they got it, it had been a very normal Tuesday. The message told him that he could expect to be collected in 48 hours, and to ensure he was home for the courier. Illim didn’t know how to feel about that – it made him feel like a parcel, or a thing.
The woman who knocks on the door is brisk, hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, black suit jacket over a white blouse, and a bright orange task force lanyard around her neck.
“Illim 713?” she asks, as he opens the door. “Or am I speaking with Anthony Tidwell?”
“Both of us,” says Illim.
They hadn’t been apart since they got the message, both of them desperate to feel as close as they could for every possible second.
“Alright,” she responds. “My name is Agent Morris, may I come in? It’s a little more dignified than doing this out here.” She holds up a clear plastic container, half full of what Illim assumes is water.
“Come in,” he says. “Of course. Coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
She places the container on the kitchen table, and removes the lid.
“Here’s what will happen,” she says. “You will be taken to a secure location, where you will acquire the ability to morph. You will then be passed through the hands of ten volunteers. They are a mix of different genders and races, but all within the age range you have requested. You will acquire their DNA and combine this into a separate individual. Once you have finished this combination, you will morph, and be placed under observation for twelve hours.”
<Do you get any more specific instructions than that?> asks Anthony. <How are you meant to know how to combine DNA? Or morph for that matter?>
Illim passes the question on.
“Before you begin, you’ll be in a tank with a Yeerk who understands the process,” says Agent Morris. “They’ll transfer the memories to you. It seems to be easy enough after that.”
“Alright.”
“Now,” she continues. “We want to make this part very clear. If you decide you do not like your physical form, you will not be given a chance to change it. If you attempt to morph in order to avoid becoming a nothlit, or for any other reason, you will be treated as hostile. If you attempt to harm the volunteers or staff, you will be treated as hostile. This is a chance you are being given. It is not a chance to continue the war.”
There’s silence while Anthony takes over their body.
“Did you read his file?” he asks her, in the tone he saves for his most misbehaving students.
<Don’t,> says Illim. <It’s fine, I promise. I’m not going to do anything anyway. Just leave it.>
Agent Morris’s lips tighten.
“We are aware of his identity, and his work with the peace movement. I assume I’m speaking with Anthony Tidwell.”
“You are.”
“Well, Mr Tidwell, your defence of him is either a point in his favour or against yours. But it’s unnecessary. We don’t intend harm, but we like to be transparent about what is being offered.”
<Idiot.>
<We’ve put our lives on the line too often for you to deserve to be treated like this.>
“Now,” says Agent Morris, checking her watch. “If you’re both ready?”
<Oh,> says Illim. <This is it.>
<I love you.>
<I love you too.>
They both fight the tide of fear and emotion that threatens to sweep them into a panic. They knew this was coming. It will be fine.
Still in control of their body, of his body, Anthony picks up the container and holds it up to his ear, tilting his head to the right.
<Goodbye,> says Illim, and then, for the last time, leaves Anthony’s body before he can get a response. He doesn’t think he could bear to leave otherwise.
Illim lands into the water with a soft splash.
Anthony watches as Agent Morris takes him, and seals the lid.
“We will return him to this address tomorrow morning,” she tells him. “Provided you are still looking to live together?”
“We are.”
She nods, and leaves.
Anthony calls in sick and tries not to think about how this feels like losing his wife all over again.
~
They’d spoken a lot about what form Illim should take. He knew he wanted to be a human, he knew he wanted to stay with Anthony. They’d both known their relationship was... well, closer than most Yeerks were with their hosts.
The main disagreement came over age.
<You’re young,> Anthony said. <You’re so young. I know you’ve been in my head, but you have a chance at a full life. To live a good eighty years or more. Don’t throw that chance away because of me.>
<Absolutely not,> said Illim. <I can’t… I love you. I want to spend that time with you.>
<And we will! At least a lot of it.>
<You’re telling me you wouldn’t feel weird in a relationship with a seventeen year old?>
The wave of disgust that washed over them was strong enough that they gagged.
<Exactly,> said Illim, his point made.
<Alright.>
<I,> Illim paused. <When I’m human...>
He didn’t know how to say this in the right way. He didn’t know how to say this without hurting Anthony. But gods, he wanted.
<Would you like to live together? While we can?> he asked, hesitantly.
