Jeroen had been half asleep, deciding whether his stomach or the idea of more sleep was more important to him, when he hears Eostre speak. No, he hears her swear.
Considering the fact that he gets in trouble every time he swears, he's rather gleeful about this, and he can't stifle what sounds suspiciously like a giggle. But isn't one, because he's a boy, and boys don't make those sounds.
He turns his head sharply at the giggle. Shit. Right. Shit. The kid. "Jeroen?" he says, and the sound of his own voice which isn't his own voice breaks his brain for about ten seconds. He turns, looking across the room to the other bed. This is going to be so fun to explain. To someone who doesn't even have English as a first language. Oh, hooray.
"Yeah, I fucking did," he says, and his voice is shaking slightly. He has to think. About how to put this. If there's any way at all to put this.
"I'm not..." He falters and slides his feet out from under the covers, rubbing his palms against his eyes. "You think I'm Eostre, right? That's who I look like?"
It had, thus far, not been a good morning. In the first instance, she'd woken up in a narrow bed in the basement, in a crowded room, and felt like she'd been buried. In the second instance, she'd had a headache that would not go away. And she wasn't herself. What she had noticed, almost immediately on waking, was a crushing sense of alone. She wasn't in her body. The body that she was in was taller than she was, and ached in unexpected places. The body that she was in was definately male. Eostre was used to changing shape. She'd done that before, in the days when she used to run as a hare. What she'd never been before was pregnant.
It had taken several minutes, sitting on the edge of the bed with long hair pushed back out of her eyes, to calm her breathing down. Logically, if she was here in someone else's body then, in her hut, somebody was in her body, and they were the ones who had her baby. Her babies. Jeroen as well.
Sod it all to hellIn black jeans and a black t-shirt, Eostre stalked down the path towards her hut
( ... )
He stops in the act of pulling a shirt on (one of his own, God, drink in the irony) and stares up at the man for almost a full minute, unable to say anything. He's really starting to hope this is all a bad dream. He knows he's not that lucky.
He doesn't know the man. He's thin and wiry and cranky looking. But he does. It clicks and his mouth drops open.
"Regrettably so," said Eostre, the voice lower and the tone drier than it had any right to be. Her head was still aching. "I assume...wait." She took a step deeper into the hut, looming over the small blond (better not to think of it as herself) and glared. "Say that again. That..." She arched a dark eyebrow. "Mike?"
Dream had noticed some strange happenings around the island so far this morning, but chalked it up to simple irrational mortal behavior. He'd certainly seen his share during the history of the species.
He was walking barefoot on the compound path when he saw Eostre. She seemed a bit out of sorts herself, and hardly seemed to notice him.
Dream reached out and touched her arm as she started to pass by him. "What's your hurry, my dear?"
He's got to get out. He's got to... find other people or hide, he's not sure which, and at least she had overalls and one of his shirts handy, because he just doesn't think he could handle the dresses right now.
Small mercies.
But now. He stops dead and looks down at the hand on his arm, and back up at the man. He's thin and angular and pale, but not unattractive, and on an entirely different day under entirely different circumstances, he might not even object all that much to being called 'my dear'.
He laughs, quick and short and entirely mirthless. "Well, actually," he says, tucking blond hair behind his ear, "hard to get suits me just fine, considering I'm not who you think I am."
She'd said something about another old flame showing up. He has an awful sinking feeling that this is him.
He'd gotten used to the new haircut, at least, and the more he saw it, the more he liked it. Of course, whenever he saw Eostre, he couldn't help but smile a little and this time was no different.
... And she was wearing what Chris recognized as Mike's shirt. Huh.
"Hey," he said, smiling warmly as he approached her. "Is it laundry day or did you just have a lot of fun last night?"
He can't decide if he's relieved to see Chris or not. He supposes there are pros and cons on both sides. Well, hell.
"Oh, lots of fun," he says, folding his arms over his chest (breastsbreastsbreastsbreasts) and arching an eyebrow. "So much fun I got blown fucking clear out of my body. Or something. Fucking island, Cutter, I tell you."
