The Master of Time (Peregrine x DotCom)

[Peregrine]

Time is what we want most, but... what we use worst.
- William Penn

Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees. Times can break your heart, have you begging please…
- Eric Clapton​

On Earth, people call time a construct. Some called it a human illusion, created from the fact that the mind remembers the past, but not the future. It is surrounded by questions and uncertainty. Is time truly something real, or is it just a measurement, a value of some other unknown concept? Is there a way to know the future, as completely as one knows the past? Is time going to forever move forwards, or will it one day flow backwards?

And yet, regardless of their thoughts and questions, humanity instinctively recognizes time to be straightforward. It is the steady progression of existence moment to moment, irreversibly drawn forward. It might appear to expand or contract with the shift of perspective, yet it always pushes forward, forcing all beings to follow along. In the end, all is swallowed by the wear and tear of time.

They say that no one knows what the fundamental nature of time is.

But Earth is a small world, just a tiny speck of dust in the endless universe, and that universe itself was but another grain of sand in the cosmic beach of the multiverse. And there were beings out there, beings powerful enough to defy comprehension, who had seen the true face of time.

They had seen Time itself, looking like a thin young man with long brown hair, standing loyally behind the back of the one he called Master. They had been mired down in the seemingly endless coagulation of the moments Time had become the present, again and again and again, as he loyally served to create the perfect outcome for his Master.

It was a unique kind of hell for those who were capable of forcibly dragging their knowledge along with their very being, even as Time obliterated those unsatisfactory realities from existence.

It was a hell they'd never forget, unable to do anything to the Master of Time, for Time itself would not let them. It was a hell they found themselves unable to escape, until the Master of Time eventually succumbed to the deepest madnesses of the mind, and Time was finally ordered to use his own powers to obliterate the one he called Master.

The truly powerful knew to fear Time. Time could not be bought. Time could not be coerced. But more than Time, the powerful feared one thing.

They feared the arrival of another Master of Time.

 

[DotCom]

In her four and a half years volunteering at the July Street County Library, Macy Duncan might not have appeared to accomplish much. But in fact she had successfully pinpointed the precise spot to avoid being caught smoking after hours.

Well. "After hours." Technically, it was another eight minutes before she could officially close up, but all her regulars had already been by for the week, and everyone else had found far better ways to spend their Friday nights than the ancient film section of an even more ancient library.

Absently, Macy reached up to ensure her thick honey-colored curls were tucked safely away. On average, her hair was twice as likely to hang on to the scent of stale weed than the cardboard paperbacks littering the children's section, but neither Mr. McBride, nor her roommate Kevin, could be counted upon to be wholly tolerant of her habits. Not that she planned on seeing either of them again until next week. Still, better safe than sorry.

Tucking her lighter into her back pocket with one hand, she reached out with the other, skimming her fingertips over hip-level, inch-thick books quickly enough to avoid (or maybe just ignore) any sticky spines, expertly holding her breath 'til she reached the open vent on the wall at the end of the shelves. It never took more than 20 seconds to sweep the children's section. The shelves were short, most of the books were reshelved by apologetic parents well before the sun went down. Most of the time, activity was limited to preschoolers visiting en masse, or else brief bouts of noisy plat in "the reading nook," a hollow, vaguely-tree-shaped column at the center of the open space. The grimy cushions lining the floor inside were probably too old themselves to give her away the next day, but Macy had never cared enough to risk it.

Instead, she circled back around to the front desk to watch the clock. Normally, she'd have been powering through another ancient box office flop - her favorite Friday night activity - but her old brick of a laptop had died three days ago and she hadn't managed to bring it back just yet. Mr. McBride had given her free run of the library's film section in exchange for volunteer hours, and she had a stack of DVDs, and even a few video tapes, to get through before her next shift Sunday morning, but none of it did her much good without somewhere to watch. She'd planned to ask if she could borrow a rental for the weekend, but had spent her break reading movie boxes in the microfiche room. Maybe if she came by early enough tomorrow, she could check one out before anyone else grabbed it...

Resolved, or at least resigned, Macy took one more hit (perhaps against her better judgement, but what else were Fridays for?), tucked both lighter and bong away, and locked the old cashbox behind the help desk. Still three minutes early, but by the time she retrieved her coat and bag, anyone else visiting a library at 9PM on a Friday, would hopefully have found something better to do anyway.

She was still thinking the same when she emerged from the coat room to all but fall over the young man waiting patiently on the other side of the desk.

