Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After the crash, there was nothing. There was no-one. Everyone you loved died that day. But, didn’t you? Why did you have to be the only one left behind?
You’d tried them, plenty of times. So many times you’ve really just stopped keeping track. But, each time you wake up, close to death sure, but never quite allowed to cross over.
You started travelling. Partly in the hope of finding some meaning again in life, and partly just so you could get away from their memories.

But, everywhere you go there are just so many people, so much life, so much hope. And it just reminds you of what you don’t have, what you can’t have. Why celebrate today if there’s nothing special about life today, if there’s no-one to share it with, if there’s no threat that you won’t be here tomorrow.

And so you you seek out more and more remote places, eventually finding yourself on a small island off the coast of Wales, Cairnholm. The countryside is dull, it rains near constantly, and there are so few people and signs of life. It’s quiet.

Deciding to stay for a while, you rent a small cottage at the back end of a farmer’s property. The farmer had been almost speechless when you’d asked about it, seemingly at a complete loss as to why anyone would want to stay there. It was also possible that he’d completely forgotten it was even there. Either way, he was more than happy to take your money and you found yourself a little piece of this rugged landscape all of your own for the foreseeable future.

You found yourself walking a lot over the next few days. Nowhere in particular, just passing over the countryside, feeling the silence rolling over you.
It was on one of these walks that you found yourself at the ends of a cliff. The air was biting cold and out in front, as far as the eye could see, was the wild expanse of the sea. It was both absolute nothingness and absolute chaos, and somehow in that you found peace you hadn’t felt for a long, long time.

You returned to the cliff nearly every day. On the days when it was pouring with rain, you just sit there, never really caring as you get drenched through within seconds, and that you might get sick. Why would you care?
On the days when the rain takes a rest day, you take up your pad and pencils and just sketch the world around you.

About a week after you first found the cliff, you notice a large black and blue bird has started to frequent the area. You don’t really known much about birds so don’t know the species, but you can acknowledge its beauty and elegance.

At first the bird just circles a few times. Then, after a few more days, it lands nearby. It just sits and watches as you sketch. To be honest, it weirds you out to begin with, but eventually you settle into it. The bird even stands resolute when the heavens open and the rain reappears. You start brining an umbrella for these days. Not for you, but for the bird. Setting it up with a stake in the ground to protect the creature from the elements. You’re not sure why you do it, but you guess that if the poor thing insists on staying out with you in weather like this, then the least you could do was make sure it didn’t get sick.
Can birds get sick from staying out in the rain?
The bird gives you an odd look, tilting its head to the side and chattering. And, if birds could emote you would get the distinct impression that that the bird was telling you off. The look in its eyes was definitely one of intense disapproval. But, it stayed nonetheless.

After another week or so of this, you start brining food up to the cliff to share with the bird. You did a bit of research and were fairly certain that it was a peregrine falcon. Oddly, not actually indigenous to this area. But, with the knowledge of species, you could be a bit more mindful of the food you gave it and it was nice to know a little bit more about your unusual companion. You felt you owed it at least that much.

The bird would never know of course, how much its visits meant to you. It had somehow grounded you. It was always there and always on time. It have given you something to focus on in the nothingness and chaos that was your life and your soul. And, so you felt you should at least know something about it. You’d even started talking to it sometimes as you sat there of sketched. Nothing overly exciting or anything too deep, but just titbits here and there, off-handed comments as you scratched away, detailing the scenery you sat in.
“I had a friend once,” you said one day as you picked at your sandwich, “who absolutely hated pickles. She always said that she could taste them even if someone else was having them.”
Or, “I never really liked the colour yellow. It’s always felt a little obnoxious. As if trying to force you to feel happy,” you said another time as you drew a nearby bush that had recently decided to sprout bright yellow blooms.

But, then came the anniversary of the crash.

And, for the first time ever, the bird is late.

You stand at the edge of the cliff, icy wind battering at your face, turning the tears there burning against your skin.

Nothing grounds you.

Nothing grounds you and you fall.

For a split second, you feel completely at peace. For a split second, you feel like you can breathe. There’s a brief hope that maybe this time it’ll work and it will finally be over.

A high-pitched screech splits the air.

You smile. The bird came.

Then, you hit the rocks and everything goes black.

Chapter Text

It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t work. It never does.

You feel the bobbing motion first as you’re gently rocked from side-to-side. Maybe you’ve been swept out to see. That hadn’t happened before. But, you guess there’s a first time for everything.
Sound came next. You could hear the lapping of waves, which supported your theory of being swept out to sea. But, listening closer, it sounded like the water was hitting something hard, maybe wooden. There was also the rhythmic splash and creak of oars.

Confused, you slowly force an eye open as far as it will go. Through the blur of your eyelashes, you can just make out a tall figure in dark clothing. It looked female. The figure was sitting not too far from you, her back ram-rod straight. She wasn’t moving other than with the movement of the boat so there must have been others there as well, rowing the boat. But, your eyes soon closed again and the world faded to black before you had a chance to look.

###

You were still being rocked and jostled the next time you woke, but the sound of the sea was gone. Instead, it was replaced by the sound of footsteps and heavy breathing. Trying to look at your surroundings now had you wincing in pain at the bright light through the green canopy above and you immediately fall back into unconsciousness.

###

The third time you came to, the rocking was gone. The sounds were also gone, bar the sound of birds chirping but they seemed a fair distance away. Softness enveloped you on all sides and you frowned. You were in a bed?

How?

Not wanting to risk passing out again if wherever you were was too bright, you kept your eyes closed and tried to move. There were still a few points of excruciating pain, making you wince, so there were probably still a few broken bones. But, it was only a few points. Really just your left arm and shoulder. You must have healed quite a bit already. After a fall like that, you estimated a day and a half, maybe 48 hours, to be at this stage of recovery. Mindful of your arm, you pulled yourself up to a seated position and swung your legs around so you were sitting on the side of the bed.

You hung your head and let out a heavy sigh.

Of course it didn’t work.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash as what sounded like a metal tray and all its contents fell to the floor.

Your eyes flew open and you spun to face the sound.

Too focused on your own thoughts, you hadn’t noticed anyone approaching.

In the doorway, stood a blonde girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, wearing a light blue dress and a shocked expression. The remnants of what she’d been carrying were on the floor at her feet.

“You’re -” she started, but paused, shock taking away whatever she was trying to say.

Before she was able to find the words, someone else cut in. A crisp, clear voice, full of authority. “Emma?” the voice called out. It wasn’t loud, but it certainly projected. Footsteps clicked closer.
“Emma, what is the meaning of -”

But, the moment the woman appeared, her words seemed to leave her as well. Instead, she seemed to freeze, eyes wide, an old smoking pipe halfway to a half-opened mouth. She stared at you.

Not really sure where you were or how you’d gotten there, but somewhat more familiar with your situation, you quickly decided it was up to you to make the introductions.

Clearing your throat, you gave a tired smile. “Y/N,” you said. You sighed again. “And I’m sorry for intruding. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Bracing your still-injured arm, you made to get up, off the ridiculously soft bed.

The movement seemed to jolt the woman out of her stupor, however, and she immediately stalked forward.

“You will do no such thing,” she said, grabbing your right shoulder and all but manhandling you back into the bed. “You are clearly still injured and in no fit state to be going anywhere.”

“Honestly, it’s nothing,” you say. You try to fight back, but the woman was surprisingly strong.

“Emma,” the woman called to the girl in the doorway. “Do make yourself useful.”

The girl clomped forward. You noticed that for a girl so petite, she seemed to make a lot of noise as she walked.

With a sigh, you gave in and settled back into the bed. Another few hours and you’d be able to leave anyway.

Both the woman and the girl, Emma, stepped back slightly, but didn’t move away and stood watching you carefully.

You closed your eyes for a moment and let out another heavy sigh.

“Thank you,” you said, opening them again. “I really am fine, but if it’d -”

“Fine?” the woman snapped, looking you straight in the eye. There was something there that seemed vaguely familiar, something oddly comforting, and you got lost for a moment, before the woman continued, snapping you out of your musings. “You are not fine.”

You were about to object again when the woman held up a finger and brandished it towards you.

“And, you will stay here until I say you are ‘fine’.”

You frowned. “I appreciate your concern, but I -”

The rise of a perfectly sculpted eyebrow had you silenced and giving a nod.

“Good,” the woman said, with a crisp nod of her own. She turned to face the girl. “Emma, if you would go downstairs and refill the tray with some tea. And send Millard up to tidy the one you dropped.”

“Yes, Miss Peregrine,” the girl said and hurried off. But, not without another quick look towards you.

Once she was gone, the woman’s head snapped back towards you. Without taking her gaze off you, she took a few steps backwards and settled into a nearby chair.

“Now, I have a rule that I never discuss unpleasant things,” she said. Her voice was sharp, but not unpleasantly so, almost staccato, and low, and you felt yourself listening with your entire body.

“However, before one of the children come back I need to know what on Earth possessed you to fling yourself off that cliff and whether I need be concerned that it will be repeated any time soon.”

Frowning, you glanced at the door then back at the woman in the chair. “I fell.”

The woman’s lips thinned. “I do not tolerate lies in my home,” she said.

“Excuse me?” But, before you could launch into any further argument, the woman held up her hand and shook her head.

“Don’t,” she said. Her eyes flashed with anger, but whether it was from your lying to her face or something else it was hard to tell. “I saw you.”

Your frown deepened. No one else had been anywhere near the cliff. You were sure of it.

The woman settled you with a look and your words stuck in your throat.

“Regenerative capabilities,” the woman said, with a surprising change of topic.

“Excuse me?” you asked again, although this time more than a bit confused.

“I have heard of peculiars with qualities similar to yours, but none living outside of loops and none to quite this degree.” She spoke casually, but her eyes were still focused intently on you. Suddenly though, her eyes snapped to the door. “Thank you, Millard.”

Your eyes followed hers.

And you froze.

The mess of items that had been in a heap on the floor were now floating through the air and onto a tray that was also floating in mid-air.

Without a second thought, you leapt out of the bed. You spun around, eyes wide, looking for an escape route. The door wasn’t an option. Whatever was going on there, you wanted well clear. That only left the window. You had no idea how high up you were, or what sort of surface lay underneath the window, but it would have to do.
You ran towards it, ducked your head and braced your injured arm against your chest, ready to jump through the glass. It wasn’t a large window and it was about half way up the wall. You pushed off and leapt up towards it.

Something dark and surprisingly small flew at you, connecting with your right side and veering you off course. You hit the wall with a crunch and crumpled to the floor.

“Miss Peregrine!” A young boy cried out. There was another crash of a tray hitting the floor.

“What -” you murmured. Through blurry vision, you saw the vague figure of a bird.

Your bird.

You smiled and closed your eyes.

“My beautiful bird.”

Chapter Text

This time you woke, you were back in the bed. You had a bit of a headache, but a quick twitch of your shoulder told you that all the bones were healed. You opened your eyes.

And came face to face with the same woman from before, sitting in the same chair. Only two things were different with her. One, was the fury edged into every part of her beautiful face. The other, was the black sling housing her right arm.

“Oh good,” the woman snapped. “Now, may we have a conversation without you trying to fling yourself from every piece of high ground? Or, do I need to have the children tie you to the bed frame?”

At the mention of the children, you remembered the reason you’d freaked out in the first place and spun around. But, there was no floating tray. There was, however, the girl from before. Beside her was another girl, about the same age if a little younger, with red hair, a pink dress, and very long black gloves. You frowned, but slowly turned back to look at the other woman.

“What exactly did you wish to discuss?” you asked carefully.

“Perhaps I should start at the beginning?” the woman asked. At a nod from you, she continued. “My name is Alma Peregrine. In this house, I go by Miss Peregrine.”

“Y/N,” you say.

The woman, Miss Peregrine, settled you with a look, clearly expecting a bit more of an introduction, but you weren’t quite ready to give her one.

Eventually, she acquiesced with a huff and continued. “Very well,” she said. “This is my home and these children are in my care. There are others and you may meet them in due course. They are, like yourself, peculiar.”

“What?” You asked, frowning.

Miss Peregrine’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t comment. “Peculiar,” she repeated. “Every one has a unique skill. Emma here, for example, can manipulate air, while Olive has pyrotechnic capabilities. You are able to regenerate your body. And, judging by the fact that you seem not to have any lasting affects from your collision with the wall and I remain in a sling nearly a full day later, I imagine this regeneration is remarkably efficient.”

“And,” she added quickly, “before you get any ideas, Fiona who it particularly green thumbed, has grown a thick mass of stinging nettles below your window.”

