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Mary had woken up one morning in the first week of February, feeling a little uneasy. She'd just finished her fifteenth assignment as a nanny (she'd been counting) and flown off with the wind. 

Up from a chimney stack flew a sheet of paper: An advertisement for a nanny in near abysmal handwriting. She'd fix that later.

The first time, the children were named Jason and Marie, their mother Gwen and their father William. The first time was the shortest. They were spoiled brats whose parents were miserable. She'd taken them to Mrs. Corry's shop for a touch of magic. She'd taken them to feed the birds with the wonderful woman on the steps of Saint Paul's cathedral. She'd brought their toys to life in an attempt to connect. Nothing managed to work. 

Eventually, the wind felt her hopelessness and changed, which it had never done before. She and the umbrella made the mutual decision to trust it, and flew off into the distance.

Then she awoke, and once again felt the deep magic barely clinging to the reality around her. Not a moment had passed. She felt the tug of the wind, and turned to her umbrella.

"Did you—"

"Remember those children? The impossibility? The wind changing it's mind without you finishing?" The umbrella finished for her, confirming her suspicions.

Mary dressed and flew away on the wind once again.

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The second time, after Mary and the umbrella had been discussing the previous non-existent week's events, another advertisement had flown into her flight path. This time the children's names were James and Jill, but the handwriting, the information, even the address, was all the same. She'd met them the same way, and they looked and acted almost identical, except for the smallest of details, like the location of freckles on the girl's face, or the mother's way of walking. When she'd nonchalantly brought it up to the matron of the house, she'd been laughed at. None of them remembered the events of the week prior.

She started again with Mrs Corry. When she arrived, the shop owner waved her over, and pulled her aside, as Mary's charges wandered off to look at the colourful letters. 

"Mary, what on earth is going on?" She'd asked. "You were in here last week with almost this exact pair of children, and you're acting like they've never seen any of it before!"

"You remember?" Mary questioned, and Mrs. Corry seemed confused. "It seems as though that week never happened at all."

"Truly?" Mrs. Corry looked around. "Well, me and the family didn't notice anything change. Other than an odd weight first thing in the morning."

"I… I feel it as well." She confessed. "Do you think it's…?" She left the next words unsaid. 

"I'm not sure." Mrs. Corry shook her head, looking back at Mary. "I trust that whatever it is will pass. It's not like you or I have to worry about time anyhow."

"True. Thank you, Mrs. Corry." Mary patted her friend on the arm, and went back to discussing letters with the children.

The second time lasted 3 weeks, before the family dismissed her, and the wind swept her away. She woke up again with no time having passed.

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Hoping to catch him at a time when he was more lucid, Mary stopped by her Uncle Albert's house before returning to the same assignment for the third time. He wasn't drinking his tea on the ceiling, so she supposed it was as good as she was getting.

"Mary, my dear! Come in, make yourself at home!" He threw his arms up in excitement. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Uncle Albert," Mary began, suddenly nervous to seem as crazy as the man she was speaking with. "Have you noticed that time has been a little… Off?"

"Ah, as it's been nearly a month, yet it's once again the same week in February?" Uncle Albert guided her to an armchair in his living room. "Yes, I have noticed that."

"Why do you think that is?" She asked, accepting the seat gracefully, and gently resting her umbrella across her knees.

"Well, I'm not quite sure." He replied, after pondering it for a moment. "But whatever it is, it will pass eventually. After all, those like us have all the time in the world!"

They had their morning tea, and the wind changed at noon. This time, she never even met the family before she woke back up.

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The sixth time, she took the children to the park first, hoping to get some real experience in with them. They complained for nearly half an hour befote she decided to have a nice stroll with a statue she recognized: Neleus, son of Poseidon. 

"Neleus! How wonderful it is to see you again." Mary curtsied to the now-reanimated man, much to the children's astonishment.

"Mary Poppins! Oh, how long must it have been since I've been able to speak with you?" Neleus bowed in respect before spinning her around by the hand. "I've seen you walking the park for weeks, but no hellos for your favourite statue?" 

"Weeks?" One of the children piped up. "Mary Poppins arrived only yesterday, you couldn't have seen her!"