Waiting, it seemed, for her.

 

[Peregrine]

Outside the July Street Country Library, a figure that looked like a thin young man suddenly appeared from nothingness. His hair was ash brown, straight and long, hanging down to his shoulders in a style that almost resembled a woman's. His long, thin face did little to lessen his effeminate presence. For a moment, he lingered outside the door to the library, his gaze drifting aimlessly, before he suddenly moved forward.

As he strode through the sliding glass doors, the delicate air around him was completely shattered. Every step he took contained a level of confidence that bordered on arrogance, the kind of confidence that proclaimed to the world that everyone and everything was within his grasp, and under control. But that wasn't to say his presence was distasteful or offensive. No, instead his every movement was graceful and smooth. He wasn't a beautiful man, in fact his features might even be called relatively plain, but that did nothing to lessen the aura of his attitude, which seemed to demand the attention and obedience of everything that gazed upon him.

Such a shame that the completely empty street meant that there was no one there to witness him.

The interior of the library was cool and dim, and the man stalled at the library's front desk. His eyes continued to focus deeper into the library, seeming pinned on a single target, but he didn't pursue it. Instead, he leaned slightly against the counter, one hand shoved into the pocket of his tan overcoat, legs crossed casually over each other.

He waited like that, not moving at all, until a figure emerged from the back of the library, right where his eyes were trained. The instant the woman appeared, he pushed himself away from the table, stainding solidly on both feet as he watched her approach. However, there was one other significnat change, and that was the sudden absence of even a trace of arrogance in his bearing. Instead he seemed mild and professional, almost like a server in a high-end restaurant.

Despite the change in his aura, it did nothing to diminish the grace of his movements. He began to walk towards the woman, pausing at the edge of the desk while she disappeared into a back room. When she emerged again and finally came to a halt in front of him, the man bowed gracefully, one hand folded behind his back, the other placed in front of his chest.

When he straightened from the bow, there was an elegant smile on his lips. "Greetings, Master," he said. His voice was soft and clear, neither particularly high nor low. Like the presence he gave out at the moment, it was best described simply as 'mild'. "I am here to begin my service."

 

[DotCom]

"...whoa."

Her first thought, her very first one, was...less a thought and more a rapid series of technicolor question marks rolling through her head under a tinny tune that might have belonged on a game show in another universe.

The second made it to her lips a little more gracefully.

"Uhh...Sorry, I didn't see you," she managed, hoping he hadn't been waiting too long...and further hoping he hadn't seen her skulking around the back office. He didn't seem the type to rat, but she also didn't recognize him as one of the library regulars. Or, she realized after another moment, anyone she'd ever seen before. He looked around her age, and she didn't recognize him as a former classmate (the handful that remained were all married and home with kids by now), so either he was visiting or a very new transfer. And who moved to Oakridge?

But then, who bowed?

She stared at him a moment longer, perhaps waiting for him to break and laugh, admit he'd just been kidding, because he had to be kidding. Right?

There was a solid four seconds of silence between them before Macy realized she was counting, and then that she was staring, and then that maybe the pot had hit her quicker than she'd realized, because surely she was the one making this weird. So hopefully this admittedly strange stranger was just visiting and wasn't the type to write internet reviews. Mr. McBride was cool, but also precisely the type to randomly spring a secret shopper situation on his staff. Fuck.

"Uh, sorry," she blurted again, offering a more sincere smile. Already, she was sure she must have misheard. She'd been knee deep in weird movies all day, and had spent most of the rest of her evening in her head. Way to play it cool, Mace.

"Sorry," she added one last time, before going on, "We're just closing up, but I can take your returns now and check them in tomorrow." A beat. "Uh...no worries if there's a late fee or whatever, I can reverse that on my end." Another. "Um...okay? Sir?"

Something else was piecing itself together at the back of her mind, like a toddler using warped cardboard pieces, slow and clumsy but still almost forming a picture.

The man wasn't carrying anything on him. No backpack or grocery bag full of books. Nothing tucked under his arm from what she could see, and no heavy coat to hide a DVD or two. There was only a hand hidden behind his back.

As if from underwater and far away, something like alarm beeped faintly in the recesses of her thoughts.

No one robbed a library. Especially not an Oakridge library. Still. If this was moving toward a first-time situation, she did not want to be the one to fuck it up. If this were a movie, she'd already be screaming at screen-Macy to figure it out already.

"Are...do you have anything to return?" she said evenly. "If not, I need to lock up, so you'll...you know, you'll have to leave. Please. We...um...reopen tomorrow at 8."

