#time control

It was so easy to Alma, to let you in. Trusting her Keeper was built into her as well. Affection and adoration, well that was mostly always there, but intimacy came later. Much later.

It was less easy for the kids. They didn’t see how you helped. They only saw you had less chores and were constantly acting like you weren’t in love with their Headmistress. They suspected it was under Miss Peregrine’s orders because she was acting just the same, just as badly. They were very disgruntled by you.

But this was a day that would change all that. Not that any of you knew it, possibly baring Horace, you’d later reflect.

The morning was in constant motion. All the kids wanted to be spick and span for the day so they could play immediately after breakfast. Chores would come later. You and Alma moved in unison to make a lovely breakfast with fresh fruits and a few vegetables you’d picked and sliced especially for the kids you knew loved pears and pineapples. It wasn’t often they ate something so light, Alma preferring something hearty to help them last until dinner. You reasoned they could have snacks as well, she kept stocked with anything and everything they could want and need. It was remarkable.

You were all settling down for breakfast when Alma did a head count. “Children, where’s Emma?” she asked.

Hugh giggled. Enoch smirked. “Uhm, Hugh’s bath went a little long and Emma’s time got set off. She’ll be down shortly,” the necromancer assured his Headmistress.

Appeased, Alma moved onto the next task. “Hugh, you must be courteous to other children’s morning schedule,” she scolded lightly. She knew he already knew better and wouldn’t repeat it for a good time.

“Yes, Miss Peregrine,” he mumbled, chagrined anyway.

Nodding, Alma sat down and Emma came down the stairs. Her hair wasn’t entirely dry, but Alma had chosen a warm day. She glowered at the bee-keeper. (You’d made a joke about the similarities of your Peculiarity’s titles, but he hadn’t got it.) She took her seat and the tension almost left the room. Breakfast started with a bit of silence, the children excited about an unusual spread.

Claire mumbled something about the pineapple that the mute Fiona picked up on. She turned to her (they were sitting right beside each other), and they shared a mini conversation. Other children broke into simple chatter. You and Alma just watched as they had the closest they would ever get to being a normal kind of happy. That was never a major goal, you both wanting them to be proud of what set them apart, but it was nice to see that they could be... kids.

The eating wound down until only Hugh was sucking on a pineapple. He noticed he was last and chomped down his food, wiping his mouth and hands with his napkin. He was already standing out to Miss P for bad behavior. A few bees escaped his maw, but that was anything but unusual.

Alma stood, reaching for plates. “You may play until you must begin your chores.” You rose behind her, gathering the other side’s as the children raced into the yard.

Hugh and Millard went for the football (soccer ball) and Horace went in his own direction, a sketchbook you’d smuggled from the real world under his arm and a pencil in his hand. He looked out with his monocle to deem a decent seating place or inspiration.

Alma set the dishes in the soapy water and you took over the position of washing them. You slowly put suddy flatware and cups in the free sink, aware you hadn’t heard Alma walk away. She had a light step, but you could always feel her. You were just aware, in the back of your head, not mind, she was still there. Your intuition was proven correct when she stepped up behind you, arms around your waist. She just watched what you did as if she hadn’t done it a million times. Distracting lips plied their way across the expanse of your skin. She got this way sometimes, she was a terrible tease, but wouldn’t dare think of taking it further. You’d only been in her home a month. She was used to the bigger picture needing thinking about.

You had to prove you’d stay by... well, staying. A deep breath kept you centered on washing, rinsing, and racking the dishes from a single position. You didn’t dare vary from the task. You wished to stay as you were.

But, inevitably, she was called away. No rest for an Ymbryne. She was off from the kitchen and you dried off the dishes with a clean rag, focused on the task when a noise distracted you. “Miss Peregrine?”

You looked up to see little Claire, looking ever so shy. You wondered if she’d ever open up, in any way. “I’m afraid not, sweetheart. Could I help you with something.”

The blonde looked around the room with the intent of not seeing you. “Um... no...” And she slinked from the room.

