Dancing In The Moonlight

1. Hurt Like A Bitch

"Oi! The fuck you think you're doing?"

Jake held a hand up to block the sun, his eyes still unadjusted to the bright light. He'd had great fun being a dick to the scientists, standing up in his avatar body and letting himself out of the building when he knew he wasn't really supposed to.

How often does someone who's paralysed from the waist down get to stand up and run?

That was his logic, and he was gonna stick to it if anybody asked.

Right now though, with his feet dug into the soil and his ass hanging out of the hospital gown that he'd woken up in, he felt pretty stupid.

Especially when the woman who'd yelled at him was gorgeous.

He was in some kind of field, in one of the rows of crop. The woman was walking towards him with a frown on her face, from the direction of the massive cabin behind her.

"Damn," he muttered, lowering his hand and squinting his eyes, roaming his gaze all over her. He'd not met her in human form. He couldn't have. He'd have remembered a face like that.

Her hair was pulled back from her face, showing a sharp jaw and pierced ears. Her eyes, deep amber, were narrowed at him. A slender figure, with what looked like a homemade ratty knitted tank top and a pair of khaki coloured shorts. Toned, long legs and bare feet. An anklet on her left foot, a woven patterned fibre around her arm. A belt with a knife sheath around her waist, the handle of the weapon a dark brown. Broad shoulders, for a woman, and a narrow waist, arms that were ropy and muscular. Built like a fucking linebacker.

And she was heading right for him, anger twisting her features.

She stopped a mere four foot from him and placed a hand on her hip, gesturing at his body. "Well? The fuck are you doing, babe?"

It wasn't an American accent that came from that plump set of lips. No, it was foreign to him. Scottish, maybe? He'd always been terrible with accents and dialects.

"Huh?" he finally stammered out. She rolled her eyes and shifted her weight onto her other leg.

"Fucking Americans, man," she mumbled, looking down at the ground. Then her eyes flicked back up at him, taking him all in. "Don't touch the plants. They took fucking ages to grow, and the last thing that I need is some clown like you coming in and trampling all over them. You got it?"

She'd spoken slowly, so he understood every word, and a grin formed on his face in spite of himself. He didn't think he'd ever been called a clown before. Everything was shortened, you to yuh, I to ah. Oh, he so loved a woman with an accent.

"Ay, ay, captain," he said, bringing his hand to his head and saluting her.

"Grand. Get the fuck out my garden."

"Jake! Jake!" He watched her eyes travel from himself to the person behind him, her face growing more and more annoyed. Jake turned, seeing the scientist Norm who he'd basically ran away from, standing in the same row he was in. And then Norm brought his arm up, accentuating his bicep, a wide grin on his face. "I am a living God."

Jake watched the scientist in disbelief as he flexed his arms and then laughed like a child, basically running on the spot with excitement.

"Jesus wept," the woman said behind him, a mixture of annoyance and downright horror in her voice.

"That's Norm," Jake said, turning back to look at her. "I'm Jake. What's your name?"

"Mairi," she responded, her gaze still locked on Norm behind him, her mouth open a little bit with disbelief written all over her face. Mah-ree. She glanced back at him, stepped forward and extended her hand. Jake took it, pumped it twice, and then released her.