Characters merely borrowed, taken out for a run and returned somewhat singed.

Thanks to Sentinel Betas for the beta and advice. Thanks to Wod in particular, for kindly posting this for me. All remaining errors are mine.

//indicates the other story//
Warnings: If a strange penguin comes up to you in the park and offers you chocolates, hold out for the coffee creme.

"Noo-oo! No!"

Sandburg struggled valiantly against his overwhelming opponent. One strong hand caught his hair in an uneven grip while another fastened over his mouth. Iron muscles crushed him to the bed. He could feel individual hair strands parting from his scalp, causing his eyes to water and his nose to run. In desperation, he bit down. Hard.

His assailant yowled and loosened his grip enough for him to squirm round and push hard. They both slid off the bed and landed heavily on the floor. He made the most of his temporary advantage to grab hold of his winded lover by the ears.

"Wake up!" he shouted, banging Jim's head vigorously on the floor.

The glazed eyes gradually cleared. "Wha ..?" he wheezed.

"Ahhh... thank you God." He flopped, letting Jim bear his full body weight for a few moments before rolling off to collapse in a tangle of bedding beside him.

They both regained their breath. There was a brief, unhappy pause while Jim inspected the back of his hand in the gloom. "You bit me."

"You pulled my hair."

"Teeth marks - one's bleeding. Jesus, Sandburg." The sense of grievance was almost tangible.

"Yeah, well -" Sandburg wiped his dripping nose in the nearest piece of sheet. "You assaulted my hair, man." He sat up and reached for the bedside light. "Let me see that."

They both gazed at the wounded hand.

"Well, you're probably safe from rabies," Sandburg said thoughtfully. "So - what was it this time?"

Jim took a deep breath, "Bio warfare - smallpox, I think. Or maybe it was pneumonic plague. You were already dead, by the way."

"How did I die?"

"You were the first victim."

"Ewww."

"Did you ..?"

"No, not tonight. Nothing at all." Sandburg sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"We're still alternating then."

"Yeah."

"Right."

"This is getting strange."

Jim shifted and pulled his share of the bedding around him. "Ok, so what is this - some sort of premonition?"

"Maybe."

"A post-traumatic stress thing?"

"Possibly."

"Or we're both going nuts."

"Perhaps."

"So?"

Sandburg scratched his armpit contemplatively. "I thought I saw a penguin today."

Jim turned and stared at him. "Please tell me this was some bizarre animal behaviour test."

"No. I was in the library. Down in the stacks."

"You've been reading those weird books again, haven't you."

Sandburg did not dignify that with a reply.

Jim frowned. "What sort of penguin?" he asked, clearly trying to neutralise the unsettling concept with facts.

"Emperor."

"Ah."

"Said his name was Lenny."

"And you didn't think to mention it earlier."

"Well, I guess I thought you might think I was losing my grip, man."

"Sandburg, whatever tenuous hold you ever had on reality... It was a talking penguin?"

"Not exactly," Sandburg said defensively. "That would have been weird. He just sort of communicated."

"And did he happen to communicate anything else?"

"He was about to say something when we were interrupted. I thought I heard Mrs Kravits coming and when I turned back he was gone. I could only just see him out of the corner of my eye, anyway. Huge bird - you've no idea. I mean you read about them being that big but until you have one tower over you..."

"Now he's a giant emperor penguin? Sandburg -?"

"I was sitting on the floor -look, Jim, listen, I'm going to go back tomorrow. I've been thinking. It's got to be connected to the visions we've been having. I mean, what if he turns out to be a new spirit guide? What if Incacha or some other shaman is trying to communicate with us?"

"Sandburg - they don't have penguins in Peru."

"Of course they do. They have zoos, don't they?" He paused, clearly consulting his capacious internal database. "And obviously, there are the Humboldt penguins."

"Oh. Obviously."

It was a quiet day in Cascade.

It was the sort of day that woke up, put on a red shirt and announced its intention to retire and marry its childhood sweetheart right at the start of the episode.

It was difficult to block out the sense of impending doom, but Jim tried.

He spent the morning writing a report, paying devoted attention to syntax, spelling, characterisation and plot development. By the time he finished, it was a jewel of its kind. Jane Austen could not have produced prose with more wit or elegance. Not that her characters spent very much time concealing crack cocaine up drainpipes, but still...