 

[Peregrine]

After straightening from his bow and speaking his piece, the brown haired man didn't say anything more, or move. Instead, he waited patiently as Macy stuttered her way through her words, an indescribable emotion gleaming in the depths of his eyes. There was a soft smile occasionally tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her speak, the faint trace of contentment almost unnoticeable.

It was only when Macy had settled down and stared at him that he finally began to speak again. "I don't have anything to return," he said evenly, his hands still placed down at his sides. His palms were facing forward, as though he was trying to appear harmless. "I was waiting for you, Master."

He paused for a beat, gaze still fixed on Macy, before he offered a bright smile. "I ordered tacos. And you need to lock up the library. Why don't we move outside?" He lifted one hand, gesturing towards the library's exit he'd passed through only a couple minutes ago, as though inviting Macy out with him.

 

[DotCom]

For one brief, and yet probably way too long moment, Macy wondered whether she would be the first person in the world to die on the steps of the July Street library, utterly immersed in vivid visions of tacos. And also her own death.

If the guy was crazy -- and it was just one of a few possible scenarios, but somehow the most likely one -- it was...subtle. Which was maybe to her benefit, but also maybe meant someone would find her decomposing beneath a shrine missing all her teeth next month.

She needed to stop watching all those 90s murder thrillers before bed.

So, okay, maybe focus on the more positive outcomes.

Maybe it was just a joke? One of those weird, nameless, five-episode-a-week prank shows...only eveb if Oakridge was regarded exciting enough to want to film, who did she know well enough to want to see her on TV? Or even just online?

There was a decent chance the guy wasn't sober. That seemed far more likely; maybe he was just confusing her for someone else. He didn't look familiar, but if he was drunk or high or tripping hard enough, maybe she did. But if that was the case, his perception was the only thing affected. He looked calm and steady, his words weren't slurred, and Macy was no detective, but if he really was messed up, they were maybe both in more trouble if he didn't know it.

And that sort of brought her back around to crazy.

Shit.

She realized abruptly she'd left him hanging again. She wasn't really sure how long they'd been standing there, just staring at each other while she shuffled through a dozen different storylines, but he was right either way: she did have to lock up.

"Um....yeah, okay," she managed after a moment, and turned to pull and lock the door while also trying to be prepared to bodily leap out of the way if he decided her back gave him the opportunity he'd been waiting for.

It wasn't until she'd already locked the door in occurred to her that if she was in danger, she'd have been better off with a door between them. Then again, he'd had to have had at least a few chances to attack her. Things weren't going to get much more secluded than a dark library in the quiet part of town, and she wasn't going to be much more distracted and spaced than she was now.

And he didn't seem...violent. Or not yet. So maybe it was better to just acquiesce until she knew what he wanted? At the very least, there'd definitely be more people on the street than at the library if shit went down. Not many more, sure, but a 'maybe' was still better than a 'definitely not'.

""So...are you looking for something? Or...someone?" she said after a moment, now trying to remember outdated internet advice for a slow kidnapping. It seemed like getting somewhere with more people was probably preferable, but if the guy was really just tripping, she didn't want him in trouble. And the more time passed with him just...waiting for her, the more she just wanted to get him somewhere safe for the night.

"You, um...mentioned tacos," she tried after a moment, still trying to keep her words casual and even. "There's a place a block over, I'm walking by there on...well. There's also a shelter over there. If...I dunno, if you need one. Or maybe you know someone in town? You can probably grab a cab there, too, if you want."

She tried to give him a smile that was not as sketched out and uncertain as she felt and also tried to figure out if she was being an idiot. Possible yes. Her brother would definitely say so, but her brother was so wound up and type A, he'd have also called the cops an hour ago, just because. The guy didn't seem dangerous, and she wasn't in a hurry to get home. Plus, tacos.

"So, I'm Macy, by the way," she said, suddenly remembering he'd called her 'Master' twice now, which was both weird an intensely uncomfortable. Even outside weird sex implications...

"Hey, so you're new in town, right?" she said, quickly dropping that train of thought. "Not to pry or anything, but everyone kinda knows everyone here, if you haven't figured that out yet, and I've definitely never seen you around." Another long pause. "Do...you have a name?"

Stupid question. Of course he had a name. Everyone had a name.

Right?