You had the decency to look a little sheepish, but then frowned. “And the tray?”

“That would be me?” a disembodied voice chirped from the end of the bed causing a very unladylike yelp and string of swear words from you.

“Millard!” Miss Peregrine snapped. “Go and put some clothes on.”

Once he was gone, or at least his footsteps couldn’t be heard so you believed he was gone, Miss Peregrine turned her glare on you.

“And I will not tolerate that sort of language in my house.”

She settled you with a look, until you nodded your agreement to her rules, albeit with your eyes still wide and your heart still stuttering a little with shock.

Miss Peregrine slipped her hand into a pocket of her jacket and pulled out a gleaming gold pocket watch. She looked at it, then across at the two girls. “Olive, Emma, please let the children know that it is time to start preparing for dinner.

“Yes, Miss Peregrine,” the girls said and hurried off.

“I’m sure that the children would like to meet you should you feel well enough to come down for dinner,” Miss Peregrine said, drawing your attention back to her.

“You’re allowing me out?” you asked.

The woman in the chair tilted her head, the movement again seeming so familiar it tickles something in the back of your mind. “You are not a prisoner,” she noted.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you will stay here until I say you are ‘fine’,” you said, repeating her earlier words.

She sniffed. “Yes, well, as I just said, it seems you heal very quickly.”

“And the comment about tying me to the bed?” you asked.

“Don’t tempt me,” she said, her voice a step lower.

There’s nothing more than a clear warning in it, but you can’t help the funny feeling the tone elicits in you and you shiver.

“What happened to your arm?” you asked, as a way to distract your thoughts.

“You did,” she replied simply and stood up. “Someone had to stop you throwing yourself to your death. Again.”

You frowned and look about the room. “But, I thought -” you whispered, mostly to yourself. You let out yet another heavy sigh, then rubbed at your eyes, a surprising amount of disappointment settling in your heart when you realised you must have imagined the presence of the bird.

“The bathroom is just through there,” Miss Peregrine said, pointing to a door behind you that you’d somehow missed in your frantic search for an exit earlier. “I will have one of the children bring you a change of clothes shortly.”

With that, she pivoted on the spot and stalked out the room.

You glanced around, thinking. You looked at the window. It’s an option, but the thought of the stinging nettle isn’t all that appealing. You could always just get up and walk out the front door. But, something holds you back. Perhaps its the spark of intrigue you feel about finding something new in the world, or the fact that you might not be the only person in the world as weird as you are. Or, perhaps its the beautiful, uptight woman, dressed in a dark blue almost black skirt and jacket, with a face both full of angles yet comforting, and eyes so full of fire yet so inviting. A woman that for some reason makes you feel safe, and gives you this nagging feeling that you’ve met her before.

Or, perhaps, it was simply the thought of a warm bath and warm food after such an intense few days.

Whatever the reason, you find yourself standing up and heading over to the bathroom. It’s nothing much, but it has what you need and soon enough you are freshly cleaned and feeling a little more relaxed. You’d noticed that unlike usual after such an incident you weren’t having to try and scrub off dried blood. It was odd to think that someone had so carefully removed any signs of your trauma, and you felt a blush heat your cheeks at the thought of the other woman doing it. But, for once it was just nice not to have to do it yourself.

After drying off, you slipped into the robe that was hanging on the back of the door and headed back into the bedroom. Laid out on the bed is a set of clothing. A white blouse and a long black skirt. It definitely wasn’t your usual attire of jeans and a jacket, looking and feeling more like something you think you’d find at a world war re-enactment or a museum, but it would have to do. To be honest, by now you wouldn’t be completely surprised if you had actually fallen through time. It was practically impossible, but then again you had apparently met an invisible boy and you’d come back from the dead on many occasions, so maybe anything was possible.

Slipping into your own leather boots, thankfully they had survived the ordeal, you looked at yourself in the mirror on the wall. Yes, definitely not twenty-first century attire. You decide then and there to keep an open mind. Either you really were back in time, or this was some crazy elaborate hallucination given to you by your mind as your mangled body tried to piece itself back together. Either way, there was no point in stressing about it. Of course, this could be a house filled with crazy people who lure unsuspecting souls in before killing them. But then that would be jokes on them and you’d just wake up and walk away after they’d had their way with you.

With one last look in the mirror and a shrug, you open the door and head out onto the landing. There’s no-one in sight, but you hear the murmur of voices coming from downstairs so head in that direction.

The moment you open the door to the dining room, the voices cease. You’re met with a wall of silence and the wide-eyed faces of a table full of children of varying ages. You recognised Emma and Olive, who were probably the oldest along with a surly looking boy, but the rest seemed to go right through in age to the youngest who appeared to be no older than five or six.

“Ah, there you are,” said Miss Peregrine, entering the room from another door. She was holding onto her pocket watch and seemed happy about something. “Right on time. Please, take a seat.”

You waited a moment as Miss Peregrine took her seat at the head of the table, then moved to sit in the chair to her right. As you did someone cried out, “hey! Watch it!” and you leapt up.

The children around the table all chuckled.

“Millard,” Miss Peregrine snapped. “Go put some clothes on.”

The space in the chair, seemingly the boy Millard, huffed. “Yes, Miss Peregrine.” The chair scraped back a few inches then you heard the soft patter of bare feet walking out the room.

You glance at Miss Peregrine, who gives a thin smile and nods her head at the chair.

Just in case, you prod the back and cushion of the chair and when no-one complains you take a seat.

“Excellent,” Miss Peregrine said. She turned to face the children. “Children, this is Y/N and she will be our guest here for a little while. I expect you all to treat her with respect and provide her your best hospitality.”

An excited murmur rippled through the assembled youngsters and you wondered how often they got visitors. Your guess, was not very.

“What do we call her?” one of the young girls piped up.

You balked slightly at the question, unsure how to answer it, surely her name would work just fine. But, Miss Peregrine jumped in without missing a beat.

“I understand your concern, Bronwyn, if not the way in which you raise it,” she said. She settled the young girl with a look until she muttered a sheepish apology. “Y/N is an adult, however, she has not felt comfortable enough to provide a surname so until that time, ‘Y/N’ will suffice.”

The girl, Bronwyn, turned her attention on you, looking expectant.

“Um, it’s Y/L/N,” you say cautiously, clearly not understanding the issue but sensing you’d made a misstep somewhere nonetheless. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Miss Y/L/N, it is then,” Miss Peregrine said.

You wanted to correct her, let her know that Y/N was fine and that ‘Miss Y/L/N’ just made you feel old, but for some reason (perhaps some previously unknown level of self-preservation) you refrained.

Suddenly, the chair opposite you was pulled backwards and a disembodied set of clothes, complete with old-fashioned dinner cap, slid into it. You probably should have unnerved by this, but to be honest this was starting to feel a bit par for the course.

Miss Peregrine cleared her throat, drawing everybody’s attention. “Now that we are all here, we may begin.”

As one, all ten - eleven - children started digging into their meals, one of them pulling on a bee-keeper’s headdress and net before doing so. Correction, only ten of them dug in. The one you’d picked out as the youngest, a small girl in pink with round cheeks and tight blonde curls (basically a real life Shirley Temple) sat in place, staring shyly at an extremely large leg of what looked to be turkey that sat on her plate.

“Claire,” Miss Peregrine said gently. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“She’s shy,” the floating set of clothing across from you replied. Everyone at the table turned to look at you.

You pause, startled, and hold up your hands as if in surrender. “Please, don’t be shy on my account,” you say.

Miss Peregrine turned to the young girl, Claire, and gave her an small, encouraging smile.

Claire smiled and picked up the drumstick. You watch, bemused, as she lifts up her curls on the back of her head with her other hand and reaches the meat behind her. You hear a snarl, followed by the sound of teeth gnashing, then after a few moments she promptly lets her hair down and returns a now very empty bone to the plate.

You very quickly snap your mouth closed and try not to stare, instead trying to very casually turn to your own food and start eating. It’s the kind of forced casual you get when you’re very specifically telling yourself not to look at something, but you hope it’s good enough to fool a child. A glance at the head of the table tells you Miss Peregrine isn’t quite as easily fooled, but the small twitch of her lip and nod of her head seems to tell you she appreciated your attempt.

You are quite surprised, but the barrage of questions you’d been expecting from the children, doesn’t seem to happen. Whether they’d been instructed otherwise by their caregiver or they were simply too shy, you aren’t sure, but you’re grateful for it. At least it was going to give you a bit of time to find your feet before they came at you.

As such, the rest of dinner passed without much more fuss, apart from Miss Peregrine heading out for a phone call just as they were finishing. The dishes were tidied away and as one, the children headed to the living room for ‘movie time’.

It turns out, the special skill of one of the boys, Horace, was an ability to project his dreams from the night before through an oculus he slipped over his eye. You brought a chair from the dining room as the children all settled into the couches already there, with Horace taking the only arm chair and sitting pride of place ready to begin. Miss Peregrine stood next to the light switch, plunging the room into near darkness when Horace indicated he was ready to go.

It was quite amazing seeing the boy’s dreams up on the expanse of wall above the fireplace. You had to smile at the amount of time he seemed to spend dreaming about tailored suits. There were a few other images, a few clips of conversation he had with some of the other children, or watching some of the others kicking around a football. But, mostly it was clothes. Then, the images slowed and something different appeared. It was a room. Given the style of the furnishings, probably one inside the house. At first there was no-one in the room, but then the vision shifted slightly and a figure could be seen, crouched by the bed. You hadn’t spent a whole lot of time looking at yourself in the mirror, but even you could tell the figure was you. You didn’t seem to be doing anything. Just sitting there, hugging your knees to your chest, and looking out into space deep in thought. Suddenly another figure appeared. Much smaller. Dark.

Back in the living room, you inched forward in your chair. Both this you and the one in the vision on the wall grinned. Your beautiful bird. The you on the wall held out a hand and the bird shuffled forward. You straightened your legs and the bird hopped onto your lap. Very gently you stroked the bird along its back. With the size of it you were practically eye to eye and you watched as you closed your eyes and leaned your head forward. The bird mirrored your action nestling its forehead against yours.

The lights blazed into life, jolting you out of your trance.

“Time to get ready for bed, children,” Miss Peregrine said, and was met with the groan and mumbles of all eleven children.

“Can’t we watch some more?” one asked.

“But we never have visitors, why can’t we stay up and speak more with Miss Y/L/N?” another moaned.

“Enough,” their caregiver snapped. “Reset is in twelve minutes and thirty-two seconds. I expect you all to be cleaned, tidied, and dressed before then.”

It was like the starters gun had gone off and every one of them got up and ran out the room, grins wide on their faces.

You remain in your seat, not entirely sure what just happened, both the vision on the wall and what came after. Before you can ask the woman still standing across the room, she turns her attention on you.

“Return the chair to the dining room and then if you will help me with the gramophone,” she said. “We can discuss matters further once the children have gone to bed.”

You found your body immediately doing as she instructed, and when you noticed you decided to just go with it. Once your chair was returned, you followed her to a small room off the main hallway where you found the gramophone. This was then taken through the kitchen and out the back of the house onto a fairly large lawn.

It was just starting to spit when the first of the children appeared, now dressed in dressing gowns and slippers and carrying an umbrella between two and … a gas mask. The sort worn in the first half of the twentieth century. You turned to Miss Peregrine to ask and found her holding out a mask to you, a second one in her own hand. Without a word you took it, albeit a little hesitantly.

Miss Peregrine then pulled an umbrella out from the gramophone stand and clicked it open with a swish. The assembled children followed suit and a second later the heavens opened and the rain began.

The last of the children hurried outside, muttering quick apologies to their caregiver who stood there, pocket watch out and lips in a thin line. She cast a glance over the group, gave a nod, then turned to the gramophone, swinging the needle onto the awaiting record.

An old jaunty war tune, one you actually recognised, scratched through the device. Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run.

As one, the children and Miss Peregrine slipped on their gas mask. You hurried to catch up. They all turned to face the house and that’s when you noticed a sound behind the music and rain. A grumble mixed with a high-pitched whine. It sounded like aeroplanes.

Sure enough, a moment later two WWII planes flew overhead.

A third came over a second or two later, and as if in slow motion you took in it’s open hatch and a large bomb falling through the air below it.

Not sure what to do, you spun around. But everyone seemed completely calm. Miss Peregrine even seemed to have a slight lift of the corner of her mouth. You wanted to scream, to cry out to everyone to run.

Miss Peregrine clicked her pocket watch and everything around you froze. The bomb, mere metres from the top of the house, hung in mid air. Even the rain drops had stopped falling.