As he collected the paper from the printer, he cast around the department, noting that Rafe was still bouncing his fatal charm off the impervious Esme. "No, truly, that happens to be my favourite shade. What would you call it? Puce? Really brings out the colour of your eyes..."

Henri was wrestling heroically over the telephone with Mme Duchamps of the Surete who was gleefully misunderstanding him. "...non, non, nous ne recherchons pas l'evidence des... underpants antiques passe en contrebande. Nous... ah..." he thumbed desperately through his phrase book.

Rhonda was catching up on a juicy morsel while typing; her fingers appeared to be operating independently, her shoulder hunching her telephone to her ear, "...Oh, my, he didn't! ... Well honey, I warned you. I told you what he was like! ... Sheesh - you'll never get those stains out of silk, let me tell you."

Joel was attending to stern duty and perusing an FBI update that detailed the successful capture of a gang of extortionists prepared to use vials of pneu- the rest was under his thumb.

Simon, on the other hand, was standing in his doorway, staring at him, speculatively. "Okay, what's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing." Jim shrugged.

"Don't. Just don't even try it. Get in here. I want to know what's going on and while we're on the subject, I want to know where Sandburg is."

Jim sank into the chair. "This is going to sound bizarre."

"So what's new?" Simon gulped some coffee, sat back and braced himself.

"It's just... We've been having odd dreams."

"You've both been having the same dreams?" Simon looked torn between being repelled and fascinated.

"Ah, yes... and no."

"Yes, you have or no, you haven't?"

"It's like sitting through some god-awful disaster movie featuring us as characters. They always end with one of us dead and the other trying to save the city from being destroyed. The plot's always different but the ending's always the same."

"And do you?"

"What?"

"Save the city?"

"We never find out - we always wake up before the ending."

"I hate myself for asking this, but what does Sandburg think?"

"Sandburg thinks it's something to do with what he saw in the library the other day, so he's gone back to do some more research. He thinks -"

"What did he see?"

"When?"

"When he was in the library," said Simon, patiently. "You said he saw something. What did he see?"

"Ah, he isn't absolutely sure he saw it."

"So, what was it that he isn't absolutely sure he saw?"

"An animal of some kind. He thinks it might be a spirit guide trying to communicate with us."

"Riiight. So he's seeing - what - some sort of panther strolling round the bookshelves -"

"A penguin," Jim muttered, then straightened his shoulders and took on a dogged expression. "It was a penguin, sir. It walked right up to him and stared him in the eye."

There was a long, pregnant silence.

"He said his name was Lenny," added Jim, helpfully.

Simon reached into his drawer for a small bottle of pills. He took two.

"So that's where Sandburg is today. He went back to the book stacks to see if he could establish further communication with him. The penguin. Called Lenny. Sir."

At this delicate moment in the relationship between Jim and his captain, the telephone rang.

Sandburg was waiting impatiently for them just inside the library door. "Jeez, what took you guys so long? C'mon. This is an emergency - we haven't got a moment to lose." And without waiting for a response, he turned and rushed back inside.

The two men gazed at his retreating back, then followed.

There was a short but venomous negotiation with the steely-eyed Mrs Kravits, who was reluctant to allow the policemen to enter her domain even after the production of badges, and then they were struggling to keep up with Sandburg as he led them deep into the bowels of the reference section after a hurried, "I'll explain - just follow me."

Jim reflected, as they passed shelf after shelf of learned journals, deeper and deeper down into the maze, that he had never realised just how big this library was. They went through doorways, down steps and round inconvenient corners. The air grew heavy with the scent of old books, the silence became ever more oppressive and still they followed Sandburg.

Round about the Jurassic layer, Simon cracked.

"Sandburg-"

He was ignored.

"Sandburg!" he bellowed.

Sandburg paused in his headlong rush. "Simon - we haven't got time."

"We are not proceeding one step further until you tell us what is going on."

"Yeah, explain - right now," ordered Jim.

Sandburg looked at both of them and gave in. He pushed his glasses up his nose and took a steadying breath. "Look, I don't know how much you understand about the theory of parallel universes? Well - ah... anyway, to cut a long explanation very short, and you probably wouldn't understand it anyway - I certainly don't: at certain times the boundaries between universes are very thin and, ah weird stuff happens."

Simon and Jim just gazed at him.

"So, the problem is... the problem is..."

"Yes?"

"Okay, someone in another universe is writing stories. That's the dreams we've been having. We have to stop her completing her current story - because this one will take hold in our universe and this city will be destroyed." He looked pleadingly at his companions, "She's got to be stopped or we're all... um... doomed."

