Disclaimers are in chapter one

Chuck strode out of the classroom, ignoring the teacher's "Where do you think you're going?" and headed for the high school's nearest bathroom. The mirror confirmed what he'd dreaded, but it was still a shock. His youngest son looked back at him, a decidedly annoyed expression on his face. He rolled his eyes when Chuck rolled his, and he raised his hand to his face when Chuck raised his. God damn it. He didn't need this.

He exited the bathroom, eyeing the halls for the nearest door. Access into the school was controlled, but fortunately, getting out was a fire issue and the door he found was not locked. He was hailed out on the lawn by a security guard, but he just waved at the man and vaulted a low fence, gaining access to the street. The jump felt smooth and easy. "Jesus," he thought, "I've gotten old." He knew the neighborhood around the school – the large suburban Houston homes - but he also knew he was still a few miles from his own house. When he was sure he'd made his escape he took shelter under a maple tree and fished in Neil's pants for a phone. The first person on Neil's speed-dial was "Mom," and despite himself, Chuck had to pause for the wave of pain that washed over him. He moved on and found himself listed lower than Holly, but ahead of the rest of the Odyssey crew. He waited, uneasy, with the phone to his ear until he heard his own voice say, "Congratulations, you've reached Taggart. I'm busy, so leave a message."

"Damn," he said. "This is, uh, Chuck. Call me." As he returned the phone to his pocket he felt the jingle of a set of keys. Neil's keys, one of which was to his motorcycle. Ah hah, that was how he would get home. All he had to do was sneak back onto school property and boost his son's ride. He was already in the parking lot before he realized that, though he might get stopped for truancy, no one would think he was stealing Neil's bike.

He was Neil.

scene change

Neil, meanwhile, was Kurt, as the gorgeous woman at the door clearly believed. She slithered through the door before Neil could collect himself enough to make some excuse. In the process she pressed her barely-covered breasts into his chest, making his breath catch. "So this is your place," she said with approval, glancing around. "Do you call a place like this a loft? I like it."

"Uh," Neil recovered himself, at least enough to close the door, "I'm really sorry, but this isn't the best time." The voice was Kurt's, but his English accent was gone.

The woman hadn't noticed. "What do you mean?" she asked. She widened eyes that were greener than any cat's. Neil blinked. "You promised me dinner. It smells wonderful, by the way." She sashayed up to him and slipped her arms around his neck. Neil groped desperately for balance. Things were happening fast, like in the landing pattern of a high performance jet. This wasn't a dream or hallucination; the reality of the woman pressing herself against him ran any thought of that out of his head. So he really was in Kurt's place, inhabiting Kurt's body, with this gorgeous, wiggly, and VERY interested woman in his arms.

The interested woman slid away from him and backed up to the oven, holding his gaze the while. Enthralled, Neil followed. When she reached the oven, she opened the door and looked in, bending way over so almost every inch of her cleavage showed. She sniffed, long and hard, arching her long neck up and away from her luscious breasts, eyes closed. "Smells divine," she said. "Beef?" She opened her eyes. "What are we having?"

"I, uh—" Neil stammered.

"Whatever it is, it can wait," she said, closing the oven and smirking at him. She punched the "cancel" button on the oven and flowed back into Neil's arms.

"No, wait," Neil said. He gripped her wrists and pulled them down from around his neck. "First, uh, what was your name again?"

"Jeannie," she said with mock outrage, so Neil hadn't been wrong that this wasn't someone Kurt knew well.

"Jeannie. Of course. Jeannie, why don't you make yourself comfortable—" He extracted her hand which she was wrapping around his waist beneath his sports jacket, "here. Here in the, uh, in this room, while I go do something in the other room." She pouted, but released him, and Neil escaped into Kurt's bedroom, where he shut the door firmly and leaned his back against it. He breathed hard as if he'd been fighting, but it was love his body wanted to make, not war. "Dammit, Kurt," he muttered.

Now what should he do?

scene change

Kurt looked up at a circle of worried faces, people clucking over him and calling him Sarah. He struggled to get a grip. This was—this was some sort of hallucination. It had to be. He'd had enough weird experiences recently, he should be able to cope with one more.

"Sarah, Honey," said the black man crouching down to his right, whom Kurt belatedly realized was holding his hand and patting it, "we're live in two minutes. Can you do the show? What's wrong?"

Kurt snatched his hand (his hand?) back from the man and clambered gracelessly to his feet (his feet?), leaving off the high-heeled shoes. The solicitous crew members backed off and started scowling at clipboards and looking nervously toward a lighted set with the channel 13 newsdesk. Kurt looked at the black man. "What do I have to do?" He damped down on a flare of panic as he heard his female voice.

A frown crossed the man's face. "What do you have to do? Read the news. Look pretty. Like you always do." He scooped up the papers Kurt had been holding and handed them to him.

"Troy," said an agitated little man behind the black man's shoulder. "We need her on the set, now."

"All right, Mike, thanks," said Troy in a tone that dismissed him. "Sarah, are you sure you're all right? We can have Candace hold down the anchor position by herself, if you're not okay." Kurt looked to where he indicated. A stunning blonde woman wearing a blouse that was somehow both professionally correct and slyly seductive already sat at the desk, the studio lights glinting off her hair and the silvery lace over her bosom. The look she was giving him was unabashedly challenging.

"I just read it?" Kurt asked, taking the papers from him. "It's on the teleprompter, right?" He didn't wait for the startled Troy to frame an answer. "Of course I can. I'm fine." He started toward the set, his eyes on the beautiful woman, while he tried to ignore the foreign feel of the skirt around his thighs.

"Sarah," Troy called after him, and Kurt managed to remember to respond. He looked back. Troy was holding up cream colored pumps. "Don't you want your shoes?"

"I'd rather keep my neck unbroken, thanks," Kurt said, and padded toward his seat.

scene change

"I have the aircraft," the other man answered, sounding startled. Sarah swiveled the chair so she could lean over and put her head down near her knees. Her graying vision cleared immediately, though her pulse still pounded in her ears. "Angela, are you all right?"

"No," she said, but he was already giving orders on the headset. Orders to abort and stand down, and he sounded entirely too casual about it. Abruptly lights came on in the cabin like theater lights at the end of the show. A whining noise she hadn't been aware of wound down and ceased along with an accompanying vibration. Someone had a hand on her back—a woman she didn't know. She looked up and realized by the woman's earlier position in the cabin she must have Neil's job on the shuttle. The woman looked concerned for her and not the least concerned for the safety of the shuttle.

"Shall we get you a medic, Angela? Or can you walk to the infirmary?"

Infirmary? Sarah blinked and swallowed on a desert-dry throat. The voice of Houston control in her headset said, "Program has ended. Opening doors."

Sarah felt weak all over again, this time with relief. It was a simulator.

tbc