Then both started to go upwards. The bomb went back into the plane, the planes reversed across the sky and out of sight, even the music was playing backwards. The clouds in the sky cleared, the sun came up, people hurried backwards around them, the sun set. Looking at Miss Peregrine you see her thumb rhythmically scrolling the pin of the pocket watch.

And then just as suddenly as it had happened, everything skidded to a halt.

Miss Peregrine removed her gas mask, a look of pride clear on her face. The children removed theirs as well, looks of excitement on their faces.

“Time for bed, children,” Miss Peregrine said gently. “I will be up in a moment.”

The children, still grinning from ear to ear, hurried back inside. A couple called a quick “goodnight, Miss Y/L/N” as they left.

“You may remove your mask now, dear.”

Miss Peregrine’s voice made you spin back in her direction. You paused a moment, not sure what she was talking about, before you connected that you still had your gas mask on and scrambled to take it off.

“What was that?” you asked.

“That was the loop resetting,” she answered. When it was clear that you had no idea what that meant, she continued, gathering up the gramophone as she did. You hurried forward and grabbed her mask and the umbrella she’d been holding. She gave a small smile. “We live in what is known as a loop. It is called such because it is a loop in time. We continuously repeat the same twenty-four hours. I am what is called an ymbryne. I manage this loop. I look after the children and I make sure that the loop continues to function. The reset is part of that. Each night, I reset the loop, taking it back twenty-four hours.”

The two of you made it inside and into the room to drop off the gramophone before you said anything, having to take a moment to take in her words.

“Why?” you asked.

Miss Peregrine narrowed her eyes slightly and pursed her lips. “I make it a point never to discuss unpleasant things. Suffice to say, these children are not safe in the world. This loop is a safe place and it is my duty to make sure that it remains as such.”

You got an odd feeling that she was hinting at something more, perhaps a warning, but you could have been imagining it. To be fair it had been a very, very odd day and you were absolutely exhausted by now.

Miss Peregrine gave you a gentle smile. “Why don’t you go up and tidy up for bed? I must attend to the children, but afterwards I will come to your room and we can speak more.”

You nodded and she left, heading up the stairs, clearly intent on doing whatever nightly routine she had with the children. You glanced at the door. A part of you still wanted to run. But, a bigger part of you felt the need to stay. You’d been alone for a long time and here were people that actually seemed to want to spend time with you. Not to mention they all clearly had some sort of weirdness going on and maybe, just maybe you’d get some answers as to why you were this way. If there were answers to be had, this seemed like the best place for them for now. And then there was Miss Peregrine herself. And the vision of that bird.

And so, you followed after the other woman, heading upstairs. Then, straight to your room and through to the bathroom. The nightgown you’d been wearing when you woke up was still draped over a chair. You didn’t feel all that comfortable at the thought of putting it back on, but your own clothes were nowhere to be seen and they were probably a lot worse for wear after the incident at the cliff, so after another quick rinse down you pulled it over your head.

You didn’t really want to sit in bed while you spoke with the other woman, so pulled up one of the armchairs and positioned it near the window in such a way that when you sat down you could just make out the moon and a few of the stars.

Chapter Text

You must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you know you’re blinking awake to sunlight in your eye and the sound of birds once again chirping outside. You slowly shift your body and give an involuntary groan, your entire being stiff from spending the night curled in a chair. A blanket dislodges from your shoulders. It must have been draped over you at some point in the night and you smile at the thoughtfulness of it. Whoever it was. It’s been quite some time since someone cared enough to do something like that.

The house seemed quiet around you. Looking out the window, the sun was only just poking over the horizon. You glance at your watch. It’s still running, but you have no idea whether it’s accurate.

Very carefully, you climb out of the chair. Folding up the blanket, you place it on the back of the chair. You have a quick wash in the bathroom and then, without any other options, put on the skirt and blouse from the day before. You then make your way down stairs.

As you step of the last few stairs, the heavenly smell of coffee and fresh bread wafts towards you. You automatically turn towards the smell and move towards its source, hoping to track it down.

Miss Peregrine looks up from her place at the stove as you enter the kitchen and gives you a smile. “Good morning, Miss S/L/N.”

“Y/N, please,” you said, but then you return the smile. “Good morning.”

“I hope you slept well,” she says.

You nod. “Surprisingly well, yes.”

“You had already fallen asleep by the time I was done with the children. I thought it best to let you rest.”

“Thank you,” you said. You glance around the kitchen. It’s remarkably tidy for a kitchen that feeds over ten people on a regular basis. But then again, looking at the woman standing over by the stove, how upright she stands and how not a single hair is out of place, you can’t help feeling that she wouldn’t have it any other way. “Can I help with anything?”

Miss Peregrine paused, ever so briefly, perhaps unused to having anyone available to help at this time, then nodded. “You could set the table,” she said. “The younger ones are usually in charge of that of a morning, but I’m sure they will appreciate not having to do it for one day.”

You vaguely remember where the crockery and utensils were located and quickly set about laying the table for breakfast. You have no idea whether this was the way it was usually done, but they can all make do.

You finish off the table and return to the kitchen, just in time to see Olive and the older boy enter.

“Good morning, Miss Y/L/N,” Olive said, with a warm smile.

You returned the smile. “Good morning, Olive. How are you this morning?”

She seemed surprised at the question, but pleasantly so as her smiled widened even further. “Very good, thank you.” She gestured to the boy beside her. “I’m not sure whether you’ve had a proper introduction yet. This is Enoch.”

“Nice to meet you, Enoch,” you said and held out your hand.

The boy frowned and looked down at the hand. Olive elbowed him in the ribs and with an eye role he accepted the offered hand.

“Pleasure,” he said in a thick Scottish accent, although you got the distinct impression it was anything but. His skin was cold and clammy, and you had to fight not to show your surprise.

“Olive, Enoch, take these plates into the dining room, please,” Miss Peregrine commanded, breaking the moment.

Enoch instantly snapped his hand back and the pair hurried to do as their caregiver asked.

Just after this, the other children started to trickle in and soon enough the table was once again surrounded by the cheerful faces of youth. The little ones especially seemed extra bubbly and you wondered how much of that was the pleasant surprise of not having to do their first chore of the day.

The pleasant conversation continued as you ate and afterwards as the table was cleared and the dishes were cleaned and put away. There was then a mass exodus as all but Olive, Enoch, Miss Peregrine and yourself hurried out the kitchen door and out into the beautiful day outside. Even Emma hurried outside after first checking with Miss Peregrine whether there was anything she wanted her to do.

Eventually, Olive and Enoch wandered off as well, you weren’t really sure where to, leaving you and Miss Peregrine alone in the kitchen.

“I have a lot to do, but we can speak as I go if you’d like,” she offered.

You remembered her comment the day before about not speaking about ‘unpleasant’ things, so appreciated that she was going to give you this opportunity to ask her anything. You nodded and followed her as she set about her tasks for the morning. As you went, she explained a bit more about peculiarities and, in turn, your own peculiarity. She reiterated how rare a trait like yours was and the limit of her knowledge on the subject but extended an offer to help you learn more about it, if you decided to stay. As you walked around the stunning gardens, you were also introduced to each of the children that you hadn’t properly met yet. There was Claire, of course, but also Bronwyn and the Twins. The boy who’d eaten with a bee hood on the night before turned out to be Hugh and, as you walked through the vegetable garden area you were met with Fiona, a young girl of about 10 who’s peculiarity seemed to be an exceptionally green thumb as she grew a truly gigantic beetroot and a full bed of potatoes in mere seconds.

Miss Peregrine also explained the function of loops a bit more to you, and the reason for them, and confirmed your theory about the date, placing the year at 1943. She even checked your watch for you and set it to the right time for the loop.

By the time it came time for lunch, you felt caught up with almost every aspect of life in the loop. Miss Peregrine had even managed to extract a promise from you that you’d stay for a few days. She’d tried for permanent settlement, but that was far too much of a commitment for you and claimed having to return to commitments in your own life at some point. You know it was a lie and you got the impression that the other woman knew it too, but fortunately she let it slide for now. Also fortunately, she didn’t probe into your life or how you’d come to be at the bottom of that cliff where she’d found you. Instead, you helped her with her tasks where you could, her arm still in its sling, and conversation, for the most part, stayed light.

You wanted to ask her about the bird, whether she’d ever seen it or knew anything about it, but for some reason you held back. That might have to wait until you knew her a bit better. Or maybe it was just nice having something to yourself, something precious just to you.

“Miss Peregrine! Miss Peregrine!”

Hugh and Millard came running up to the pair of you, just as you were about to return to the house to prepare for lunch. They were speaking over themselves in their attempts to tell their caregiver what had happened. It was a little chaotic, as each blamed the other, but you got the impression that between the two of them they had managed to get their football stuck in the middle of a nearby tree.

Miss Peregrine held up her hand. “Once Emma is finished with the squirrel, you can ask her to go up and get it,” she said.

“But we can’t,” Millard whined.

Miss Peregrine raised an eyebrow.

Hugh rushed to explain. “It’s the one with all the bramble growing over it. Emma refuses to go up there because the thorns will scratch her.”

“I see,” Miss Peregrine said, frowning.

“I can get it,” you pipe up, causing all three to turn their attention on you. The boys, at least, seemed to have forgotten you were even there.

“Don’t be ridiculous, as Hugh said, it is covered in bramble,” Miss Peregrine said, still frowning. She turned back to the boys. “No. You will just have to put your heads together and think up another way of retrieving your ball. Perhaps ask Enoch if he can design something for you.”

With that she gave a quick nod, pivoted, and continued her journey back into the house.

You paused a moment, looking after her. But then turned to the boys. It wasn’t like the thorns would have any lasting effect. “Where’s this ball of yours?” you asked.

The boys stood up straight. They quickly glanced towards the house, then back at you, then back at the house. But, soon it was clear that the allure of their favourite football won out and they looked at you and grinned.

“We’ll show you,” the said in unison.

They hurried off, with you hot on their tails, until they came to the foot of a large tree. A tree which was in deed covered in very thorny bramble. And, nestled in a branch a good 15 maybe 20 feet in the air was one lonely football.

You sighed. You looked down at your skirt and boots, not exactly tree climbing attire. But, then you looked back up at the ball and shrugged.

There weren’t any tree branches low enough to use as a starting point so you’d have to use the bramble as a bit of a climbing rope. Taking a deep breath and tensing at the incoming stabs of pain, you grabbed onto the mass of thorns. You made sure to hold back your gasp as the needles dug into your palm, you didn’t want to upset the children. Very carefully, you slowly pulled your way up the trunk of the tree. By the time you reached the lower branches, you palms were shredded and your skirt and blouse weren’t faring much better.

When you figured you were finally close enough to try and reach the ball, you stretched an arm out to try and knock it from its perch. It was a little way out on the branch, so you’d either need to climb out onto the limb or lean out from your place on the trunk, and the branch didn’t look all that sturdy. Rearranging your position on the trunk, while trying to maintain grip with your boots on the uneven surface, you stretched your arm out as far as it would go.

You were still about an inch from the ball, it was just out of reach of your fingertips. If you could only stretch just that little bit further -

“What on Earth are you doing?”

Miss Peregrine’s sharp voice cutting through the air, jolted you from your concentration. Your right boot slipped and you started to fall.

In a last ditched attempt to get the ball, you used your left to push forward slightly. You fingers nudged the ball, apparently just enough to dislodge it. The movement was also enough to dislodge you and you completely lost whatever grip you had on the tree. With a yelp and the sound of your skirt tearing, you tumbled backwards. Barely a second later you landed on the hard ground with a crunch and the snap of at least one bone.

“Y/N!” Miss Peregrine cried out, rushing forward.

With a groan, you tried to push yourself up. Only to let out a hiss of pain and fall back down.

“Children, take your ball and go and tidy up for the evening,” Miss Peregrine ordered. “And have Emma and Olive prepare the bath tub in my bathroom.”

You heard the boys run off, quick to do their caregiver’s bidding, while the woman in question knelt down beside you.

“Let me look at you,” she said, not overly gently.

“It’s nothing,” you said. “I’m fine.” Sucking in a deep breath and bracing yourself, you try again to get yourself up. You manage to get into a seated position before the groan of effort turns into a whimper. A hand on your back holds you in place as you teeter backwards.

“Clearly,” she deadpans. “It doesn’t look like either of your legs are broken, so you should be able to walk. If we can get you inside, I’ll take a proper look at you.”

You sighed and look at her. “I’m fine,” you said again.