You frowned after her, stung but more concerned. You finished your task and stepped up the stairs to tidy up Victor. He never took much. You supposed you were a bit mad, you enjoyed talking to him as you cleaned up his room. You told him about Miss Peregrine, how much more sleep she was getting, how low her shoulders set (not drooping, but not as uptight as before). You skirted around the topic of Bronwyn, not wanting to upset him. You ran out of things to clean before you ran out of things to talk about, and you knew you had a schedule to keep so you left his room, making for the front door. You walked out a good ways past the house before turning. You walked the perimeter multiple times a day, one of the things the kids didn’t understand. This kept the house being the focal point of the Loop. This made sure the kids remembered the day before. Which was still... the same day- It was confusing, still, after a month.

Your perimeter established the break between morning chores and afternoon chores. Any morning chores not finished by now would be punished, but have no lasting problems. You took the clothes off the line and folded them before dropping them into the basket. This was also a new chore and the children were only recently given permission to wear different clothes everyday. Alma usually saved it for how she measured a weekend or someone got sick or so.

Clothes were redistributed and you made another perimeter before taking to the library and grabbing a book. You heard the tell tale signs of the family leaving for their daily walk and the click-clack of Alma as she found where you hid out. “You’re certain you want to stay here alone?” she asked for the millionth time, once each day.

You smiled at your routineer. “Yes, Alma. I love my alone time.” You frowned. That was more than you usually answered. “Not that I don’t love you all-!” you started to babble.

The Ymbryne silenced you with a kiss, one... long... She eased back, pecking your nose as she did in peregrine form before going for the walk.

Rather than a thirty minute trek whichever way they went, it was a whole hour now, allowing the family do whatever they liked. They went to the beach sometimes. You burned ever-so easily. And anyway, Alma never liked being away from her home for very long. That’s why she never had such long walks before. Another new development. You’d volunteered to stay behind a few times, then it became the new norm. You sat in the living room, sensing the edges of the property you’s walked several times. Eventually you grew bored with your choice in literature and you didn’t want to start a new book so you put it up and went for another walk. You had made two perimeters before you sensed something off. You hadn’t even had time to properly investigate when a sharp pain overtook your senses, submerging them in darkness.

*

Pain erupted in your head, a piercing stabbing feeling cutting through the deep darkness of your sleepy mind. An unwanted groan tumbled over your lips half a second before you were swiftly kicked in the stomach. You bent in half, holding back another groan.

“Silence, bitch,” was your only explanation for your immediate pain.

“I’ll not have that language in my house!” Alma was commanding as ever, a rock steadying you in the ocean of your confusion and pain.

You peeled your eyes open to find a single wight in the house, little Claire in his grasp, and Alma standing across from him, with Enoch, Emma, and Bronwyn crowded behind her. You moved very slowly so as not to attract attention. You turned onto your stomach, pushing your weight up with your arms. Claire’s legs moved to the side - she cried briefly as the swift action - as the wight’s leg kicked from the other side of her to clock you under your chin.

As you fell back, you couldn’t feel nor sense Enoch’s glare. You were too distracted throwing your hands out. The wight froze in his spot and Alma lunged forward, working with you, to take Claire from his hands. You brought one leg underneath him and were on your feet by the time the blonde’s movement knocked him out of your peculiar ability. You needed no hands to slow time, his descent backwards taking so many seconds you got impatient and grabbed the side of his face, shoving him down. He still moved as if in tar and was near the ground before you brought your own foot up under his turned head. He came back into regular time and flew back into the sitting room’s door, smacking his head into the wood something awful.

Both you and Alma faced the standing, shaking blonde. “Are you okay?” you asked her as Alma addressed the others and Claire: “Is anyone injured?”

Claire nodded at you while the others shook their heads.

The percieved safety nearly took the strength from your knees, but you had more pressing issues. You stood back to your full height, the drop in your legs a figment of your imagination, and turned to the wight. “Is he-?”

Alma took your arms, securing you dangerously. “Yes, dearest,” she answered before you could finish. She anticipated the collapse and held you close, lifting you into her arms. “Emma, dispatch of our guest, if you please.”