<Of course! If you do, if it’s what you want.>
<And, for most humans, that would mean uh…> Illim trailed off again. Fuck it, he needs to get this over with. It comes out in a rush. <I’d marry you, if you wanted? I could be a wife for you. Not that I’d want to replace her or take her place and I know I could never be her, but I mean even if you think about it from a tax perspective it makes some sense, and it seems culturally expected, but also if it’s too much we don’t have to, we don’t even have to be anything but friends, that would be enough, so long as you didn’t mind me being here, or even just spending time with you, I can find my own- >
<Illim,> said Anthony, cutting him off. <Yes.>
<Yes?>
<If you still want me when you’re human and having your own thoughts and feelings and wants, yes.>
They started crying then. Big, ugly, gasping sobs that make your body shake and half choke on tears and snot. Anthony was in control of his body, but Illim was wracked with silent, mental emotions. The relief at not being alone, of still being in each others lives, of finding any kind of love and silver lining after what they’ve been through together, it felt too much.
When it subsided they both felt exhausted. Anthony filled a glass with water, and they slowly sipped it, coming back to themselves.
<So,> said Illim, trying to lighten the mood a little. <Any preference for physical appearance?>
He felt Anthony’s face get very, very hot.
~
Some unclear amount of time later, Illim is unceremoniously dumped into a tank with about sixteen other Yeerks. One of them is speaking, asking them all to come close.
<Hello,> it says. <My name is Otill 346, and I will be your instructor for today.>
They all gather closer, some a little more uncertainly than others.
<Well,> says Otill. <Welcome! I hope you weren’t waiting for too long. Most people want a younger body, so it took some time to get enough of you to justify bringing the volunteers in. This is going to be a lot to take in, but I’ve got faith in all of you to make it through the process. And I’m here to help!>
Illim thinks back to his days as an instructor. He wonders if he ever sounded this forcefully cheerful.
<Now,> continues Otill. <One at a time, I’m going to share my memories with you, and show you how to acquire DNA, how to combine it, and how to morph. When you’re done, just swim up to the top of the tank. One of the humans will then pick you up, and the process will get started.>
Illim isn’t the first to approach Otill, but he isn’t the last either. The memories are visceral. The feeling of bones growing within you, skin stretching and splitting to form openings and holes for a mouth, eyes, ears… God humans had a lot of holes… It didn’t seem at all pleasant. He supposes the benefit to the exercise is that he’ll only have to do it once.
He floats up to the surface, and a hand grasps him, lifting him out of the water. He’s grateful they’d thought to wear gloves.
He’s placed onto a warm, slightly pulsing surface. He can’t see colour, but he guesses this must be the Escafil device. A faint crackle of electricity runs through him. It’s not too strong, he’s given stronger zaps to other Yeerks. There’s a faint hint of pleasure in it.
Then, the hand is lifting him again, and he’s being deposited into another set of hands. These ones aren’t gloved. Right. Time to focus.
He thinks about being human, what it is to be in Anthony’s body, the physical sensations of it, and taking this form into himself. It lasts a few seconds, but the time feels longer. Then, he is moved to another ungloved hand.
He repeats this process over, and over again, until he’s lost count of how many hands he’s passed through. But then, instead of a person, he’s gently placed on a damp surface.
Otill had told them they had permission to rest for a little here. They would need time to think about what they wanted their bodies to look like. Also, it prevented any of them from making a mistake when morphing due to exhaustion.
Illim knew what his body was going to look like, he’d thought about it often enough, he’d discussed it with Anthony for weeks. He would be a woman, around the same age. That was it, everything else he could work with. He hadn’t really cared much about gender other than what he’d picked up from Anthony, and he wanted a form that Anthony might find attractive and could marry. He thought about how his new body might look and feel. He’d never had a human host other than Anthony, but he knew the basics. A slightly different shape, different hormones, different reproductive structures.
Illim imagines how it’s going to feel. He tries to picture looking down at his new body, moving it, experiencing a new range of sensations. If he had been human he thinks he’d be sick at this point. He can’t do it. He can’t imagine anything other than Anthony. Anthony’s body feels right, it feels like home. He knows his body will be different, but the idea of something else, of breasts and curves and a space between his legs, feels too much. He wants to cry. He wants to take it all back and never leave Anthony’s ear and maybe they can run away and…
This, presumably, is why they were warned. The threat of his death looms over him. He can’t run, not now. The only way he’s getting out of this is to grow a pair of legs and walk out.
Focus , he tells himself. Focus on becoming her .
He can’t do it. It feels worse than the idea of dying.
Coward , he tells himself bitterly. You promised him. You owe him after everything you did. Everything you did to him, and he still loves you, and you can’t even give him this one little thing.
He has no choice. He braces himself, and starts to morph.
The first bits are easier, comparatively. Not that it isn’t unnerving, the sensation of strange stones embedding into his flesh, and then he is growing, growing, twisting, splitting. Parts of his body differentiate themselves into organs and different kinds of flesh. His skin splits and a breath is forced into his body, into still unfurling lungs, and he coughs and chokes, but only for a moment.