Her look in return, however, told you that she was clearly not going to broker any argument on the matter. Clearly seeing your resignation, she gave an approving nod. Then, she reached forward and wrapped an arm under yours and around your back.
On the count of three, the pair of you managed to pull you up until you were standing, albeit leaning heavily on the other woman. You tried to stand on your own and relinquish her, but she held on tight and together you made your slow way into the house. The stairs slowed you down, but eventually you were at the top and heading towards the bedrooms.

You were surprised for a moment when you walked straight past your own bedroom, before remembering Miss Peregrine’s instructions to the boys. A few paces later and you entered what you assumed to be her bedroom, but unfortunately - or perhaps for the sake of your own embarrassment, fortunately - the pain throughout your body was getting a bit too much for you to be able to focus on much of your surroundings.

Stepping into the next room, you were met with a wave of warmth.

“The bath should be good to go Miss Peregrine,” Emma said.

“I can heat it up a bit more if you need though,” Olive added.

“Thank you, girls,” Miss Peregrine. “That will be all.”

The girls quietly left, closing the door behind them.

Miss Peregrine led you over to the large copper bathtub in the middle of the room. Once sure that you weren’t about to keel over, she took a step back. She checked the water and, seeming happy enough with it, turned her attention back on you.

She frowned.

Despite the pain in your limbs, you started to shift awkwardly under her scrutiny. “I can take it from here,” you said, clearing your throat.

Your voice seemed to snap her out of her thoughts. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. She stepped forward and, before you could try and stop her, she was undoing the buttons of your blouse. Once it was removed and thrown in a corner, she undid your skirt and helped you step out of it. Your boots were a bit trickier, but again you slowly managed it.

Fortunately, she stopped at removing your undergarments and you were left in the middle of the room in nothing but your matching bra and briefs, cradling your shattered arm. You couldn’t help the blush tinting your cheeks, despite the pain.

“In,” Miss Peregrine said. She seemed to be studiously avoiding looking at you. You go the distinct impression, from the firm set of her jaw, that she was very, very angry.

Without a word, you carefully clambered into the bath, accepting her helping arm when you couldn’t use your own.

The water, while warm enough to calm any tense muscles, stabbed at the open wounds and scratches that covered much of your arms and legs, causing you to hiss at the pain.

“Well, if you will do something as stupid as climbing that tree, and in a skirt,” Miss Peregrine snapped. “And when I specifically forbid you to do so.”

You couldn’t help the unladylike snort you gave. “Your concern is touching.”

Her head whipped to face yours and you were instantly guilty for your glib words.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, hanging your head slightly.

“Yes, well,” she replied. She picked up a wash cloth and started wiping you down, her touch so incredibly gentle you couldn’t help but be transfixed by her movements. “How long does it usually take?” she asked, her voice soft as if sensitive to the calm atmosphere.

“Pardon?” you asked, shaken out of your thoughts slightly and looked over at her.

“Your healing,” she said, pointing at the broken arm and tattered skin. “How long does it usually take you to heal?”

“Oh,” you said. You paused a moment, thinking about it. “I don’t really have an exact timeline and to be honest it’s usually bad enough I lose consciousness.”

Her frown deepened, telling you she knew what you meant. “How many times?” she eventually asked.

“Enough to know that it doesn’t work,” you reply.

Chapter Text

You were excused from dinner, which you were grateful for. All you wanted to do right now was have a nap. You also didn’t really want the children to see the state of your hands and arms.

So, after you were done with your bath and Miss Peregrine had helped you into the fresh set of nightwear she’d had Emma bring for you, you headed back to your room. She said she would be back up soon with some food, so you settled in the chair for a bit, rather than the bed.

And sure enough, only about five minutes later you heard the door opening behind you.

You turned around to greet her and was surprised to find Hugh and Millard standing in the doorway. Hugh’s head was lowered, his hands were held together in front, and he was shuffling on the spot. You had no way to tell if Millard was just as shy, but you ushered them both in nonetheless.

“Boys?” You said, gesturing them forward. “Is everything all right?”

You frowned when neither of them spoke for a moment. Then you heard a sniffle from one of them and despite your aching body you stood up and hurried over to them.

“Hey, hey,” you soothed, putting a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re really sorry you got hurt,” Millard said, his voice wavering.

“Oh Honey, it’s okay,” you said. You opened you arms and offered for them to fall in, which they did with only a slight hesitation. You hugged them as tightly as your broken arm would allow, making sure not to show any discomfort.

Eventually, they settled and pulled back.

“Now, listen here, okay?” Carefully, you looked and each of them in turn and only when they nodded did you continue. “I was the one who climbed the tree, okay? I was the one who put myself in that position, not you. It is not your fault that I got hurt. Do you understand that?”

You were met with silence, before Hugh muttered. “But, it was our ball and we asked you to get it down.”

“No you didn’t,” you said firmly. “I offered. Yes, it was your ball, but I was the one who said I’d go up in the tree. You needed help and if I can then of course I’m going to try and help. What happened was an accident and not your fault.”

Again both boys gave solemn nods.

“It is a pretty cool football,” you said with a grin.

Hugh’s head snapped up and he smiled. “It’s the best.”

“Do you think, maybe when I feel better you’d let me play some football with you?” You asked.

The boys faltered and looked at each other. Hugh looked a little confused and you imagined the same look mirrored on the face of the invisible boy.

“You can play football?” Millard asked, not unkindly just more like the thought hadn’t ever crossed his mind.

You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Are you asking because I’m an adult, or because I’m a girl?”

“Miss Peregrine doesn’t play football,” Hugh pointed out and you almost laughed.

“I should think not,” said a crisp voice behind the boys.

The three of you spun towards the voice to see the very woman in question standing in the doorway carrying a tray of food and a horrified expression on her face.

After a moment, you chuckled.

“Well, I do,” you said, pulling their attention back to you. “I used to play with my brothers.”

After a moment of thinking, both boys nodded and Hugh broke out into a wide grin.

“Go and get ready for dinner, you two,” Miss Peregrine said gently.

A lot happier than when they’d arrived, the boy’s hurried out of the room.

“That was very nice of you,” Miss Peregrine noted as she stepped further into the room and moved to set the tray on the small table near the chair.

“I was just telling it like it is,” you reply. Taking a deep breath, ready yourself to stand up.

A shadow falls across you and you look up to see her holding an arm out to assist you.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the offered arm and managing to get to your feet without too much moaning.

“It was also nice of you to offer to play with them,” the other woman added, once you were back in your chair. “Does that mean you intend to stay longer?”

“I agreed to stay for a few days,” you said. “I didn’t say I would just sit and do nothing for those days. May as well have a bit of fun with the kids.” You paused and looked at her, a sudden thought making you concerned. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” she replied. “I believe it would be better and safer for you if you stay here longer, but you have made your position clear. For now though, you need to rest so you won’t be going anywhere anyway.”

Picking at the food beside you, you smirk. “Since being here, I’ve been knocked unconscious and fallen from a tree. If I didn’t know any better I might start to think that you were purposely getting me hurt so I have to ‘rest and not go anywhere’.”

The other woman’s eyes went wide and you got the distinct impression that no-one had joked with her for a long, long time. “How dare you? You were the one to jump into the wall, and you were the one climbing the tree when I specifically told you not too.”

“Ah, but you were there both times. The first, you distracted me by putting an invisibly boy in front of me with no warning, and the second, I was doing perfectly well until you distracted me by calling out to me.”

She genuinely looked offended. “You’re saying it’s my fault you’re in this state?”

You shrug and smile at her. “Maybe, I’m just saying you’re distracting.”

Just then, a wave of exhaustion washes over you and you have to close your eyes and take a few slow breaths. Yes, you heal quickly, but it took a lot of energy.

“You need to rest,” Miss Peregrine says gently, but firmly. “Try to make sure you eat at least half of you dinner.”

Your eyes are still closed, but you nod.

You hear her heels click out the room and the door close.

After a while, you open your eyes and do as she said. Or at least try to. You figure you get through about a third of the food before you give up and stumble over to collapse on your bed, immediately falling into a deep sleep.

Chapter Text

Sure enough, when you woke the following morning, your bones were good as new and there wasn’t a single scratch remaining from your escapade the previous day. There was also a new set of clothes hanging on the back of your door to replace the ones you’d ruined.

You jumped up, had a quick wash, got changed, then hurried down stairs to be met with the wonderful smell of freshly brewed coffee.

“Good morning,” you say as you step into the kitchen, to find the other woman at the stove with a portion of scrambled eggs the size of which wouldn’t have been out of place in any of the hotel’s you’d been to in your travels.

“Good morning, Y/N,” she replied. She gestures to the coffee pot. “It should be ready to pour, if you would like a cup.”

“Thank you,” you say and are on the pot and cup in an instant. “Would you like one?”

She takes a second to reply as she’s focusing on ladling the mound of eggs into a large bowl, but when she does she smiles. “Yes, please. Black, two sugars.”

You raise an eyebrow at that but don’t comment, instead pouring out two black coffees and placing two sugar cubes in one of them. To give yours a moment to cool, you step through to the dining room and lay out the table.

When you get back to the kitchen, Miss Peregrine is frowning. “It will not do them any good if you keep doing their chores for them.”

“Oh. Sorry,” you say and scratch the back of your neck. “I just wanted to help.”

Miss Peregrine nods. “I’ll find something for you to do. For now though, perhaps you could help me carry the food through so it’s ready when the children come down.”

You nod and do as she asks, and when you come into the kitchen a second time you find her sitting at the kitchen table sipping gracefully on her coffee.

“We have two minutes before the children are due to arrive,” she says and gestures for you to join her.

And like clockwork, you have two minutes of peace exactly before the quiet morning air is broken by the sound of feet careering down the stairs.

Then your day continues much like the day before. Minus the climbing of any thorn-covered trees and subsequent falling from any of those trees.

You do get to chat with Emma a bit more and help her with the squirrel, but mostly you hang around Miss Peregrine. You help were you can and by the end of the day you actually feel like you achieved something.

The next day though, it hits you. Your morning routine is the same, right down to the two minutes sitting drinking your coffee at the kitchen table. Although you make sure not to lay the table this time. And then the day continues along the same routine as the previous two days.

It set you on edge.

So, the day after that, in your two minutes of coffee, you break the peaceful silence early to let Miss Peregrine know.

“I think I should head home tomorrow.”

Her cup freezes halfway to her mouth and her eyes snap towards you. “Why?” She asks, slowly lowering the cup to the table.

“It’s time,” you say solemnly. “I told the boys I’d play football with them and I’ll do that today, then tomorrow I’ll head off.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “As lovely as this place is and you all are, I don’t belong here. I’m just an observer. You said yourself with the chores, everyone has their job to do. You all have your place within the house. I don’t.”

The woman frowned. “You want chores?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “Not what I meant,” you mutter. You look up at her. “I was travelling the world to try and find some sort of meaning to my life and why I’m like this. I was kind of hoping to find some kind of purpose.” You stop and shake your head again. “I don’t know.”

Miss Peregrine abruptly stands. Before you can ask anything, she cuts you off. “Come with me,” she says and stalks out the room.

“What about the children? And breakfast,” you ask, hurrying after her.

She ignores your question and keeps walking, only coming to a stop when she reaches the door to her study. She opens the door and steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. “In.”

You frown, but do as she says. “Alma -”

She stalks past you, seemingly ignoring your slip, and over to the book shelf on the far wall where she selects a very large tome from one of the upper shelves. She carries it over to the couch and sits down. Her eyes flick between you and the empty space beside her and you hurry to sit.

The tome has a series of figures in relief on the front with brass lettering emblazoned across the top, spelling out ’The Peculiar History’.

She flicks it open and rifles through the pages for a moment until she comes across a chapter titled ‘Peculiar Scientists’, with a black and white photograph of a group of smartly dressed individuals on the opposite page.

“As I have explained to you, we are peculiars and we live in loops for our safety,” she looks at you and waits to check you are listening before continuing. “Traditionally, that was safety from persecution. We are different and people seem to have always taken exception to those that are different. However, there developed a faction of us who became fed up with living in hiding and sought to be free. They were led by a scientists call Mr Barron.

“There is a lot more to the story, but I will be brief. In essence, Barron designed an experiment that would make him and his associates immortal, so that they could live in the outside world and do what they liked for the rest of time. They captured an ymbryne and made to syphon her powers to fuel this immortality. They genuinely did not care whether she lived or died.

“Suffice to say, she died. And the experiment did not go according to plan. Instead, all of Barron and his group were transferred into horrifying, invisible monsters that we call hollowgasts, or hollows for short. Somehow, Barron discovered that by consuming the eyes of other peculiars, especially children, they could regain their human forms. So, they have been hunting our children ever since.”