*

Your head had taken quite a beating this day. You pulsed and throbbed, though you didn’t dare make a sound. Wherever you were smelled better than any torture chamber so that was a plus. Your skull was trying to IKEA itself back into its original packaging, not you. You turned your head, squeezing your eyes tight before sighing at the unchanged migraine. A gentle touch to your cheek startled your eyes wide.

But it was just Alma. Your Alma. Seated beside the bed you often shared, leaned over the gap between you to rest only a few inches away. You could feel her breath on your face, smell the mint.

You mumbled her name, reaching for her with the hand closer to her. She closed that still short distance, pressing her forehead against yours. You disapproved of the action with a small whimper and she moved back automatically. But you still wanted her, even if her touch spread fire, let it have you. You reached still, getting a hold on her clothes. You attempted to pull and pull, hoping she’d get the message. Oh, unless she had other things to be doing.

“One of my little darlings stole my spot, my darling.”

You turned back to what you’d been smelling when you first woke up. Claire tucked into your side, your not free arm wrapped around her securely. Her head rested on your shoulder. You moved back into the position you’d been in when you awoke and took a whiff. She smelled like candy and sunlight. You laughed under your breath, crying at the moment you never expected.

“She wouldn’t be budged once you were settled.”

You faced your love again, tears leaking from the sides of your eyes.

Alma leaned forward, ever so concerned. “Oh, don’t do that. You’ll make your headache worst.”

You laughed again, shaking your head even as it pounded worse than ever. This was the first time you felt truly at home here.

*

You loved your Alma. But she was driving you insane. You weren’t permitted to move from your spot. The first few days, she had alarmingly strong medication to keep you safe and healing. After the necessity wore off, you were restless, always trying to sneak off. Millard had taken up constant watch in your room. Creepy, and he refused to wear clothes. You suspected it was so he could leave and you wouldn’t know.

Well, you more than knew. You had snuck out a few times when he had and he’d pulled you back to bed even fewer times. Unfortunately, Alma might’ve been right. While not needing constant, debilitating pain medication, you were far from healed. And Miss Peregrine didn’t truly know the extent of your injuries. So, a week and a half of half-tag with Millard and being carried back to bed by Alma, you took a downturn. Because, even in paradise, not everything is perfect sunshine and rainbows. Well, it could’ve been... if Alma had chosen a few days before the 3rd. Maybe some day in August.

You were distracting yourself, mostly on purpose, mostly from the all-consuming cold overtaking you. Alma said very delayed shock and something about PTSD. You thought she was exaggerating or just plain scared. But you didn’t have time for bitter thoughts on your love who left you for a whole minute to make you a cup of tea. And Heaven forfend if you tried to deny it. You burrowed further into your covers which had been piled about as high as the ceiling. You wondered where she’d gotten them all from, but knew she wasn’t above robbing the entire island and then some. So long as the kids had theirs, you were fine.

Alma wasn’t sleeping again. You weren’t okay with it. It took a great deal of concentration to be truly upset, but she could bet she’d be getting a lecture of her own when you were better, warmer. Another wave of shivers wracked you, goosebumps from nowhere taking over.

Why was Alma gone still? It must’ve been years. You were going to be in this bed forever, like Victor. Trapped by her sentimentality, imprisoned by her pretty smiles, distracted by her kind heart until you had no choice but to stay.

Thankfully, footsteps drew you from your delirious ramblings. You turned to find a blonde you recognized. You felt immensely better at the presence of Emma. 

Though, she looked very cautious. She kept looking out the door to make sure it was just you two. Another shiver wracked your suffocated form. She frowned down at you in concern. She could hardly peel back any of the blankets, her hand sliding under the covers before taking your forearm. The warmth emanating from her touch nearly made you fall asleep. It gave you good goosebumps. “What you did was very brave,” she whispered. “None of us blame you. And if we did, you more than made up for it.” 

The comfort of no longer being alone with your thoughts chased away the mean ramblings and echoes from before. You slowly melted into the bedspread, drifting to a realm of peaceful sleep.