 

[Peregrine]

As soon as the two of them started to walk away from the library, Time fell comfortably into step next to Macy, as though they'd walked like this countless times before. He positioned himself in a very subtle and careful manner, not walking next to her like equals or companions, but nor walking so far behind her that it would become difficult for her to see him or converse with him. Instead he was like an obedient ghost, right there if she needed him, easy to ignore if she didn't.

Not that Macy was paying attention to anything other than him right now.

"I'm called Time," the brown-haired young man said smoothly, smoothly ignoring her other stammered questions. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Macy."

The taco shop truly wasn't far away from the library. Even that little bit of conversation that had passed between the two was enough for them to traverse the distance. Time pulled open the door politely, causing a slightly stifled chime to fill the shop, before smoothly stepping out of the way to allow Macy to enter the building before him. From inside, the smell of over-fried meat and salt filled the air.

"Order for Macy Duncan!" Behind the counter, a slightly tired looking woman in a grey shirt and black apron was standing in front of a tray filled with several paper bowls, each packed to the brim with small tacos. She was looking down at a receipt, but stepped away from the counter and back into the rear as soon as she finished her announcement. If it occurred to her how odd it was to read off an order when the shop was entirely empty excluding the almost entered Macy and Time, it certainly didn't seem to cross her face.

Time allowed the door to swing closed behind them, sealing out the slightly over-warm outside air. "That's our order, Master," he said from behind Macy. "Would you like me to get it, or pick out a booth?"

 

[DotCom]

There were steps, words, things that happened between tacos and the library. Macy knew that, because she knew, mostly, how the world worked, and tacos weren't far, but they were far enough for some conversation. Some answers, more questions.

And yet if any progress had been made by the time they reached the little taqueria on the next block, it was gone the moment a woman she didn't know called her name.

Macy stopped short enough she'd have been sort of impressed her new friend hadn't walked into her, if she'd been able to remember he was there. But just then, the woman at the counter was calling her name, definitely her name, again for an order she hadn't placed. She was saying it for a third time before Macy finally wandered over still half in a daze of confusion, completely ignoring, or else not hearing, the last question to her.

"Mac - "

"Uh...yeah," said Macy, looking over her shoulder around the empty restaurant. Well. Not so empty anymore. Her eyes fell on the man from the library for just a second, and then she was turning back to the woman at the counter.

"Are...these my tacos?"

The woman was entirely unimpressed. "Are you Macy Duncan?"

"Well...yeah, but I didn't order any tacos."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Maybe it's the other Macy Duncan," she said gesturing to the rest of the empty shop. Again, Macy turned and looked, as though another Macy might have materialized in the last three seconds. But only the library man waited. Had he...?

"Look," the woman said, interrupting her thoughts. "Someone ordered for Macy. You're Macy. No one else is here."

A thought bright and hot as lightning went through her head, and she stopped herself just short of asking the other woman whether she could see the man from the library. She was maybe not sober, but she wasn't about to ruin her night by making this woman think she was out of her mind.

"O...kay," Macy said, and the moment the second syllable had left her lips, the woman turned and left. Macy stared at the tray - precisely her usual order, two tacos (one chicken, one fish), black beans, no rice - then grabbed it and moved to where the strange library man had grabbed them both a seat, too stunned to be worried. Or at least too worried.

"Did...you order me tacos?" she started, then, as if a damn had broken, she went on. "But how? When? You never -- and how did you know what I wanted? And how did you know my name?"

Now that she was talking, the daze was breaking, giving way to caution, not quite fear but...nearby. This was clearly no coincidence, and far more than a chance meeting on the street. This man knew her, or enough about her to know where she worked and when she'd be getting off and her name and her fucking taco order. Who did that? And who knew that? Even her parents couldn't have pulled this off. Right?

"Is this a joke? Who...who are you?" And then, after a beat: "Also, Macy. Just Macy. Geez, dude."

 

[Peregrine]

Time was waiting, seated in one of the nicer booths in the little store, with his hands folded on top of the table. All things considered, he looked wildly out of place, far too elegant to be seated in such a shabby restaurant, backdropped by a tattered plastic booth that had been poorly patched together with duct tape. However, there was no trace of discomfort on his face, despite his settings. Instead, he offered a smile to Macy, waiting patiently for her to sit down.

"No, that isn't a joke. They're tacos." As though hoping his quip would have lightened the stiff atmosphere somewhat, Time's smile grew wider for a moment. However, a beat later and his expression fell back into seriousness. "I am Time, Macy. Not just a name, but my true, genuine identity. It is therefore a small matter to take a past order, and make sure it repeated and delivered at an appropriate moment.

