Laying Eggs

By S. Faith, © 2014

Words: 958
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary: Curious children never stop asking questions…
Disclaimer: Isn't mine.
Notes: Takes place in a universe in which Mark Darcy never… well. He's in this one.

Wrote this in about an hour and a half today. Happy Easter, friends.

Mark's children never ceased to surprise him. Particularly his son.

It was late in the afternoon and Mark was working at home, finishing up some paperwork before the Good Friday bank holiday. Home from school after an early day, Billy came up to him but didn't say a word until Mark looked away from his papers and asked him what it was he wanted.

"Dad," he began cautiously, "do we celebrate Easter with bunnies and eggs because the hill where Jesus died was covered with them?"

Mark paused, then looked at his son incredulously before trying, and failing, to suppress a chuckle. "What? Who told you that nonsense?"

Billy looked chagrined, then said in a sepulchral voice, "Mummy."

"Ah," Mark said, putting the pen down.

"Bunnies all over a hill in the middle of everything there didn't make much sense, to be honest," Billy said, offering a slight smile. "So I thought I'd ask you."

"Right," said Mark.

The problem was, although Mark knew the correct answer had to do with ancient fertility symbols and rites as celebrated by many ancient pre-Christian populations, whose beliefs were then absorbed into the Christian celebration… Mark had no idea how to relay this to his six-year-old son. He knew, though, he'd have to try, so he tiptoed his way through it:

"You notice that in the spring, how everything comes back to life after winter, or at least it feels that way, right?"

Billy nodded. "All the little leaves on the trees."

"Exactly! Exactly. And the birds return."

"And baby foxes in the garden."

"Um, yes, that too," he said, thinking he would have to ask Bridget about that one. "For a long time now, spring was thought of as a time for rebirth. And things like eggs and bunnies came to symbolise the renewal of life."

"Oh," he said, then he asked, "Why bunnies?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, eggs are where chickens come from, like little baby chicks in them…" Billy screwed up his face in concentration. "But I don't understand about the bunnies."

Unbidden in Mark's mind flashed the image of his wife, the mother of his children, some years ago dressed as a bunny girl with tail; he remembered all too well the thoughts that had accompanied the sight. "Bunnies…" he began a bit roughly, then cleared his throat. "Bunnies tend to have a lot of—" Sex, he thought, but said only, "—babies."

"Oh." Billy looked very thoughtful for a moment. "What does that have to do with Jesus? He didn't have any babies at all."

"Jesus dies then comes back, right?" asked Mark. "It's a rebirth, like the spring."

"Ohh," Billy said, then smiled. "That make sense, I guess. It's a bit weird, though."

"It is a bit, but just remember that it's older traditions mixed with newer ones," he said. "That way everyone felt included in celebrating. Does that make more sense to you?"

Billy nodded enthusiastically. "Thanks, Dad!" he said, before running back towards wherever it was he'd been playing. He glanced at the clock, realised it was time to call it a day, and packed up his papers into his attaché for a long, relaxing holiday weekend with his family.

…

"Mark."

The dark, serious tone of Bridget's voice as she closed the bedroom door behind her sent him into an immediate worry/panic state. "What's wrong?"

"What have you been telling the children?"

He waited for more, something to give him context, but nothing was forthcoming. "About…?"

"I just went to put Mabel to bed and she told me all about how Jesus came back on Easter just to lay eggs, and from those hatched eggs jumped lots of baby bunnies."

His eyes went wide. "And she said she heard this from me?"

"No, from Billy, who said you told him all about Easter bunnies and eggs."

He thought about it for a moment, then began to laugh… and then explained exactly what it was he'd told Billy. "It must have got a bit changed in the retelling, or at the very least, in Mabel's hearing of it," he said. "Like Chinese whispers."

She grinned, but then said, "Well, wait. Why did he ask you after he'd asked me?"

"Because he knew your answer was complete rubbish," he teased, smiling fondly. "You know, it is okay to say you don't know, but that you can find out. Better to do that then give him bad information."

She pouted a little. "You're going to bring up China again, aren't you."

He recalled her wildly underestimating China's population when Billy had asked. "I wasn't, but since you mention it, that's another example."

"But I don't want my children to think I'm stupid."

"Bridget, you're anything but stupid," he said gently. "But they're going to think you're totally mental if they find out the answer you gave them is pulled out of thin air. Show her you can find out—"

"Yes, yes, you're right," she said. "As always. But you'll set Mabel straight come tomorrow, won't you? I don't want her going 'round telling people that Jesus lays eggs."

He laughed. "Of course I will." As an afterthought, he added, "You know, it was bloody difficult to explain how bunnies got involved in the whole spring/fertility mix without saying—"

"—'Shagging like'," Bridget supplied, grinning broadly, then chuckling. "Yes, I imagine it was." She came close to him, wrapped her arms around him, held him tightly. "You know, if you ask nicely, I might be able to scare up a new tail."

He returned the hug, chuckling too; of course she knew down which road his thoughts had gone.

"Oh, he thinks I'm kidding," she scolded playfully, then reached up and gave him a kiss.

The end.