Silence fell over the pair of you as she gave you some time to process.

“So, you think me staying here is safer? To protect me from these hollows?” You eventually ask.

“I do,” she answers, matter of factly.

“I’ve travelled all over the world,” you note. “How come none of them have ever found me?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But is it not better to be in a place where you know you are safe, than being out in the world now that you know what’s out there?”

Silence fell again between you. Out in the hall though you could hear the children chatting and moving about. You could see the woman desperately wanted to go out there.

“I’ll think about it,” you said.

She must have realised that was all she was going to get at this point, and nodded. She slammed the book shut and went to put it back.

“If I am staying for a few more days, I need to go and check on the cottage,” you say. She freezes. “It’s been a few days so I want to make sure nothing’s happened to my stuff and I want to grab a few things.”

She nods again. “Very well. We can go this morning. Well just after breakfast.”

“We?” You think about her busy schedule and how she could possibly fit in an hour-plus walk. Then looking her up and down, you wonder how she possibly hoped to make that hour-plus walk in those shoes.

“Yes, we,” she says cutting off your thoughts. “Emma and Olive are perfectly capable of looking after the others for a few hours.”

You got the distinct impression there was something else she wanted to say, or at least some other reason she wasn’t going to let you go alone. Probably something about not trusting you not to just run off into the night. But, you let it go. If she wanted to go traipsing across the countryside with you, then you weren’t going to turn her down. Despite her strict nature and her apparent inability to take a joke, you actually enjoyed spending time with her.

You stood up and joined her as the two of you left the study and made your way to the dining room where you found most of the children already seated. The older ones were carefully divvying up the food onto plates for the others.

A patter of hurried footsteps coming up behind you and a flurry of floating clothes announced the arrival of the final child and Millard offered a quick apology as he ran in and took a seat. Emma handed him a plate of eggs and toast.

Miss Peregrine surveyed the scene for a moment, then gave an approving nod and moved to her seat at the head of the table. You slipped neatly in to the one beside her, Horace to your left.

After another nod of the other woman’s head, the children dug into their meals.

You were about to do the same when you suddenly remembered something. “Excuse me for a moment,” you said and got your feet. Ignoring the confused and very unimpressed glare of the woman beside you, you left the room.

A moment later, you returned with both of your cups of coffee. Fortunately, they were still hot. Silently, you placed Miss Peregrine’s to the right of her plate, then moved around to your own seat again.

“Thank you,” she said, seeming surprised and you vaguely wondered whether any of the children ever thought to do things for their caregiver.

You gave her a small smile and turned back to your food. You could feel her eyes on you.

“Miss Peregrine,” Emma piped up, taking her attention away from you.

“Yes?”

“We were wondering if we may be able to go down to the beach today?”

Everyone paused whatever they were doing and looked over at the woman at the head of the table.

The woman in question, put her cutlery down, gently dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and pulled out her pocket watch. You could almost see the gears turning in that beautiful mind as she calculated the timings of everything.

With a snap, she closed the watch and stored it back away.

“I need to go into town this morning with Miss Y/L/N, we might be some time. Which reminds me, I will need you, Olive, and Enoch, to look after the little ones while I’m out.” She settled each of the three in turn with a serious look and waited for each to nod before she continued, looking out over the others. “But, if you have all done your chores by the time we return we should be able to manage a trip to the beach just after lunch.”

Excited chatter rose around the table.

“Can we have a picnic?” Millard called out over the hubbub.

The volume increased.

“Children!” Miss Peregrine snapped and the effect was instant. Silence. “Millard, I will thank you not to raise your voice at the table,” she said curtly, settling the boy with a glare that had the set of floating clothes sinking into his chair. She then turned to the others, relaxing slightly. “I’m afraid I won’t have time to prepare a picnic. Perhaps some other time.”

Sounds of disappointment echoed around the table, but no-one argued. It gave you an idea for your trip into town, if you could convince the other woman to make a detour.

Chapter Text

Barely three minutes after the breakfast things had been tidied up and you were waiting at the front door, jacket in hand. You hadn’t realised how keen you were to leave.

Maybe it was just for a sense of normalcy for a moment. Or somewhere that wasn’t quite so ‘enthusiastic’ all the time.

“My, you are eager,” Miss Peregrine said as she approached. She was pulling on a pair of black gloves and had an umbrella nestled under her arm.

“Can’t risk keeping the children’s beach day waiting,” you reply. You both know that really had nothing to do with it. You gesture towards the door. “Shall we?”

The two of you leave the house and head out into the gardens. You carry on down the garden path to the tree line and through to a small cave.

You pause, unsure where to go next, but Miss Peregrine just gestures you forward, into the cave.

Figuring she didn’t seem the type to try and kill you now, you shrug and head into the cave.

It’s cold and dark, which you suppose isn’t all that surprising. It’s a cave after all. What is surprising though is the pressure that pushes against your eardrums as you step through a narrowing in the path.

You manage to shake the feeling loose and continue forward.

Hearing the other woman pause behind you, you stop and turn to check on her. And frown. She’s just standing there, in the narrowest part of the tunnel. Her eyes are closed and she seems to be breathing slow and controlled.

“Alma?” you ask.

Her eyes snap open and her eagle eyes hone in on you. A look of surprise, is followed by a flash of anger, followed by … an unwilling acceptance?

You go to ask her what’s wrong, but she cuts you off.

“That was the barrier to the loop,” she says. “It is not a pleasant feeling for an ymbrine to step out of her domain and leave her children.”

“Do you need a moment?” you ask.

She gives you a thin smile and shakes her head. She gestures for you to continue. Which you do.

You take a few steps, but then stop again.

“Wait,” you say, pulling her up short. “Can you even go out there?”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “Of course I can go through there.”

“But your loop is in the 40s. Outside is about sixty years in your future. Won’t time catch up with you or something?” You’d watched enough movies to know that that was are real possibility.

Her face softened slightly. “I appreciate your concern,” she says. “But, I’ll be fine. You are right, time will eventually catch up with me if I stay too long outside the loop, but it usually takes about a day or two.”

“Okay,” you say with a slow nod. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” she says smartly, back to business. Then, her lips settle into a sly smirk. “Shall we?”

You roll your eyes, but move forward again anyway.

A few more paces and you’re stepping out into modern-day Cairnholm. Rainy, foggy, dreary, modern-day Cairnholm.

You slip your coat on and pull it tight around you. Taking a deep breath of the wet air you can’t help but relax a little. At least out here, things felt more real. Depressing, sure. But, more real.

Turning around you make sure that the headmistress is ready to go, then the pair are you are off again.

You keep an eye on her as you go, weary of her shoes in the mud and rough terrain, but she seems to be managing fine.

As you’d predicted, the walk to your little cottage took just under an hour. As it came into sight, you were hit with just how lonely it looked, sitting forlornly at the back end of nowhere. It almost felt like a metaphor for something. You? Your mind shot you a picture of the children’s home, with all its warmth and the lively people within it. Maybe staying around people for a bit wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“Is everything all right?” Miss Peregrine asked, laying a gloved hand on your forearm.

You shake your thoughts loose and re-focus. “Fine,” you say, and start moving again.

The two of you reach the old building and you put the antique key into the lock. The door sticks for a moment, but with a firm shove of your shoulder it opens.

You step inside, this time not checking to see whether the other woman follows you, and find it much as you left it. Your e-reader and a notebook and pen on the bedside table, a jacket hung over the back of a chair, and pages upon pages of sketches scattered across the small circular dining table.

You didn’t look over at Miss Peregrine to see what she was thinking. You didn’t want to know. Instead, you made a beeline for the rickety closet in the far corner of the room and pulled out your backpack. The couple of pairs of shoes at the bottom of the closet were tossed into the bag first, followed by the small collection of clothes you had to your name.

The bag was still half empty when you turned your attention on your papers. As you did, you glanced at the woman still standing by the door. In that split second, you noticed two things. The first, was the horrified expression she seemed to be trying to hide at your ‘packing’. The second, was how completely out of place she looked. This beautiful creature, perfectly put together with not a hair out of place and an air of power and calm. She didn’t belong in this dishevelled shack. She didn’t belong in your world.

With an angry shake of your head to clear your thoughts, you focus on your papers. These were treated with more care, shuffled into neat piles before gently being laid in the bag.

“They’re beautiful.”

Her voice causes you to start and several of the drawings fall to the floor. You scramble to pick them up, waving off her attempts to help. Once upright again, you hold the bundle close to your chest. “They’re nothing really,” you mutter. “Most aren’t even finished.”

You watch as she slowly crouches down, and carefully picks up a singular sheet that you’d managed to miss in your frantic grab. As she stands up, you find her expression unreadable. She stands looking at the page for long enough, not saying anything, that you frown and lean over to see what she’s looking at.

Your lips twitch slightly in a half smile. The picture was one of your earliest of the bird. It sat on a small rock, looking out to sea. You’d intended to go back later and add in some of the surrounding foliage, but had never gotten around to it. Despite this, it was one of your favourites.

“You can have it if you like,” you say suddenly, surprising both of you.

Her head snaps towards you. “Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she says and starts to hand the page over to you.

But, you refuse to take it and shake your head instead. “Please, it’s the least I can do given how much you guys have looked after me.”

She looks back at the picture in her hand. “Thank you,” she says softly. Almost reverently, she folds the paper perfectly in half, and in half again, then gently slides it into her coat pocket.

You turn your attention back to your packing and within a few minutes, other than the place actually being a little tidier than before you moved in, it was like you were never there.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you dodge a quick glance around the room, then turn to face the other woman, ready to go. Only to find her standing there frowning.

“Is that all you have?” She asks.

You shrug. “I was travelling. Besides, I’ve got a change of clothes and something to keep me occupied, what else do I need?”

She’s still frowning slightly, but doesn’t comment any further. Instead, she just gives a slight nod. “Very well. I suggest we head back to the children.”

Chapter Text

You start the walk back towards the house, but after a few moments of silence you remember the thought you had at breakfast and come to a stop.

“What do you think about getting some takeaways for the kids?” you ask quietly, not sure how the suggestion will be taken. “I know you said no to the picnic, but I thought we could maybe get something here and take it back with us. It’s only a slight detour so shouldn’t impact your schedule and the kids still get their picnic.”

The other woman stops as well and she looks at you, eyes narrowing. “I’m not in the habit of going back on my word, simply because someone has found a workaround,” she notes.

“Please? I’d really like to do something nice for them.”

You wait and look at the other woman as she seems to mull it over.

“I suppose, just this once we could amend the schedule,” she says slowly, as if the thought of ‘amending’ her strict timeline gave her physical pain.

You grin. “Thank you.”

“Just this once,” she repeats, settling you with a look.

You quickly draw a cross over your heart and give her a nod of your head. She narrows her eyes again, but doesn’t comment.

“What were you thinking of?” She asks, clearly still a little unsure, but seemingly happy to chat as you start walking again.

“There’s a pub in town, The Priest Hole, that does pretty good fish and chips,” you answer. “I’m pretty sure we could get some to take away.”

You glance over at her and manage to catch a quick look of horror flit across her face before she hides it with a mask of forced calmness. You remember how much care she takes over the children and feel a little guilty.

“We don’t have you,” you comment, giving her an out. “I know it’s not the healthiest option. We could see if the bakery’s got something instead?”

She thins her lips, but shakes her head. “No,” she says, “I agreed to you doing something for the children and if that is what you’ve chosen, then so be it.”

“Are you sure?” you ask cautiously.

Her head snaps towards you. “I’m also not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean.”

You hold up your hands in surrender. “Sorry,” you say. “I just don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do. I’m just a visitor, they’re your kids.”

She lets out a heavy sigh and seems to collect herself. “I apologise,” she says. “I admit, I’m not used to having another adult around.” She pauses, before admitting. “These sorts of things are not usually discussions.”

You shrug. “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

It does not work.

She settles you with a look that tells you she is distinctly unimpressed, probably with both your comment and your decision not to stay at the house.

You give an awkward nod and gesture for the two of you to start walking again. She follows without a word, but not before giving a disappointed hmph.

The rest of the walk into town is quiet between the two of you. You pass a couple of locals on your way, but both seem satisfied with just a nod or silent wave before they continue on with their day.

The stop at the pub issimilarly uneventful. You can tell that the old man behind the counter is curious about the woman at your side, her attire and demeanour clearly out of place in this rugged environ, but for some reason he doesn't comment.