"So, in this other universe," said Jim, grimly trying to corral all of the facts before they escaped and ran amok, "we're just characters in a story?"

"Well, Sandburg, see, that's what happens when you start talking to strange penguins," said Simon pleasantly. "Before you know it, you just turn into a fictional character yourself."

"It was the penguin again, then?" Jim asked gently.

"Yes... well - no... well, sort of, in a manner of speaking. Apparently he's one of her characters too. She writes children's books in the daytime and this stuff in her spare time. He's part of the bleed over between universes. I can't tell you how I know all the details - we haven't got time -"

"I'm out of here." Simon turned on his heel. "Let me know when visiting hours are, you guys. I'll be sure to drop by with some candy. The kind without any sharp edges."

Sandburg scurried after him. "Simon - no. Look - five minutes. Please, just give me five minutes of your time and I can convince you."

"Simon - five minutes. Give him a chance?"

Simon looked from Jim to Sandburg. He sighed. "Five minutes. Then I get to call the guys in white coats and set about organising some treatment for both of you."

Sandburg made as if to hug him, then backed off. "Right, right. This way then."

They went further into the maze of shelving. Just when Jim was beginning to wish he had left a trail of breadcrumbs, Sandburg turned round a badly lit corner and vanished into the shadows. They followed him.

It felt exactly like being sucked down a plughole while simultaneously being knitted into a floral pullover.

Three pairs of button-black eyes gazed up from the baseboard.

"Whoa - what a ride!" Sandburg flexed his paws and picked up his tail, swinging it experimentally.

Simon suddenly curled up in a defensive ball, eyes closed tight and chanting, "No, no, no..."

Jim twitched his whiskers, intrigued to discover a whole new area of hypersensitivity. Entranced, he savoured the fluidity of the air currents, the molecular shifts of the -

"Jim!" the familiar squeak interrupted the impending zone. "Focus, man. We've only got one chance at this."

Jim turned to look into those strange yet infinitely familiar eyes, reached out to stroke the velvety softness of the short grey fur. He drank in the cute little ears, the exquisite button nose and, oh my - even the tail was furry...

"Ellison, cut it out!" growled the fuzzy shape looming behind him, "Just do it whatever the hell it is we have to do and let's get the hell out of here." Simon had evidently pulled himself together and decided to regain command.

Jim stilled for a moment, peering down the canyons of the shag pile. "This way," he ordered, setting off towards a dark form in the distance. They scampered after him.

It was possible to hear Simon muttering to himself about dark glasses and white sticks, but, wisely, they ignored him.

//Sandburg strained desperately against the ropes that bound him as Brackett's footsteps retreated into the darkness of the abandoned pier. Oily water swelled and slopped against the supports not far below.

The sound echoed oddly.

He glanced over towards the bomb. Had Brackett been telling the truth - was it a nuclear device?

Again, he struggled to free himself and felt the skin of his wrists begin to tear. It was impossible. The tape sealing his mouth recalled the old fear of suffocation. He felt his breath start to catch and his sweat trickled, cold and sticky over his skin.

The digits on the timer turned over soundlessly... 45.22... 45.21... 45.20...//

"Oh, man, this really sucks," groaned Sandburg, as he attempted to extricate himself from the sourball wrapper that had glued itself to his back paw. "Like, how difficult is it to take care of your own trash? Sheesh." He flung himself onto his tail, twisting himself into an impossible contortion. His companions rushed to his aid.

"Keep the noise down will ya!" snarled Simon as Jim ripped off the wrapper like a gigantic bandaid.

"Ow, ow, wow, that really smarts, you know?"

//"We can't risk it. If we're right, Brackett's probably booby-trapped the walkway." Simon lowered his binoculars.

Ellison remained silent, focused on the effort to see any sign of recent activity on the jetty. He shook his head. "He hasn't had time to set up anything elaborate."

"It's almost an hour until daylight. It would be safer to just wait it out. We don't even know he's been back here."

33.01... 33.00... 32.59...//

They scuttled for cover underneath a sagging futon. Ellison peered out between the woollen fringes of an elderly blue throw. Sandburg surveyed the area beneath with a critical eye. "She should sack her maid... Look at this stuff... this is, like, totally disgusting... D'ya think she's ever cleaned under here? Eww - that one has teeth marks. Did you know that the leading cause of death in small rodents is... What? What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Ellison sighed and perched on a discarded Oreo for a better view.