"And your identity is my master. Now that you are ready, I am here to begin my service." His head bowed slightly, one hand elegantly outstretched in accompaniment. "Time is yours to command, Macy."

 

[DotCom]

Macy gave her new friend one long, slow blink, now certain, or mostly certain, she was dreaming. It was, at the very least, the explanation that made the most sense. Hell, she was a vivid, lucid dreamer even on days with no monster movie marathons, so after a long, slow day at the library, and another few hours in a haze of smoke and darkness, well. Probably she'd gotten home and gone to bed and now here she was.

She told herself this again as she gave a slow nod before finally digging into her tacos. Her nearly magic tacos.

"Right," she said slowly. "Time. Well, you definitely nailed the order, so thanks -- hey, wait, did I pay for these? Did you?" She stared at him for another moment, then back up to the woman at the counter, who already seemed bored and disinterested once again, then back to her friend.

"I don't have to call you that, do I? Time? Because that's gonna make me sound almost as crazy as you, and I have a reputation to maintain." She snorted quietly at that and took another bite of food. "If this was real, you'd know that was hilarious, because no. I don't. Or at least not one that's going to be ruined by something like that, y'know?"

She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, feeling determinedly better now that she'd settled into this bizarre dreamscape. Sort of. She could still feel the strange man staring at her, thought if she wasn't dreaming, she might have blushed. Instead, she half choked on a mouthful of tortilla and onion and said, "You...want some?"

And then, before he could answer, "Also, why does Time look like he plays bass in a midwestern garage band?"

 

[Peregrine]

Time seemed to accept Macy's agreeable attitude towards the bomb he'd just dropped in the same way that Macy was accepting his existence, with a blasé mildness that seemed to say that was the only proper thing to do at the moment, that things were as right as they could ever be. He also casually waved away Macy's questions about who paid for the tacos, as though such a small, trifling, insignificant matter wasn't even worthy of their consideration.

And, if the identity he'd just so boldly proclaimed to her was true, it was a trifling matter. After all, why would the human embodiment of the concept of time care about something like payment. Or tacos at all. How could all this be anything but far beneath his notice, if it wasn't for one thing; Macy, sitting in front of him, eating her food.

"If you are not satisfied with my name or appearance, I will naturally address the issue," he replied politely, not reaching out towards Macy's food at her offer. What good servant would dare to touch their master's food? Then again, what good servant would dare to sit face to face with their own master without being given permission, and that certainly didn't seem to be stopping Time at the moment.

"What would you prefer me to look like?" As serious as his tone seemed at first, there was still something almost joking to it. Something that seemed to say that he'd go along with her whims if she had a request, but knew it was merely because of their strange relationship at the moment. After all, how could Time's true master ever have a heartfelt objection to his appearance?

 

[DotCom]

Macy, in her increasingly distant, vaguely sleepy state, knew she hardly had any room to judge. But his words struck her nonetheless, and she made a face as she carefully examined a few stray beans.

"Well, you shouldn't let anyone tell you how to look," she said nonchalantly, spearing a single bean between two prongs of a fork she couldn't remember grabbing. God, she needed to go to bed. What would her friend say if she told him she had to leave now?

"Anyway, it's not really about satisfaction, it's just...a question. Probably would have been weirder if you looked like some Greek god of mythos, right?"

If he answered, she didn't really hear him, though that wasn't all that uncommon for anyone Macy managed to wrangle into conversation for more than a few minutes. Her mind, as always, had already drifted to trying to remember who'd played the lead in the 1981 version of Clash of the Titans. Some old guy her aunt had liked...not the Bay Watch guy, but -

Macy stopped chewing mid-bite as if she'd been struck a physical blow, feeling a bit as though lightning had struck inside her skull. There was something...too hot and fast and bright to understand fully, but she was sure it was something. With the taco still dripped salsa down one wrist, she refocused her gaze on the man sitting across from her before slowly setting the remainder of her meal down in the little paper boat on the table.

"...so...can you do that?" she asked. "Change your appearance? I mean...like, what you look like, beyond your clothes and whatever?"

There was a pause, and then quickly, before she could lose her nerve (or forget her idea), she blurted:

"Okay. Do it. Change something about yourself. Your...your eye color, or your height or something. Something that couldn't be a trick. Do it now."