The closest the two of you come to any conversation is when you are handed over the three warm parcels. It's quite a lot for one person to carry, so you automatically turn to hand one over to the other woman. Said woman takes one look at the grease already starting to stain the underside of the packages and settles you with a look that very quickly has you gathering all of them up into your own arms and giving her a sheepish look of your own.

A short walk later, and you're making your way into the cave, through, and out th other side to re-enter the loop.

The effect the transition seems to have on the other woman is instant. She seems to relax and be more at peace, but also stands up straighter as if immediately stepping back into her position of authority.

“Miss Peregrine, you’re back!” Seemingly from out of nowhere comes Claire, grinning from ear-to-ear and teetering towards you as quickly as her little legs will carry her.

Behind her, follow Bronwyn and the twins.

“Hello, my darlings,” Miss Peregrine says, her voice so full of warmth and love that you can't help but smile. “Did you all behave for Emma and Olive?”

All four nod their heads vigorously.

“And have you all finished your morning chores?”

Again, all four nod.

“What’s that?” Bronwyn asks, pointing at the stack of paper-wrapped parcels in your arms.

“That,” Miss Peregrine says, “is lunch.”

The children frown and look at their caregiver, confused.

“Miss Y/L/N?” Miss Peregrine says, offering for you to explain.

“Well, we weren’t going to be able to organise a picnic as well as the beach trip, with us going into town, so I thought I’d buy a picnic while we were there and bring it back with me,” you say. You smile and hope they don't see how nervous you are. You’re not sure why, but you really hope that they approve.

“What did you get?” Bronwyn asks. Clearly, as the oldest of the little troop, she’s taken it upon herself to interrogate you. But you can tell that even she's near bursting with curiosity.

“I hope it’s okay, I got us some fish and chips,” you answer.

The children freeze and your heart sinks.

Then, as one, they all start squealing and jumping up and down.

You look up at Miss Peregrine, horrified, worried you’ve somehow broken her children.

She just smirks and let out a chuckle. “Children,” she says softly, “perhaps, you’d like to go and share the news with the others?”

In an instant, they're off.

“And make sure that you’re ready for the beach,” she calls after them.

You sidle up to her once they’re out of sight. “Did you know they were going to react like that?”

“It was a distinct possibility,” she replies, taking out her pocket watch.

You scoff and shake your head. “Thanks for the warning.”

She hums and looks after the children. “They were rather excited weren’t they?”

You're about to continue the conversation when she puts the watch away and spins to face you. “I suggest you also go and prepare for the beach.” She looks at the parcels of food. “You can deposit those in the kitchen on your way.”

Understanding a dismissal when you hear one, you nod and head into the house.

Chapter Text

About ten minutes later and you’re ready to go. You very much doubt that your two-piece fits the propriety of the 1940s, but hope that the loose t-shirt and pair of shorts will cover you up enough, at least while you’re outside the water, so you don’t offend the other woman too much. You briefly wonder whether she’d appreciate your garb without the overclothes, but quickly shake that thought away. That way danger lurks.

Hearing the babble of excited children downstairs, you grab your towel, and your pad and pencils, and hurry out the door.

At the bottom of the stairs you find eleven children standing by the front door, buzzing with anticipation.

“Finally!” Bronwyn calls out.

You raise an eyebrow. You know it probably doesn’t have the same effect as when their caregiver does it, but it seems to be enough to prevent anyone else ribbing you.

“Ah, finally,” Miss Peregrine says, stepping out into the hallway.

Some of the children snicker. You roll your eyes.

“Yes, I am ‘finally’ here,” you say. “I didn’t realise we were on such a tight schedule.”

Miss Peregrine’s eyes snap to yours, “we are always on a tight schedule.”

You hold your hands up in surrender. After a moment she seems to relax.

“Can I carry anything?” You ask.

“Yes,” she says and hands you the large picnic basket on her arm. She then disappears into the kitchen for a moment, before returning with a second one which she holds on to.

It's only then that you notice what she's wearing. Her usual pencil skirt and form-fitting jacket have been replaced by a flowing dress of the same colour. Despite the looser fit of the material, it still manages to show her figure off beautifully.

You try, but can’t help yourself. Your eyes rake the length of her body as you slowly take her in. When you reach her eyes, you find them looking straight at you. A smirk plays at the corners of her mouth and she gives you a knowing look. A slight blush tints her cheeks.

You hope that she doesn’t see the flaming blush that instantly heats up your cheeks, but you know it’s probably wishful thinking.

“Come on,” one of the children whines, snapping you out of the moment.

You take a step backwards and gesture for the woman to go through.

“Is everyone ready to go?” Miss Peregrine asks, turning her attention to the children. You watch as she does a quick, but thorough, check over each of them. “Hugh, where’s your hat?”

“Here, Miss Peregrine,” the boy says, holding up a big brown floppy sunhat.

“Very good,” she says with a nod. She finishes off her check over the others, then gives a nod. “Off we go then.”

As excited as the children are, you expect them to just run out the door in a chaotic stampede. Instead, they all grin and, in pairs, walk outside and down the garden path in the direction of the beach, albeit at a slightly faster pace than normal. The twins walk together, and Hugh and Millard, then the older children take charge of one each of the little ones. Only Horace walks by himself, but he seems completely content and you’re happy to leave him be for now. You and Alma bring up the rear.

The walk isn’t a long one and soon enough you crest the hills and find yourself looking over the glittering expanse of the sea and sand. You’ve come to expect perfect weather in the loop by now, but this takes your breath away.

A few of the children look up at the woman beside you, seemingly waiting for something.

You turn towards her as well, wondering what they want. She just smiles at them and nods.

And with that, they're off like a shot, clambering down the thin dirt track with whoops and giggles. You can’t help a small chuckle of your own at their antics.

At a much more controlled pace, the two of you follow after them.

By the time you reach the beach, most of the children are already in the water, splashing about. Only Claire and the twins remain on the sand, but they seem quite happy to remain on dry land and are already starting to grab handfuls of sand and deposit them in a pile.

They grin up at Miss Peregrine as she steps onto the beach proper. Or at least Clair grins. The twins were still in their wraps and masks, albeit now with bathing suits over the top. They just turn and look up at their caregiver and make a few happy chittering noises. Miss Peregrine smiles at them and they carry on with what they’re doing.

The pair of you head a little bit back from the water, close enough to afford the other woman a good view of the children, but near enough the rock face to offer a bit of shade from the mid-day sun.

Setting down her basket, the headmistress pulls out two large blankets and lays them out across the warm sand. You set your own basket down and help her straighten them out, then look in your basket and find one more. Once that too is laid out, you pull out a few towels and put them off to the side.

“How long do you want to wait for the food?” you ask.

“They may have 12 more minutes in the water, then we’ll eat,” she replies.

You sit down on the blanket and look out across the sea and the gaggle of rambunctious children splashing about in the water. You think about getting out your sketch pad, but figure you’ll have enough time later. Maybe after a swim. So, you just sit there letting the warmth of the sun seep into your bones and absorbing the sounds of happy children. You smile.

“Do you swim?” the other woman asks. Her voice is soft as if she’s trying not to disturb the moment.

“I used to,” you reply, just as soft. Your mind floats back to childhood days spent splashing about in swimming pools with your siblings, then years later scuba diving through reefs and wrecks. Then those thoughts turn to churning water battering you from side-to-side, spinning around so fast until you don’t know which way’s up. Bright lights. Screams.

A warm hand on your arm jolts you back to the present and you force yourself to take a lungful of air. You spin to look at its owner. She’s frowning and seems about to say something, when a flurry of heavy breathing and sand barrels up towards the pair of you.

“May we have some food now?” the disembodied set of clothes asks.

Immediately the hand is gone and the other woman is looking up at the young boy. Her frown deeps and you can tell she’s not impressed by the interruption, nor his manners.

The boy clearly senses it too and is quick to apologise. “Sorry, Miss Peregrine.”

His caregiver settles him with a steady look for a moment. Then, very slowly, she pulls out her pocket watch and inspects the dial.

“I was due to call you in two minutes and 31 seconds, but if you’d rather cut your swim time short so you can eat earlier, then so be it,” she says. “Go and gather the others while Miss Y/L/N and I lay out the food.”

The shorts and vest are off in an instant.

Without a word, the pair of you set out the meal. You notice that the other woman clearly hadn’t been able to have the children go a mealtime without eating at least something nutritious as along with the fish and chips, she also pulls out a selection of fruits and some homemade lemonade.

Just as the last items are placed down, the first of the children descend on the blankets.

“Thank you, Miss Peregrine,” Bronwyn says, digging in.

You don’t miss the slight movement of the other woman’s head as she tries to subtly gesture towards you.

“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N,” Hugh says with a wide grin.

After a round of ‘thank you’s and the general excitement of choosing their food, the children settle into a comfortable silence as they eat. Even Miss Peregrine manages a few chips and a small piece of the battered fish.

“Would you like to play football with us after lunch, Miss Y/L/N?” Hugh asks, breaking the silence.

You pause briefly, a little surprised at the invitation, but then quickly smile, pleased that the boy seemed comfortable enough with you to ask. “Of course,” you say with a grin. “I might need a few minutes to let my food go down, but then we can set up a game.” You look around at the others. “Does anyone else want to play?”

“Me!” Millard immediately yells, earning him a sharp ‘Millard!’ from his caregiver. After a sheepish apology, he says, a little more quietly this time, “I’d like to pay too, please.”

“Great,” you say, smiling. “Anyone else?”

When nobody else seems to volunteer, you shrug and turn back to the boys. “Guess, it’s just us,” you say. “We could set up a couple of goals and go two-v-one, or just have the one goal and play first past the goalie.”

The boys look at each other, and even though you can only see half of their silent communication thanks to one of them being invisible, you can guess what they’re about to say before they even say it by the smirk on Hugh’s face.

“Two versus one,” they say in unison. You laugh. Of course.

Lunch quickly ends after that and, as most of the children go back to what they’d been doing before lunch, you, Hugh, and Millard head over to an open patch of sand nearby. The boys grab a stick each and draw out the field, while you collect up another four sticks and stand them up in the sand for the goals.

Once the pitch is set up, you all meet in the middle.

“Quick ground rules,” you say and are immediately met with groans. “Now, now.” You say and level them both with look. “No using your peculiarities.” They go to interrupt, but you cut them off. “Nope. Even playing field.”

“But, you’re an adult,” Millard point out. “How is that even?”

“Yes, but there’s two of you and only one of me,” you reply.

“Yes, and she’s a girl, Millard,” Hugh add.

“Not sure how that makes a difference Hugh, but sure,” you note. “Anyway, so, no using your peculiarities. And the usual, no hitting, biting, scratching, and the like. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” the boys reply.

“Good,” you say. “Right, would you two like to start?”

“It’s okay, Miss Y/L/N,” Millard says handing her the football. “You should start.”

You shrug. “If you insist.”

You place the ball down on the ground and look at the two boys in front of you.

Then, you punt it forwards and are immediately off after it. They boys clearly hadn’t been expecting the move and take a moment to react, but by that time you’re already nearing the end of the hand drawn pitch. With a cheeky grin at Hugh as he sprints after you, you gently kick it through the sticks at your end.

“She shoots, she scores. And the crowd goes wild.” You throw put your hands around your mouth and mimic the sound of the crowds of a stadium.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Millard says, rushing up to you.

“Oh? And why’s that?” You ask, grinning.

“We weren’t ready,” he replies, and you can tell he’s sulking.

“You said I could go first, right?” You ask.

He nods.

“And I put the ball on the ground, ready to kick?”

He nods again.

“Then point stands,” you say. Not wanting to ruin his day so quickly though, you run over and pick up the ball then hand it to him. “But it’s your turn now. You guys show me how it’s done.”

The boys grabs the ball and he and Hugh set up, ready to go again.

And so the game continues. It was actually quite fun and the boys seemed to work quite well together, contrary to the games you’d seen them play up at the house.

One thing you’d failed to mention to the boys, was that while yes you had played with your brothers growing up, they were national representatives for their age groups so you’d learned a thing or two about the game. You let them get a few goals in, making sure to make it look like they’re almost getting the best of you.

When the fifth goal gets past you you look up and see Alma watching you. She raising an eyebrow and there’s a slight turn up at the corner of her mouth.

You smirk back at her, then, throwing caution to the wind, you throw her a wink, before running back to the game. And, while your kicks don’t get any harder (you really don’t want to hurt either child), you start bringing out the tricks. You expertly dribble the ball around Millard running straight towards you, then feint to the left before sliding the ball past Hugh, and casually punt the ball through the goal.

“Woah!” Hugh cries out. “How did you do that?”

