A/N: Okay so it's challenge time at the FCG again and I thought this time I'd do something a little different. The challenge this time was 1k-8k words, rated MA or lower, must use the line "I'm really starting to adjust to..." must reference "Iron Man" and must take place in summer. This peice was written for the wonderful book "The Time Traveler's Wife" by Audrey Niffnegger. Please enjoy.

"When Were You?"

Tuesday, July 10, 2018. (Clare is 47, Alba is 16)

ALBA: The sky was an array of warm colors. Oranges, pinks, even flecks of bright golden spread thickly through the sky, pouring into all of the cracks of the horizon. The trees and surrounding rooftops were all bathed in the summer morning glow as suburban creatures all started to slowly come to life in a chorus of chirps, tweets, and the occasional bark from a dog. It seemed as though the entire tiny neighborhood was eager to welcome the new day.

Sixteen year old Alba DeTamble, however, was not as eager to watch the morning come to life. She rolled over, stark naked, on her front lawn and tried to regain her senses as she hesitantly cracked one eye open and cringed at the offensive brightness coming from all around her. Slowly, her wits came back to her, though, and she scrambled to her feet and into her home.

Her mother stood from the couch, where she'd obviously been waiting up for a couple of hours, and came forward. She wrapped a blanket around Alba's naked form, and pulled her into a gentle hug. There was no chide, no clicking of her tongue, no disappointed remarks at her daughter's state; instead she simply showered her in the warm and welcoming touch of a Mother's love. Alba felt herself being pulled towards the couch and succumbed when her mother pulled her down, cradling her torso in her arms. She settled her head on her mother's shoulder, peering through mere slits in her droopy eyes as she watched a strand of her mother's bright copper hair dance in the current of her breath.

Finally, with her voice quaking just above a whisper, her mother asked the inevitable question; "When were you?"

"May 18, 1994," Alba whispered back, pulling the blanket tighter around her as she snuggled closer to her mother, selfishly consuming her warmth. The house was chilly and dark with no light on save the flood of sunlight that crept between the cracks of the blinds, and the silent flashing movie across the room on the television - Iron Man from 2008, if Alba judged it correctly.

"We were house shopping that day," her mother answered her, her voice still low. She had a habit of remembering what she'd been doing on specific dates; it came with the lifestyle. "Did you see us? Tell me about it."

"I was in a drugstore parking lot," Alba began slowly, telling her mother the story. "It was the backyard of this huge Victorian mansion, with enough space for a family of twelve and their servants at least. It had incredible high ceilings, fireplaces with marble mantles, ornate woodwork - all of which you could see through the bare windows. It wasn't us at all, but there you and dad were, standing in this huge picture window on the second floor. You looked as though you had just fallen in love, but dad looked appalled... like it just wasn't right. You know how he is... was..."

Her mother nodded, dropped a kiss on her forehead, and said, "I remember that house. Your father loved it, deep down, I know he did; but he had his heart set on this place," her mother patted the couch next to her. "It was just a matter of time before we found it."

Time.

Something about the thought of time always made both mother and daughter shudder. For Alba, it was the way it played with her, pushing her forwards or backwards at will. Time made her a marionette, forced her to dance in and out of places at its own will. She knew for her mother it was the way it had always confined her, teasing her, forcing her to wait impatiently for her life to unfold. For her father, however, it had been his foil... and in the end it had also been his Kryptonite.

He had pushed and pulled his way through time for so many years before, in the end, it was that same ability - or quirk - that had brought him his demise. It was a responsible both for the horror story of his final moments and the lifelong romance he had with her mother. Theirs was the ultimate love story, the way her mother told it; full of romance, adventure, waiting, and even a little heartbreak. Moreover, though, it was the tale of two lovers who time itself could not even separate.

"I'm really starting to adjust to the idea that he's gone," her mother whispered. Pain, tears, even a sob were hidden in a shallow depth within her words. "And I don't like it."

"Momma you have to wait," she wrapped a hand around her mother's body, sliding it up and down her arm gently. Finally, she scooted it upwards and played it in her mother's hair. "He'll come back to you."

"Did he tell you?" her mother asked, desperation piqued in her voice. Alba secretly feared that after so many years of being so deeply involved with Chrono-Impairment her mother was losing touch with the now.

It frightened Alba how fiercely and tightly her mother clung to the past. Alba gave her the only answer she knew how, "he promised."

They were silent while they both thought about him and everything that it had meant to be him, to be involved with him, to be his daughter. Alba bit down on her lower lip and tried to force herself not to worry so much. She, unlike her mother, unlike her father even, could chose when and where she went, as well as when she went, and would always have another chance to see her father - if she wanted it. Her mother would never be so fortunate. She had made her lifetime out of waiting and it seemed she would spend every one of her remaining days waiting for him.

Alba slowly pulled away from her mother, still chewing on her lip as she rose. She cursed time as she wandered up the stairs towards her bedroom. Time had teased her with sporadic visits with her father, who sometimes didn't even know who she was. It had made her its plaything; had made her mother a shell of the woman she once was, always looking towards the past. Her father, on the occasions she did get to talk with him, had always told tales of her mother being bright, young, and always looking forward to the future. Alba wanted that back for her.

She fell onto her bed gracelessly, and had a flickering thankfulness to time for summer vacation. She liked not having to worry about school after an excursion like that. As she slowly started to fall into slumber, she mused to herself about time and her wealth of feeling towards it. She worshiped it, in a way very similar to the Catholic way her mother worshiped God. She blamed it for all of the good in her life and equally, perhaps even more-so, for all of the bad. Time had essentially become the deity that ruled her every breath of existence.

It was with that thought that she fell slowly to sleep, contemplating the clutch time held on fate and damning it all the same.

"Time is the justice that examines all offenders."

-William Shakespeare

A/N 2: The scene in time that Alba is returning from can be located on pp. 291 The description of the home is almost exactly as Clare described it. I did so intentionally. It was to highlight the likeness between mother and daughter. Plagarism was not intended. It is not word for word but is very similar. Just thought I'd clear that up. Also I know the entire novel is written in 1st person and this is written in 3rd, I have my reasons. I hope you enjoyed it! Please Review and let me know how I did. -LLK