Simon sneezed explosively. "Cat fur. Dammit! C'mon Jim, let's get this over with, before -"

//"All clear."

Ellison slipped the inflatable dinghy into the water. The quality of darkness had changed almost imperceptibly with the approach of dawn and he was forced to confine himself to the deepest shadows, his paddle dipping soundlessly in and out of the water.

As he approached the jetty, his skin prickled as he registered a sensory disparity: laboured breathing, unexpected against the backdrop of the jetty. He followed the thread of impression and detected the rasp of fabric against skin, frustrated movement, the scent of fear amidst the tang of rust and rotting seaweed. And then, the cold shock of familiarity. Blair?

What the hell was he doing here?

9.54... 9.53... 9.52//

As they neared their objective, the shadows separated out into gigantic feet encased in pink fluffy slippers, elegantly pedicured toenails painted a cruel shade of crimson. Enormous toes wiggled in time to a distant pounding on the keyboard. A satisfied chuckle could occasionally be heard. A shower of biscuit crumbs drifted down from the desk top, gently bathed in the desk light's blue glow.

They stood amid the mass of tangled cables, gazing up at the towering edifice.

"Well, this is it, then."

"Right."

Sandburg gulped. "Well, as I'm the smallest..."

They nodded solemnly.

//Blair gazed at Jim, still completely unable to move. The ropes were still cutting into his flesh, his abused muscles cramping.

There was no time.

Metal grated against metal. Part of the bomb casing clattered between the stanchions before splashing into the water below. It seemed to take an eternity.

"Did you see how he -?"

"No. Nothing."

"Did he say anything -?"

"No. No. How long -?"

No answer.

None.

Sandburg began to feel the sickening certainty that this time, they were not going to make it. He should have told Jim -

"Simon, I've never seen anything like this."

"Joel should be here any minute -"

"There's no time! I'm going to try something-"

0.7... 0.6... 0.5...//

Simon took up position at the base of the tower. Jim clambered carefully onto his back, followed by Sandburg, who stretched up towards the thick black cable.

"Can you reach?"

"I'm just..."

"Dammit, Ellison, will you take your claw out of my..."

"Nearly there..."

"Quickly - I smell cat, and it's heading this way..."

"Arrrgh..." Sandburg launched himself upwards, bit down and there was a blinding flash.

"Mmnnnf!" Sandburg found himself with a mouth full of pillow, crushed up against the guardrail.

He appeared to be alone in the dishevelled bed.

He rolled over, stretching for the bedside lamp which had toppled over onto the floor. With a shaking hand, he switched it on to reveal a twisted heap of sheets and blankets at the foot of the bed.

He sat up, gently testing to see if all of his teeth remained in their sockets. As he did so, a shaking hand emerged from the tangled bedclothes below to grip his ankle.

"That you, man?"

"Who else would it be?" growled the wreck that gradually emerged to climb back and collapse beside him.

"Mice?" ventured Sandburg.

"Mice," confirmed his companion.

There was a long, thoughtful pause.

Sandburg looked at Jim out of the corner of his eye. "Pretty neat, being furry, wasn't it? I mean, all the freedom of the naked body, released from the encumbrance of clothing, without being, um, cold. Reminded me of that trip to New Guinea... and then there was the tail - man, wasn't that amazing, I - mnnnf!"

"You know, my teeth are still humming," complained Sandburg as they walked in through the police garage next morning.

"Sandburg!" They turned in response to a familiar bark. "Sandburg, this penguin friend of yours -" Simon strode up to them, grinding a cigar between his teeth.

"Um... yes?"

"Next time, I don't want to know. Just let the world go boom, OK?"

"Understood."

"Boom, Sandburg."

"Ah... right, sir. Boom."

Simon slammed through the door, leaving them on the steps.

They just stood there, gazing at the door. Sandburg was the first to regain the power of speech. "Jim, do you think -"

"No," he said, firmly.

"But what if - ?"

"No," said Jim.

"But -?"

"Sandburg, just this once, let's not. Let's not think."

"Right, we won't go there. Okay."

"Right."

"Fine."

Ellison slung his arm over Sandburg's shoulders and gave him a brief, manly hug. "My hero," he murmured.

"Yeah, well, next time it's your turn to get fried."

End Sandburg - there aren't any penguins in Peru by Alice: Alice3pl@aol.com

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