 

[Peregrine]

There was a faint frown tugging at the corners of Time's lips when Macy finally looked at him again, something casual but seeming somewhat resigned, as though something he'd been expecting had just come to pass. He studied Macy for a second after she finished her request, before changing the frown into a soft and generous smile. Gently, his head inclined in a deep nod that was almost reminiscent of a bow.

"At your command, Master," said Time, before he straightened from his fake bow and placed both hands flat on the table in front of her. A second later, and the back of his hands began to pale, as though someone had suddenly put a bright light upon them. But the transformation didn't just end at that. Like a ripple spreading across a pond, the lightness spread across his hands and up his arms, before it was swallowed by the sleeves of his half-length shirt. However, a second later and the effect was back, rapidly creeping up his neck before it began to spread across his face.

Where only moments before she'd been sitting across from a man who had rich, olive colored skin, dark enough to easily be called bronze, his skin now was more than pale enough to place him in the category of 'lily white'. As though to spite the change, however, his pale blue-grey eyes and long brown hair remained the same, and even his facial features retained their same narrow elegance. Even the smile that had crossed his face had not wavered one bit.

"Something that can't be a trick," he said, extending one fair palm towards Macy, as though inviting her to inspect it. "This should be satisfactory?"

 

[DotCom]

Macy made a face again and started to protest on instinct. "Don't call me tha - "

It was far as she got before she noticed his expression. And then everything else. And just for a moment, it was thrilling, because...what if?

And then she was standing, trying very hard not to let her breathing accelerate too much, too quickly, because she came to this stupid taqueria too often to ruin it by having a bad trip on a school night.

It was a struggle, though.

"I - " she started, then stopped again, still staring at him, willing her eyes to focus or her vision to clear or just to realize he'd looked like that the whole time and it was the lighting that had changed and not her sanity.

"I...have to go. I think — I'm...I shouldn't be here. I need to go home." She turned abruptly to go, suddenly certain she was about to lose her taco and a half all over the front lawn. Then stopped, an absurd thought darting through her mind.

Yeah, it was definitely the pot. She needed a glass of water and a bed and that was it. Right?

"I...are you gonna be okay? Look, I can get you to a pay phone or whatever, but I need to get out of here, my eyes are messing with me and I hear they arrest you if you're having, like, a public meltdown in a park."

She tried to laugh and realized she sounded more than a little hysterical. Hysterical crazy, not hysterical Netflix special.

"Yeah, I'm gonna go. Thanks for dinner. I think." She turned again before her brain could whisper-scream he'd drugged her.

Home. All she had to do was get home and go to bed and forget this weird trip and it'd be a pathetic, funny story in another few weeks.

Maybe a few more time repeating it to herself and she'd actually believe it...

 

[Peregrine]

Time watched Macy shoot to her feet with an unreadable expression on his face, not stirring from where he'd been sitting. However, even though his face resembled a mask, there was worry hidden in the depths of his eyes. Had she been paying attention, it would have been possible for Macy to catch the faint sounds of him sighing as she turned her back to him. Then, the faint sound of rubber against tiles as he slid his way out of the booth and stood up behind her.

It wasn't until they were outside the little taqueria that he approached Macy again. Somewhere in the time between when he'd been sitting at the booth and right now, his skin had returned to its bronze hue, this time without the show to accompany it. As though everything that had happened inside the building had been a dream. One of his hands reached out, lightly but firmly resting against Macy's shoulder. "It's okay," he said softly. "Just breathe. You'll be alright. Let's go somewhere quiet, alright?"

 

[DotCom]

Macy started violently at his touch, but didn't, or couldn't turn around.

Fuck.

When was the last time it had been this bad? Honestly, she'd sort of forgotten about these lame little "episodes" some idiot aunt had once called them, definitely forgotten how to handled them. But that was fine. This was fine. She was fine. And he was...he was different.

Only he wasn't anymore. Was he?

God, she wasn't sure and that made it, this, so much worse.

Macy gave a strangled hiccup of an attempt to catch her breath, though she couldn't seem to get her lungs to expand anymore, which was weird because somehow she still felt like she needed to fucking breathe.

Maybe it was the light. The pale, humming industrial lights inside, the flicking orange street lights outside. Maybe she'd been seeing things the whole time, had forgotten she'd ordered food, had forgotten...fuck, and now where were they?

Home. She just needed to get home and she could breathe. She could think. She could sort through this piece by piece until she finally realized there was nothing to sort in the first place, she was tired and maybe a little too high and that was it. That was all.

