He slips, again.

Not in the throes of a nightmare, but while ill with the flu. Little Olive had, had her turn with it the week before. Now, though, despite his best efforts not to get it, he had been struck with it, the night before. His father's creamed spinach and lasagna returning for an encore.

Now, here he is, stuck in bed and desperate for the door not to open again. Last time, someone entered his room, it'd been with a thermometer in hand and he'd been forced to let Fiona document just how high his fever was. At least, it wasn't Emma. Compared to her, he's practically a frozen tundra. Doesn't matter who, though. He doesn't want anyone coming in. Especially Miss Peregrine.

No luck, though.

The door opens with a squeak and Jake turns his face into his pillow both to hide his groan and hide from whoever was coming in. The click of shoes is familiar; slightly off-beat and a short, clipped noise instead of the stomping click of his mother's heels. His mattress dips - just barely - under her weight and he feels her hand on his shoulder.

"Will you please look at me, Jake?"

"'o 'way." in typical sixteen-year-old boy fashion, he grunts the words into his pillow.

"Now, Jacob," Alma adopts what the other peculiars have deemed her 'disappointed Mommy' voice. It's stern but loving with just enough sadness to cause a guilt trip. "I want you to look at me, this instant."

Ouch.

That is pretty damn effective.

Jake rolls over without another word of protest; heavy, drowsy eyes barely able to meet those of his mentor. "Hi."

"Hello, Jake."

Her smile is that mix of mischief and warmth and that strong maternal presence that forms an almost visible aura around her. In another life, this woman would have been a fantastic mother to her own kids. But, this is her lifetime and the peculiars are as close to children as she'll ever have, Jacob supposes.

"When I was a little girl, I had dreams of being a mother." Alma confesses, as if reading his mind. "Of course, that was never to happen but I have the peculiars and they fulfill those dreams. You do, too."

"I called you - "

"I know, Jake." her eyes dampen and she rubs soothing circles on his shoulder. "It is quite alright. You were having a nightmare. You needed comfort."

"But my Mom was there, and I..." his cheeks flush and he attempts to hide in shame. "I pushed her away."

"I have a theory about that, actually." she slips a hand into his thick, dark hair. "I think you were dreaming about a hollowghast and your peculiarity took over. You wanted someone familiar. You wanted another peculiar. I was the only other one in the room."

"But, why did I call you Mama?" Jacob looks up at her.

"I..." Alma's lost for words but it doesn't take her long. "I do not know, Jacob. But that is not important. I do know this. If you and the others are as close as I will ever know to be my children then I am a very lucky ymbryne."

Jacob shifts, tugging the blankets along with him as he curls up and rests his head in her lap. The familiar scent of smoke and tea and salt and flowers soothes him and he feels the deep ache in the back of his head subside. He slings an arm across her knees and lets himself feel like a little boy, for a moment while she rubs his head and his shoulders.

In this little moment of silence and vulnerability, Alma just catches his hoarse voice murmur, "Love you, Mama."

Tears sting her eyes.

Very lucky ymbryne, indeed.