He tries, desperately, to hold on to the woman he needs to be. To not let his inexplicable revulsion push her away. He has to want this.
But in his shock and the unfamiliarity of the morph, so much worse than Otill’s memory of it, all he can think off is Anthony. He wants to feel safe, he wants to feel home, he just wants to be back in Anthony’s head, in his body, in their body.
And then it’s over. She is crouching, trembling, on a wet blue tarp. Air flowing into her lungs, air cold against her skin. She starts to cry.
Someone hurries over and wraps a bathrobe around her shoulders.
“Come on, that’s it,” they say. “Up you get.”
She’s hurried away, into a room that looks like a cell.
It’s not a terrible room, and honestly after the cages in the Yeerk pool, there are definitely a lot worse places to be. But it’s a single bed, a toilet, a sink, a glass wall and at least four cameras (that she can see). Someone has set a tray of food on the bed, and there’s a newspaper, presumably to give her something to do for twelve hours.
She takes a deep breath and prepares to inspect her new body. Better to get this over with. Maybe she’ll even get used to it.
She looks down.
Oh. Oh fuck.
He’s fucked up.
No breasts, no hips. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t have curves, his stomach is soft, a little smaller than Anthony’s but still present. And below it, is a very definite cock. Shit.
Mindful of privacy, he quickly does up the bathrobe.
There’s no mirror in the room, presumably to avoid giving them something to break and use as a weapon, but he moves to the glass of the door.
A face, his face he supposes, stares back at him with dark brown eyes. His skin is darker than Anthony’s but not by much. It’s the ambiguous light brown that could be anything between very tanned white person, or Middle Eastern. His hair is dark, with a little bit of a curl, and a touch of grey. No facial hair, but running his hand over his face he can feel a hint of stubble. Oh god…
He carefully moves the tray on the bed and sits down, head in his hands.
He hopes that they can still be friends. He wouldn’t expect Anthony to touch him like this, and obviously getting married is out of the question. Not that love between two men isn’t possible, he knows Anthony is friends with enough gay people, and that Anthony has even considered it himself in the idle way that people imagine all sorts of things. But Illim also knows that he loves someone who had a wife. A wife he loved so much it completely broke him to lose her.
He indulges himself for a minute, imagining a world in which Anthony doesn’t care. Where he’s welcomed home with an embrace, with a kiss, with… any one of the things that two people who love each other can do. What would it feel like for Anthony’s familiar hands to touch this body? What would it feel like for Anthony, with Illim’s new hands on him?
He… probably should think about something else.
For one thing, if he keeps going he might actually start to believe it’s possible. For another, he’s being watched in a cell for the next twelve hours and while Anthony might not like men, Illim’s body certainly doesn’t seem opposed. His cheeks grow hot, and he tugs at the bathrobe, making sure that he’s still covered despite a change in size.
To distract himself, and to cover his lap, he picks up the tray and considers his first meal. It’s nothing fancy, just a chicken sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water. He bites into the apple and discovers that he’s absolutely starving.
The time passes slowly. Illim reads the paper cover to cover, and then again. He is eventually forced to give in and use the toilet, and tries to reassure himself knowing that it’s nothing they won’t have seen before. At some point he’s given another tray of food, another sandwich and apple, but hey, it’s ham and cheese this time. Eventually he lies down and just tries to sleep.
“Alright,” the voice of Agent Morris startles him to attention. She throws a pair of hospital scrubs at him. “You can dress, and then we’ll get you processed.”
He hesitates for a moment, but she doesn’t look away, so he just changes as fast as he can.
The next hour or so is a blur of paperwork, ID photos, a bank account, social security… He pauses when it comes to a surname. Is it too presumptive to pick the same surname? That had been the original plan. He puts down Tidwell, he’ll just have to hope Anthony doesn’t hate him for it. At least going back to live with Anthony means he can worry a little less about the housing and financial side of things.
And then it’s done.
He sits in the car, heading back to Anthony’s house, to their house, and he wishes he’d asked to use the bathroom before they left. His stomach is roiling with anxiety to the point it aches, and he thinks he might be sick.
Standing on the doorstep, he pauses, and takes a deep breath. He tries to collect himself, but he must take too long, because Agent Morris is firmly pressing the doorbell.
“Hello,” she says. “Anthony Tidwell, Illim Tidwell. He is now your responsibility. We will be back for social visits as per the schedule in his document pack. If for any reason he needs to move, please notify us and we will arrange for alternative accommodations.”
And then she is gone, and he’s standing there.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I’ve fucked it all up, I’m so sorry.”
Anthony throws his arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“It’s ok,” he tells Illim. “You’re ok.”