Macy opened her mouth to reassure herself of as much and made a sort of muted whimper sound instead. Too open here, too exposed. She was vulnerable and alone and there was a sudden, terrible, familiar sensation of drowning in open air, like if she looked at the sky, she'd fall up into it.

"I have to go home," she said abruptly, reminding herself, trying to ground herself in that as much as the earth itself.
Only she couldn't seem to catch her breath, the air was to vast, too heavy, too thick, and she felt hot and cold and shaky all over.

"I'm fine," she half whispered, half gasped to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. "It's fine, this is fine, but I have...I have to...I...have...to..."

And then her legs gave out.

 

[Peregrine]

The instant Macy's legs began to crumple Time moved even closer, supporting her for a moment before lowering them both towards the ground. Macy didn't even appear to notice, tucking her chin and hugging her arms close around her stomach.

"Home," she whimpered, though the words were nearly indecipherable, punctuated with rapid, uneven breaths. "I have to go home. Have to go home...home..."

"Soon," Time replied, his voice calm and soothing. "But it doesn't have to be right now. Right now, just focus on breathing."

It was several minutes, during which first the tension, and then all the energy, seemed to gradually seep from Macy's body. Time's face remained a steely mask as he listened to her gradually transition from wheezing to gasping, which slowed to a quiet, breathless whimper, then to simply shaking. It hadn't quite eased fully when she raised her head to look at him, still distant, resigned...but with something else, too. Even someone else would have been able to tell she was nearly pleading with what remained of her voice, let alone Time, who called her his Master.

"I...I need to go home. Okay? Please. I need to go home now."

Time nodded gently, hoisting Macy to her feet. "Yes," he agreed, supporting her from one arm as though he was leading a blind person. "Let's go home."

Macy didn't say a word as they walked, their progress slow and halting since she refused to lift her head from the ground, or sometimes even open her eyes. Time remained patient, guiding her around the obstacles that appeared in front of them, supporting her whenever her legs once more began to shake. However, she never tried to resist following him. If she knew or cared where they were headed, if she understood even who it was who guided her, she gave no sign. The only thing she reacted to was when their movement slowed to a halt. After Time brought her to a stop for the first time, waiting for a light to change, Macy had begun to panic once again. If it wasn't for Time, who held her in place and kept her from moving, it was likely that she would have ended up stumbling blindly into traffic. After that, they'd stopped waiting at corners, the lights in their direction somehow always seeming to be green, as though the city itself was funneling them towards their destination.

She was just shy of coherent when they reached the small two bedroom home at the far edge of the residential sector. Despite the fact that Macy had locked the door before she left, it opened easily when Time's fingers turned the knob, the hinges creaking slightly. As soon as they were in, Time released Macy, allowing her to make a beeline for the couch where the strength seemed to leave her once more. For a moment, she sat vacant and trembling, seeming, for a moment, as if she were going to work herself up again.

Time sat down next to her, not quite touching, but close enough that she'd be able to feel his presence. "It's alright," he told her, voice even softer than when he'd spoken outside. "You're home, Macy. You can go to sleep now, and it'll all be better when you wake up tomorrow."

For this first time, she seemed to hear him, if not quite understand him. She raised her head slowly, watched him for a long moment, then nodded once, and laid down. Her breathing eased in a matter of minutes, and the shaking followed not long after.

It was only once Macy was deeply asleep that Time stirred from his position beside her, standing from the couch before carefully lifting Macy into his arms. With steady steps, he carried her into her room, setting her down on the bed. Only after he'd taken off her shoes and tucked her into the covers did he retreat from the room, closing the door softly behind him.

 

[DotCom]

She woke to the smell of coffee and the vague but pervasive sense she'd overdone it.

With a noise somewhere between a groan and a scoff, Macy raked a hand through her hair and half rolled over to grab the water bottle beside her bed. She reflexively braced for a lukewarm, plastic-tinted affair and was pleasantly surprised by cool, fresh water. So at least she'd managed to do that before bed. Maybe she wasn't quite hopeless.

She yawned and drained half the bottle in a few long drags, then sat up, yawned again, and finished, all while running through the steps of her evening and trying to ignore the growing sense that she was forgetting something important. It felt like a dream, almost, something not quite scary, but weird enough to leave her with goosebumps on this side of wakefulness. Granted, between a semi-nocturnal schedule, too many monster movies, and a fair amount of weed, strange dreams were far from unusual for Macy.

The feeling that she was missing something, though...that she didn't love.