You very quickly bring the score back up to equal.

It’s just as you’re about to go in for your next goal. Both boys stand in front of, ready to guard their goal from your next attack. You all stand still for a moment. Them waiting. You flicking the ball back and forth between your feet. Flick in the air. Back on the ground. Up. Down. Up. Down. Waiting.

Suddenly, something stings you on the left of your neck. You smack the offending bug and when your hand comes away, you find a bee nestled in your palm.

You look up at Hugh. Trying his best to look innocent, the boy shrugs.

You settle the boy with a look. You drop the bee. You grin.

You surge forward, dribbling the ball as you charge down the pitch. Millard goes in for the tackle, but you dodge. Next comes Hugh.

Instead of letting the boy try though, you once again feint. Then, you kick it down pitch towards the goal.

Not even checking whether it hit home, you send an arm out and grab the boy, lifting it up. With a sudden burst of speed you run with him in your arms, straight for the water. When it’s up to your knees, you throw him into the waves.

He lands with a squeal and a splash.

By the time he resurfaces nearly everyone gathered is laughing, including you. You haven’t felt this light in ages.

He splutters in shock, but eventually his eyes settle on you.

Sensing retaliation, you dive further into the water and take a few strong strokes further out to sea. You grin and laugh as he stops and doesn’t come any further. It wasn’t overly deep, but should be deep enough to keep you from tiny hands for a while.

You look to make sure he isn’t hurt in any way and once satisfied you settle back, happy to lull gently back and forth in the swell. You missed this.

The sounds of children playing fades into the background. The water’s calm enough that you can lay on your back without too much effort and just float. The water fills your ears with the heavy silence of the oceans. It’s calm. It’s peace.

Suddenly though, either you’ve drifted closer to shore or their children’s games had become more enthusiastic, because just then a wave crashes down on your face.

If you’d seen it coming you might have been alright. As it was, with your eyes closed, and being laid back relaxed, the water splashes into your nose and jolts you upright. But the sudden movement dislodges you, your sense of up and down momentarily confused. You fall under the surface. And suddenly you’re back there. Strapped to your chair in the plane, frantically trying to get your belt loose. Screams coming from everywhere around you. Your parents. Your girlfriend. Your brothers. You.

Somewhere beyond the water, warning lights are flashing. Orange and red. Or maybe it’s the fire that had started after the impact as broken wires sparked across the ever spreading layer of fuel.

Your feet make contact with something solid.

The ground.

You focus on it. Centring your axis, you use it to hurry forward.

Scrambling out of the water, you stagger up the beach.

In an instant, you’re wrapped up in a towel and arms circle around you. Holding you close. Grounding you further. You smell old books and coffee and smoke.

You stay there in the arms, focusing on the smells, and try to calm your breathing.

Slowly, you start to notice other things. The slight swaying on the spot, a gentle rocking from side-to-side. The warmth. And your heart rate starts to slow.

Eventually, you feel calm enough to look up at your rescuer.

The other woman looks at you, concern etched into every inch of her face, pain clear in her eyes.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice hoarse.

She pulls you back to her and holds you close, resting her head on yours.

You stay there a little longer, basking in the warmth of the other woman before you finally force yourself back to the real world. You pull back and give her a thin smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes. You slip out of her embrace, give her hand a gentle squeeze, then walk up to the beach towards the blankets.

Gathering up your sketch pad and pencils, you slowly make your way back to the house.

It’s eerily silent without the children there. But maybe that’s what you need at the moment.

You head straight up to your designated room and close the door. From your bag, you pull out your warmest sweat pants and jersey, and a pair of thick socks. Leaving your wet clothes in a pile in the corner, you nestle into the fresh warmth, then settle on the floor near with your back to the bed.

You start sketching.

Ever since the crash, it’s been how you cope from one day to the next. You draw the room around you, then the house in general. You churn out sketches of each of its occupants, of the grounds surrounding it, the cave, the beach. Hell, even the pub outside the loop gets its own page. A good four pages alone are taken up with portraits of the lady of the house. Prim, proper, not a hair out of place. Strict, but warm. Beautiful. Safe.

A sudden tapping at your window, jolts you out of your revery. Looking towards the noise, you see that it had somehow gotten dark outside without you noticing. You also see the large form of a peregrine falcon.

You’re up in a flash, instantly unlocking the window. The bird hops inside. There are a few drops of rain on its back so it must be almost reset. Or maybe reset had already happened and you’d managed to miss that as well.

Whatever the time, you stepped back and gesture for the bird to enter the room. It hops off the ledge and clicks forward, towards your pile of sketches on the floor. It almost seems to be looking at them, studying them. Its eyes fall on the pictures you’ve done of Alma. It seems oddly transfixed.

You chuckle. “You and me both.”

It turns and looks at you, head tilted to one side.

You sigh and shrug, then as slowly as you can so as to not startle the creature, you settle down on the floor again. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” you say.

The bird chirps.

“Kind too,” you add. You look down at the picture for a moment. The bird stays remarkably still and just watches. It reminds you of all those days you spent up at the cliff. You give a small smile.
“She’s given me a home,” you say. “It’s not forever. I know that. But it’s a home nonetheless.”

You give a small chuckle again and sniff back the tears. “You know she saved me?” You say. “That day at the cliff. The one day you were late. Every single day you were there like clock work. And that one day. Of course, it had to be that day. It couldn’t possibly have been any other.”

The bird chirps and takes a step forward. You’ve always had the distinct impression that it know exactly what you're saying. It's impossible, you know that. But still.

You let out a heavy sigh and run you hands over your face.

You look at the bird.

“Three years,” you say in little more than a whisper, the words catching in your throat. You give a small shrug. “I’m the only one left.”

The first of the tears falls, unbidden. You can’t hold them back.

The bird takes a few steps forward. It hops onto your legs. At this height you’re basically eye-to-eye.

Not able to take the eye contact, even if it's not from another human, you hang your head.

You feel the bird shuffle forward, then the gentle pressure on your forehead as the creature rests its head against yours.

You scrunch your eyes clothed and can’t help it as silent sobs wrack through your body.

But, the bird remains, resolute in its support.

It stays, well into the night, as the house around you goes to sleep. As years of grief crash through you and your heart breaks over, and over again.

Chapter Text

You wake the next morning to find yourself still on the floor and the bird gone. You dislodge the blanket that had again been placed over you during the night and slowly stand up. Something catches your eye as it falls loose from the cloth.

A dark blue feather.

Carefully you pick it up. You cradle it in your hand for a moment.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and hold it to your chest.

There’s a gentle knock at your door.

“Come in,” you say quietly.

The door creaks open and Alma slowly steps over the threshold, carrying a tray. She seems unusually unsure of herself. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d want to eat with all the children this morning,” she says, gesturing to the tray.

“Thank you,” you say. “And, yeah, sorry, I’m not sure I can manage that this morning.” You rub the back of your neck and chuckle. “Crazy lady runs screaming from the water? They’re going to have questions.”

“You are not crazy,” the other woman says firmly.

“No?” You ask, not believing her.

“No,” she replies. She steps forward, a little more sure of herself, and sets the tray down on the bedside table. She then turns to face you. “You’re not crazy. You’re hurting.”

You nod. You’ll give her that.

She takes another step forward. She hesitates, then gathers up your hands in hers. She waits until your eyes lift to meet hers before she continues. “I may not know much about your time, or your life, but I’m here to listen. If you want.” She pauses and seems to be looking for something in your eyes. “Please? Trust me?” She whispers.

Silence falls between you as you look into her eyes. Can you trust her? You’re beginning to to think so. But, then your brain reminds you of what happened to the last person you trusted, the last person you’d … loved.

She must have seen the change in thoughts come across your eyes and instantly drops your hands. “I see,” she says crisply, the hurt clear in those two small words. “Forgive me.”

She turns and heads straight for the door.

“Wait!” You say, rushing forward.

She pauses and turns to face you. Her headmistress mask firmly in place. She waits for you to speak.

“Thank you,” you say. Not really sure what else to say. And you’re not really sure what you’re saying it for. The offer to talk? Her hospitality? The breakfast?

You get the distinct impression that she can see your indecision and she just nods once before promptly leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

With a heavy sigh, you sit down on the bed. Great. Just great.

###

For the next few of days, you largely remain in your room. Even meal times are a tray of food behind your closed door.

Alma doesn't bring your food again after that first morning, always sending one of the children instead.

You find yourself missing the other woman, but after how you’d reacted, you weren’t really sure how to approach her.

If any of the children sensed the rift between you, none of them commented. None of them said much of anything really. Even Hugh and Millard were oddly quiet when they brought you lunch on the second day.

The only thing that did improve over those days was the presence of the bird. It seemed that now that it’d found you, it was making a point to see you every day. Each evening it’d come tapping at your window. By the third day, you start to just leave the window open.

Then, it's sit there for hours as you sketch and talk. The talks were more now, deeper than those you’d had up on the cliff. And slowly ofter these next few days, you tell it your story. You tell it some funny stories of growing up. The moment you’d met the one you’d thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with. The fun you’d had. The ring you’d bought.

It stays until the early hours of the morning as you speak of the plane trip you’d taken as a family. Of the nerves you’d felt thinking about the ring nestled in your pocket, but how you’d known you could rely on the support of your parents and brothers. And the crash. Waking up in the hospital. Being told that everyone you loved was gone. The pain of not having gone with them. The pain at not being able to join them.

You actually stay in bed the day after that particular story. The trays brought in, left untouched.

Oddly enough, it was Enoch who finally manages to get through to you.

On the second day of wasted food he comes and stands at the end of your bed.

“Does hunger count as a physical injury?” he asks.

Confused, you rouse yourself and look at him, frowning. “What?”

“You regenerate from physical injury, to such an extent that you’re able to essentially come back from the dead. I was trying to work out whether it was possible for you to starve to death,” he explains. “If it’s an injury, then I figured you’d be able to. But that’s where I came unstuck, because does lack of nutrients count as a a physical injury.”

You let out a sigh and sit up. “That’s not how it works,” you say. “No, it’s not a physical injury. But, I don’t just survive because I heal from injuries. My body, on a cellular level, heals itself. So, if I start reaching a point of starvation, my body just keeps fixing the cells that die off due to nutrient depletion.”

“Oh,” he says and you can’t quite tell if he’s disappointed. You’re about to ask to clarify, when he cuts you off with another question that has you stumped. “Have you met Victor?”

You shake your head, confused. “What?”

“Have you met Victor?” He asks again, slower this time as if he clearly thinks you’re stupid.

“No?”

“Come on, then,” he says and turns to leave.

You’re not sure why, but you hurry up after him. “Enoch,” you say, but he keeps walking. “Enoch just, wait.”

To his credit, he does pause. For a moment.

Once you’re caught up though, he’s off again. Up the last flight of stairs and to the door at the far end of the corridor.

Again, he pauses briefly. He looks at you, taking in your dishevelled ‘I’ve-been-in-bed-for-about-a-week’ look, rolls his eyes, then promptly opens the door and walks into he room.

You follow.

Inside in a small bedroom. In the middle of the room is a single bed with white coverings. And in the bed is a boy. He looks to be about 12. He’s incredibly pale. He’s not moving.

“Enoch,” you say slowly.

“This is Victor,” he says.

“What happened to him?” you ask.

A dark smirk spread across the boys face. “Why don’t we ask him?” He turns to face a chest of drawers set against the wall behind him and when he turns back around he has a glass jar in his hands. Inside the jar looks to be a … heart?

“Enoch,” you repeat, just as slowly.

“Not squeamish are you?” He asks.

“Why don’t you just tell me what happened to him?” You ask as calmly as you can.

“Enoch!” The voice at the door makes you both freeze.

“Miss Peregrine,” the boy on the other side of the bed says solemnly.

You spin around and sure enough come face to face with Alma Peregrine. A very angry Alma Peregrine.

“How dare you?” She says, her voice strained.

“Alma,” you say, cautiously taking a step towards the other woman.

Her head snaps towards you.

Swallowing, you continue. “I needed to get out of my room and I asked Enoch to show me what’s in here. It’s one of the only rooms in the house I haven’t been in.” You glance around the room, studiously avoiding the dead child in the bed. “I’m sorry if it’s out of bounds. I didn’t know. And Enoch was just doing as I asked.”

Her eyes narrow at you. “Enoch,” she says, without even looking at the boy. “Go downstairs and help Olive and Emma with the tidying up.”

You hear the boy start to move.

“And you can take that one with you,” she says. “They do not belong in here.”

You wonder what she’s talking about, but get your answer as Enoch leaves the room, the glass jar in his hands.