Chris's smile immediately vanished, replaced by a mixture of shock and confusion. Eostre had never called him Cutter that he could remember and had certainly never used that sort of tone with him, even when she was scolding him.
"Eostre?" he asked, his voice coming out a little squeaky.
He quirks a smile and shakes his head, scuffing a bare foot idly across the ground. His hair brushes the sides of his jaw when he moves. It's really incredibly distracting. Not as distracting as the fucking breasts.
After she played with the lightsaber and Darine-in-Qui-Gon a bit, Abby decided she should probably go make sure everyone was okay before she retired to her hut to avoid the screaming.
She saw Eostre on the path up ahead of her and caught up to her easily.
"Hey Sugar," she greeted her, dropping the standard kiss on top of the head.
He turns a little and somewhere between knowing it's her and the kiss, his stomach does a little flip. Or maybe sort of a big flip. It's a deep kind of want feeling, and the only thing he has to compare it to is... how he feels when he sees Eostre.
Oh.
And for some reason, he doesn't tell her right away. He's about to, and then he stops, and something wicked flashes through his head.
"Hi," he says, smiling. "Notice anything different?"
"Well, from that opener and the fact that Dairine is in Qui-Gon's body, plus all the screaming, I'm gonna guess you are not Eostre. So who are you?" she demands, her voice gone all quiet like that time she yelled at Mike.
This is Eostre, her Eostre, who's pregnant, and whoever has her damn well better take care of Cabbage.
Comments 151
Considering the fact that he gets in trouble every time he swears, he's rather gleeful about this, and he can't stifle what sounds suspiciously like a giggle. But isn't one, because he's a boy, and boys don't make those sounds.
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"I'm not..." He falters and slides his feet out from under the covers, rubbing his palms against his eyes. "You think I'm Eostre, right? That's who I look like?"
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It had taken several minutes, sitting on the edge of the bed with long hair pushed back out of her eyes, to calm her breathing down. Logically, if she was here in someone else's body then, in her hut, somebody was in her body, and they were the ones who had her baby. Her babies. Jeroen as well.
Sod it all to hellIn black jeans and a black t-shirt, Eostre stalked down the path towards her hut ( ... )
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He doesn't know the man. He's thin and wiry and cranky looking. But he does. It clicks and his mouth drops open.
"...Eostre?"
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He was walking barefoot on the compound path when he saw Eostre. She seemed a bit out of sorts herself, and hardly seemed to notice him.
Dream reached out and touched her arm as she started to pass by him. "What's your hurry, my dear?"
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Small mercies.
But now. He stops dead and looks down at the hand on his arm, and back up at the man. He's thin and angular and pale, but not unattractive, and on an entirely different day under entirely different circumstances, he might not even object all that much to being called 'my dear'.
But this is all a little too much.
"Do not," he says very cooly, "touch me."
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"Eostre. You've let being a mortal go to your head. Hard to get does not suit you."
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She'd said something about another old flame showing up. He has an awful sinking feeling that this is him.
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... And she was wearing what Chris recognized as Mike's shirt. Huh.
"Hey," he said, smiling warmly as he approached her. "Is it laundry day or did you just have a lot of fun last night?"
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"Oh, lots of fun," he says, folding his arms over his chest (breastsbreastsbreastsbreasts) and arching an eyebrow. "So much fun I got blown fucking clear out of my body. Or something. Fucking island, Cutter, I tell you."
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"Eostre?" he asked, his voice coming out a little squeaky.
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"Nope. Guess again."
He's actually almost enjoying this.
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She saw Eostre on the path up ahead of her and caught up to her easily.
"Hey Sugar," she greeted her, dropping the standard kiss on top of the head.
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Oh.
And for some reason, he doesn't tell her right away. He's about to, and then he stops, and something wicked flashes through his head.
"Hi," he says, smiling. "Notice anything different?"
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This is Eostre, her Eostre, who's pregnant, and whoever has her damn well better take care of Cabbage.
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"It's okay," he says, levelly. "It's me. It's Mike."
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