Frowning, she stood to find she'd also managed to fall asleep with her clothes from the previous day on. She rolled her eyes and squinted at the clock on the nightstand. Just after 7am, weird on its own, even if she did have work in an hour). Weirder still...she was sure now she hadn't imagined the smell of coffee, and her roommate, if he was even home, rarely drank the stuff.

She took two steps toward her bedroom door and then stopped short.

"Shit," she said aloud.

The man who'd...confronted? her last night, claiming to be Time. She'd thought he was drunk, and then crazy, and then just weird. And then...and then he'd done something - right? - and she'd freaked out, and now she was here, and...was he?

"Shit," she said again, now moving toward the kitchen. Had she let him in? He hadn't seemed dangerous, but you didn't have to be all the dangerous to be a problem if some stoned idiot let you into their home.

She was already trying to figure out what she'd say, what could possibly make any sense, when she reached the threshold of their cramped but cozy little kitchen, and stopped short again.

There was the guy from last night, about whom she should probably have been worried. But Macy's eyes were on the window, or more specifically, the treacherous little corner she'd always privately referred to as her 'breakfast nook'. Privately, because she hardly spoke to her roommate even when he was home, and neither of them were in the habit of inviting people over, particularly for breakfast. It was Macy's secret bright spot, her daily commune with the gods of sugar and old movies, when she'd grab her laptop, wriggle into the narrow sill against the eastern window, and slowly, methodically devour her favorite breakfast from the age of fifteen: one mug of steaming coffee with entirely too much cream, and two strawberry Pop Tarts, one frozen, one toasted, slightly burned.

It was insane and childish and intensely private, and Macy doubted even her mother knew about it, and yet there it was, waiting atop her laptop in the window under a shaft of sunlight.

Macy stared for a long moment, mouth agape, then turned to look at him. At Time.

She said, "So...I guess we should talk." Then, after a beat, "Do you want some coffee?"

 

[Peregrine]

A soft "Good morning," was Time's greeting for Macy when she emerged from within her room, looking slightly bedraggled and hardly improved from her night of rest. At least she wasn't outright panicking anymore, which Time seemed to consider enough of an improvement. As for the coffee and pop-tarts, they seemed prepared with near flawless precision, steam clearly still rising from the coffee mug, showing that it had only come out of the brewer a few minutes ago, and heat radiating from the one, slightly darkened, Pop Tart.

For his part, Time was seated at the little table, the chair pushed back slightly so that he could face into the corner, without being so close that it would feel as though he was intruding into Macy's space. His legs were crossed one over the other, his hands folded in his lap, the perfect image of a patient, polite house guest.

At Macy's questions, Time shook his head slightly. "No," he said, simply gesturing to the prepared breakfast. "It is for you, I do not need any." As for Macy's comment that they needed to talk, it did not earn any reaction from him. Instead, it seemed that he considered Macy's reception to the food far more important than any particular concern he might have over what she wanted to say to him. All the same, he waited silently after declining her offer, clearly welcoming her to continue speaking, or sit down and eat her breakfast instead, if she should so please.

 

[DotCom]

Macy stared at him for another long moment until her stomach growled faintly. She blinked once, feeling as though she'd woken into another dream, then shook herself, exhaled, and made a beeline for the window, tucking herself into the little corner, her back against the sun-warmed glass. It wasn't her usual position, and she'd left her laptop on her bed, but just the morning, she wasn't sure she'd be able to focus, anyway. She'd probably be late for work, too, but that was a future Macy problem.

Instead, she balanced the plate he'd made on one knee, the steaming mug of coffee on the other, holding it there until it burned, then slowly lifting it to her lips. All the while, never looking away from the man at her table.

She was...pretty sure he wasn't going to attack her. Slightly less sure he wasn't crazy. He was, at least, very sure he was telling the truth, and he'd yet to prove himself dangerous. And he was in her house now, so maybe the time for caution was past.

In any case, he'd helped her last night. She couldn't remember much, but she knew that, somehow. And now...this...Well. She had questions, and answers would be far more satisfying than kicking him out. Hopefully she didn't die or freak out again in the process.

"Um...sorry about...last night, I guess. I didn't know I still..." She gestured vaguely at nothing and made a face. "Being high is supposed to fix that, but I guess if it's a weird enough night, anything could be a trigger."

She took a swig of coffee and winced, delighting at the way it scalded her throat on the way down, before turning to look at him appraisingly.

"So, anyway," she said. "Assuming we get past this whole thing of you being in my kitchen and getting my preferred meal exactly right again...why me?"