Once he’s gone, Alma takes a slow controlled breath, then walks straight passed you to the boy in the bed. With utmost care, she straightens out wrinkles in the bed covers that weren’t even there and makes sure that everything’s in its proper place.

“Alma,” you say. You voice is soft, but you still see her wince. She doesn’t turn to face you. “What happened to him?”

“This is Victor,” she says eventually straightening up. She takes a deep breath and spins around. “He was attacked by hollows the day this loop was made. I could’t save him.” She looks down at the boy. “I failed him,” she whispers.

You take a step towards her. “Alma -” you say, just as gently as before. You’re not sure what you’re going to say, but feel like you had to say something.

She sniffs and, if it was possible, stands up even straighter. “I failed him,” she says, more firmly this time. “And have made sure that every day since has been dedicated to ensuring that I don’t fail another peculiar ever again.”

You frown. “Is that why you’re helping me? Because I’m peculiar?”

Her eyes rake over your face. “At first,” she finally says.

She takes a small step forwards.

“Miss Peregrine!”

Both of you roll your eyes and yet another child ruining yet another moment between the two of you.

The patter of hurried steps approaches and soon the culprit, Clair this time, appears at the door.

“Miss Peregrine, Enoch said -” she froze as her eyes landed on you.

“Yes, Claire?” Alma asked the young girl.

“Can I sit with you for movie time?” The girl blurts out, still staring at you.

You look at Alma, then back at the little girl, then back at Alma. The other woman gives the smallest shrug you’ve ever seen and nods her head slightly towards the girl.

“Uh, sure,” you say with a gentle smile.

“Come on, then,” she says and holds out a hand.

You glance at Alma, give a shrug of your own, then walk over and take the offered hand.

The pair of you head downstairs and into the living room, with the click of Alma’s heels not too far behind you. You settle into one of the couches, with Claire nestled in your lap. You had no idea that you’d made such an impression on the girl, but you’re not about to complain. A few clips into ‘movie time’ you actually start to relax.

Just then the atmosphere of the room starts to shift as the usual tone of Horace’s dreams changes. Instead of Horace being fitted for suits and a line of fancy tailors, there’s a young boy you don’t recognise. Behind the boy though is a man you do recognise, Baron. The view zooms out and you just have time to see Alma standing there, face tear-stained, before the lights blaze on and the visions disappear.

This time, there aren’t the usual groans of upset children who have had their story time cut short. Instead, there’s just silence.

Until Millard breaks it. “Who was that boy?” He asks.

“Time to get ready for bed, children,” Alma says. She pulls out her pocket watch. “You have 14 minutes.”

Despite their obvious confusion and curiosity, the children all do as they are asked.

You lower Claire and stand up, but stay in the room.

“That was Baron,” you say, trying to make sure your voice is quiet enough that any lingering children don’t hear.

Alma turns to you, her face grim. “It was.”

“Do you know who that boy is?”

“I believe I do,” she replies.

You nod, but don’t press for details. Who he is doesn’t really matter to you right now. Thinking of the boy in the bed upstairs, you’re more concerned with something else you gleaned from the vision. “Baron’s coming here, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” she says simply.

You give another solemn nod, thinking. “I think I should hang around for a little while longer,” you say.

Her eyes snap to connect with yours. You see the questions she wants to ask churning in those ice blue orbs. But, as always, her duty to the children takes precedence and she has to get ready for the reset. “Thank you,” is all she says.

You smile and gesture for her to lead the way out into the hallway. And, just like the first night, you help her carry out the gramophone, and hand her her gas mask when it’s time. The whole thing still takes your breath away, but more because it’s so awe inspiring and less because you believe you’re about to have a bomb dropped on your head.

Afterwards, you help tidy up, then bid the other woman good night. You know that she wants to talk, but you’ve got thinking to do. and not to mention you really, really need a bath.

Chapter Text

The following week is quite frankly amazing. You’ve put last week behind you and have settled into a new rhythm in the house. You don’t want to jinx things, especially knowing that Baron and/or his cronies could turn up at any moment, but you’re actually enjoying yourself. This place is actually starting to feel like home.

You’ve taken on a bit of a protector role, especially for the younger children. You have no designs on Alma’s position within the household, but have found your own way to help her manage her responsibilities. You help make sure that the children do their chores, and have even taken up a few of your own. You made it very clear early on that cooking was not your forte and so left that area well alone, but you were quite happy to help with the gathering of ingredients or the tidying up afterwards.

One thing you particularly enjoyed was the delicate task of making sure that you spent a little time with each of the occupants of the house every day. You were starting to see how each one was individual and unique, and managed to start treating them as such. With Hugh and Millard it was often football. With Horace, you often sat down and discussed literature or different fashions. You even found something to do with Enoch. You approached him one day and asked what he’d planned to do with the heart that day in Victor’s room. He explained and showed you what he meant with a couple of dolls. One of the dolls had subsequently gotten loose and swung at you instead. Whether that had been Enoch’s plan all along or not, you’re still not sure, but when you didn’t go running to his caregiver when the thing slashed a ten-inch gash down your arm, you quickly gained his approval as well.

You also take extra care to carve out time in your day for the said caregiver. You're still not comfortable letting your conversations go too deep, and you can tell that the other woman's getting a bit frustrated at that, but part of you still feels like she herself isn't sharing something. And so, you hold back a little. Other than that though, the two of you enjoy chats about the children or literature, or sometimes just sit in the garden with a cup of tea and a good book in comfortable, companionable silence. It's as if you both know the danger that's lurking around the corner and are insisting on enjoying the present for as long as possible. She is generally happy to answer your questions about peculiar kind, but on the whole you both try to keep the conversation away from any impending doom.

Your evenings continue as they had before. Each night, after reset, you go up to your room and get ready for bed. Sometimes sketching, sometimes reading. But always, your window stays open. And always, the bird flies in. It sits there for an hour or so as you speek about anything and everything. What you’ve done that day, if one of the children has done something funny, how much you were starting to care for the gorgeous head of the house. You find it funny, but the bird always starts to shuffle from side-to-side when you start speaking about the other woman, as if uncomfortable. You're beginning to think it might be jealous. You tell it so. Which just results in an angry squawk and the flapping of wings in your direction.

After about a week, you decide to take your sketch pad and go for a walk. You wander for about half an hour, before you come across a close of tall trees. Past the trees is the beach and you’re sure that the view from the top of them would be spectacular. And so, you climb one of them. Sure enough, the view is breathtaking.

You manage to find a comfortable enough position on one of the branches with your back leaning against the trunk. You pull out your pad and start drawing.

You’re not sure how long you stay up there, but eventually you're brought back to the present by the shape of a very large, very unimpressed-looking falcon alighting on the branch in front of you.

“Hello,” you say and smile at it.

You get an angry screech in return. It leans forward and pecks at your watch.

Looking down at the device you notice it’s almost time for dinner. You look up and give the bird an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” you say with a chuckle. “I’ll head home now.”

Choosing to ignore your slip of the tongue for now, you gather your supplies and climb down the tree. The bird flies off at some point, but you know you’ll see it later so it’s okay.

You make the thirty-minute treck back to the house. But, as you make your way into the garden you’re surprised to see the bird fly overhead again. It looked to be heading in the direction of the house.

You grin and hurry to catch up with it.

Just as you reach the garden path nearing the house, it lands on the cobbles. Odd, for a bird, but maybe it’s hoping for some scraps of food from the inhabitants of the house. You figure you may as well get some for it while you’re there, so keep walking forward.

You take a few more steps and freeze.

The bird seems to be growing, its shape stretching and morphing, until it resembles a crouching human.

A very distinctive crouching human.

The figure stands up.

You gasp and drop your pad and pencils to the ground.

Alma’s head snaps towards you. Her eyes widen.

She takes a step towards you.

In an instant, you’re off.

“Y/N!” She cries out, and even in that one word you can hear her voice crack.

But, you keep running. You think you might be able to hear her trying to run after you, but you’re not sure. You just run.

You run as fast as you can away from the house, through the trees, and out through the cave. You know the moment you’re out of the loop as you’re met with the raging tempest you’ve come to associate with modern-day Cairnholm.

And still, you keep running.

You have no idea where you’re going. Can barely see through the tears and rain.

A loud screech from above drives you further forward.

Until you reach a dead end.

Of course this is where you’d end up. Where else would your body lead you?

You stand there, staring out to sea as the wind whips at your hair and clothes. The rain pelting your face mixes with the tears it finds there.

“Y/N!”

She did follow.

You don’t turn around.

“Y/N!” She shouts, trying to be heard over the wind. “Please!”

You spin around and, even with the despair ripping through you, rage boils up.

“What?” You scream. “What could you possibly want?”

“Please,” Alma says. She holds out a hand and takes a step forward.

“Stay the hell away from me!” You shout, taking a step back.

She falters.

“You tricked me!” You yell. You can see the tears on her cheeks as well, but right now it doesn’t matter. “I told you I wasn’t ready to talk and what? You thought you’d just get the information from me another way? Was that it?”

“I was trying to help you!” She shouts back.

You let out a snort. “You saw a way to get what you wanted and you took it!”

She gasps as if struck by a physical blow at the sheer vitriol in your voice.

She says something, but her words are drowned out by the wind.

“What?” You ask.

She takes a step forward. “You wouldn’t let me in,” she says, louder. She takes a deep breath as if steeling herself for something. Once ready, she stands up straight and looks you straight in the eye. “That was the only way that you’d let me in. If that was the only way that I could be near you, then I was going to take it.”

You frown. “What?” You ask, confused.

She holds out a hand and takes another step towards you.

You automatically take another step backwards.

Except there’s nowhere to step back to. You’ve reached the edge of the cliff.

As if in slow motion, you tilt backwards. You see her eyes widen in horror and her mouth open in a scream as she leaps forward to grab you.

Her hand wraps around yours. She spins around and uses her momentum to pull you up and back onto the ledge, the movement sending her falling over instead.

And then it’s your turn to scream as you watch her fall and disappear.

Silence.

Even the wind seems to have ceased its bellowing.

“Alma!” You scream into the nothingness.

Silence.

And then suddenly the most beautiful sound you are sure you will ever hear pierces through the silence.

The screech of a peregrine falcon.

The bird suddenly flies up from below the cliff and shoots past you. It tumbles to the ground, morphing into a hunched Alma Peregrine as it rolls.

The woman looks up at you from where she’s crouched.

She looks angry, and scared, and beautiful, and powerful, and in an instant you’re running towards her.

She stands up just as you reach her and catches you in her open arms. You bury yourself in her neck and feel her do the same. Taking a deep breath, you feel the warmth that is so uniquely her, and somehow you feel more at peace than you have done in years.

Suddenly, you remember something and pull back, and glare at her.

She looks at you, confused.

Reaching up, you grab her by the shoulders and look her straight in the eye to make sure she’s listening. “Don’t you dare do anything like that ever again.” Her eyes widen and you continue. “I can survive a fall like that, you can’t.”

Instantly, her eyes narrow. She hits your arms away and glares back at you. “How dare you,” she snaps. You try to argue, but she continues. “You may be able to heal, but don’t you dare think for a second that it means that it’s okay for you to put yourself through that. Don’t you dare think that you’re not worth saving.”

Taken aback, you just look at her for a moment, unsure what to say.

She lets out a sob and you pull her in.

“I can’t see you like that again,” she says, the crack in her voice sending a stab of pain through your heart.

You hold her close until her body stops shaking, then pull back. You look her in the eyes and smile. A genuine, at-peace smile.

Which she returns.

You bring a hand up to cradle her cheek and lean in.

And pause.

Questions suddenly bombard you. What if you’ve misread the signs? What if she cares, but more as a caregiver like with the children in her care?

She clearly sees the hesitation on your face because, still smiling, she moves forward and brings your lips together.

You relax.

This is home.

Eventually, she pulls back, smirking a little when you try to follow her.

“Perhaps we can continue this when we are not standing at the edge of a cliff, soaked to the bone?” She suggests.

You give her a smirk of your own. “But isn’t this romantic?”

She smiles at you, but then taps your chest. “But a cold is not.”

You take in her slight frame and the thin fabric of her clothing and nod. “Fine.”

She takes a step back and holds out her hand. “Home?”

Without hesitation, you grab her hand and grin. “Home.”

Together, you walk back to the loop and the children. And, if you happen to pause along the way for a kiss or two, who can blame you?

Yes, things aren’t perfect. You still have a lot of your past to deal with, and there will still be days when you need time to yourself. But, now you know that you have a family around you and the most caring woman in the world at your side. Now, you have a home.