Slowly, Then All at Once

Morning

Author's Notes: This is my first Marjumn story - a dedicated Mialotte fan, I read one Marjumn story and was hooked... only to find that there just isn't enough of it out there. So I'm jumping in!

For this story I'm going to keep Reece, but not Winter. Not sure why but unraveling Wintumn felt a little too mean. Sorry for writing you out, Winter.

"I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once." - John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

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Early mornings at The Knight Nursery were Autumn's sole domain. Long before the rest of the staff reported in and began setting up the rooms, before the parents descended and the children streamed in, before their world really began, Autumn could be found sitting peaceably in her office taking the time to settle into her day before she had to don the practiced armour of indifference that served to protect her from the world at large. It was quiet in a way that only existed in this brief moment, the only sounds to be heard the soft whisper of pages from the book she was currently devouring, and the gentle tap of the morning's first coffee hitting the desk. This was Autumn's favourite part of the day, so necessary in the maintenance of her composure for all that was to come next.

On any given day, Autumn would have at least an hour to herself before any other member of staff arrived. And, with observance born from years of necessary vigilance, she could identify each and every arrival by the opening of the door and the sound of footsteps making their path through the halls.

Chef was usually the next to appear on the premises, the door thudding behind her as she tramped towards the kitchen, her mind already prioritising the many tasks of the day, her footsteps always managing to sound just as put upon as the woman herself.

Agatha always closed the door crisply behind her, her light steps taking the short journey to her desk in her customary brisk manner.

Sorscha, like Autumn, valued her quiet time in the mornings so, though she entered the nursery with gusto, her footsteps moved quick and fast towards the staff room from which her muffled curses could be heard as she battled with the coffee maker, long since on its last legs.

Once always early, Charlotte's arrivals now varied, often delayed by lingering goodbyes and stolen moments by a black Mustang in the car park. She had come out of her shell dramatically since she had started dating Mia, but Autumn knew the woman would be mortified if she realised just how often she had seen the pair, framed so perfectly through the office window overlooking the carpark. Though quiet by nature, Charlotte's entrance to the nursery was often one of the most noticeable, accompanied as she was by the jingling sounds of her rustling through her handbag and her chipper "good morning!" as she popped her head through the office door each day - the only member of staff to do so.

And then there was Marjorie, a force of nature if Autumn had ever met one. Marjorie moved like the wind, all bluster and breeze - easily riled, instantly soothing. When Marjorie crossed the threshold, everyone knew. Words of greetings, excitement, or frustration spilled from her lips as she glided toward the office. She would inevitably be stopped countless times, never making the forty steps from door to desk without someone needing her attention. Her punctuated gait, laced with the sounds of a lilting "my love", "darling", and the occasional snappish come back, was the dividing marker of Autumn's day, the not unwelcome demarcation between the morning's solitude and the rest of her day spent in Marjorie's company.

This morning, like many others, Autumn heard the familiar tones of Marjorie's arrival and began running through her habitual routine of preparation. Her book was slipped back into her top drawer. Her shoes, casually discarded under her desk, slipped back on her feet. The soft waves of her loose hair pulled back and off her face. And, with one final deep breath and steadying reposition of her long limbs, she opened her laptop and assumed the mantle of Autumn Knight, Deputy Manager. Cool, collected, controlled. In no way emotional or dysregulated. This was the face she presented to the world.

Primed, as she now was, Autumn tapped away at her emails... but only halfheartedly as she waited for Marjorie's steps to come ever closer to the door and for the woman herself to gust forth, all big sighs and bigger gestures, flopping into her chair with abandon; the welcome squall that took up such a place of prominence in Autumn's every day. Autumn steadied herself, as she always did, for the whirlwind that was Marjorie. It was a disruption she never asked for—but somehow, never minded. She had already weighed out her greeting, her response to Marjorie's sudden presence, and she was prepared with a cocked eyebrow and a drawling jab about not being early - that Marjorie was, in fact, late once again. Preparedness being the lynchpin in her entire approach towards her manager.

And yet, in the very second Autumn would have expected Marjorie to  walk in... she did not. Autumn's eyes flicked to the clock. That was unusual. A faint tightness crept into her chest—though she would never admit she was waiting for anything at all.

And then she heard it.