"Hm?" He raised a grayed brow. "No, I'm nearly certain she's been gone and back at least a few times quite recently." 

"Neleus, pray tell, what month is it?" Mary questioned, sweetly. 

"The end of March, is it not?" Neleus' engraved expression furrowed further into finely carved confusion. Mary shook her head.

"The first week of February." Neleus seemed to want to argue, but seeing the nanny's nervous glance at the set of children, he dropped the topic and had a wonderful day of dancing with the three of them, as well as the rest of the statues in the park. 

Later, Mary came back and explained the situation to Neleus, which only caused a greater confusion for the both of them.

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The thirteenth time, (or maybe it was the fourteenth? She'd been having trouble keeping track) Mary Poppins didn't know what to do. That attempt had been the closest so far. She'd given them actual useful life skills, like the values of care and respect, and helping those less fortunate than oneself. But then, she'd woken up yet again in the first week of February. It should have been June at the very least. 

Being stuck in a cycle was beginning to become seriously detrimental to her mental state, so she'd decided that the fourteenth (or fifteenth?) would be spent relaxing in the spare room of her Uncle Albert's house. When two days passed, and the loop failed to reset, Mary decided to drag herself out of bed and run some errands for her uncle in an attempt to set her mind straight. 

How she found herself on the rooftops of London that night, however, she hadn't the faintest idea.

"Why, 'ello, Miss." A voice spoke from behind her, startling out of her trance-like observation of the stars in the distance. "'Avin a little stroll on the rooftops, are we?"

"Yes, I believe that is what I'm doing, funny you should ask." Mary remarked snarkily.

"Believe me, it ain't worth it." The voice was suddenly closer, and Mary finally turned to look. It was a chimney sweep, complete with the brush and the soot-covered face. "It'll just reset again soon."

"What?" 

"Righ', nevermind 'en, carry on." He shook his head and turned. Mary caught his hand before he could get too far away.

"How do you know about…" She trailed off. He turned around and put his hands in his pants pockets, broom resting in the crook of his elbow, as he stared out at the stars like she had been before.

"Well, still February, ain't it?" He kicked the roof, sending a piece of debris skipping. "Kinda hard not to notice somethin' like that." 

"Have you…" He looked up when she trailed off, and Mary glanced at the edge of the roof. He shrugged in response.

"Well, you spend a couple o' months doin' the same thing every day…" Mary nodded and looked back out at the sky. He mirrored her again.

"Lovely night to die." Mary suddenly spoke up after a moment of tense silence. He nodded solemnly and held a hand out for her to shake.

"A bit o' luck for the next one, then?" He nodded to his hand, and she hesitated. "Maybe that'll be it." 

"Maybe." Mary turned to the sky, then back to him. She took his hand, and shook it once, gently. "Mary Poppins."

"Herbert Alfred." He pulled his hand away and returned it to his pocket. "Most just call me Bert."

"Well, Bert, it's been a pleasure." Mary smiled sadly and opened her umbrella. She held it firmly upright, and stepped off the roof. As she floated back to her uncle's house, she heard an impressed whistle from the rooftop behind her.

Then she woke back up, in the first week of February.

He made him wonder: Did some other people that weren't magical experience the time loop the same? Could some of them remember? If not, what made him different?

On her day off, on the sixteenth time (maybe she should just stop counting, it seemed useless at this point) she ran into him sketching the statues in the park. 

"I was under the impression you were a chimney sweep." She commented, and she could have sworn she saw Neleus stifle a chuckle.

"'M more of a… "Jack of All Trades", as it were." He commented with a concentrated frown. He looked up at Neleus, where Mary was staring, and furrowed his brows as Mary noticed the statue was beginning to twitch in place. "What the…"

Neleus broke from his footing in a laugh, nearly doubling over. Bert jumped up from the ground and stared dumbly at the plinth where the statue had just been. Mary curtzied to her friend again, and he bowed back.

"I didn't know you knew my favourite screever, Mary Poppins." Neleus commented, spinning around to sit in the spot he was formerly standing.

"We met quite recently." Mary shrugged, looking down at the canvas Bert had dropped in surprise. It was quite a nice drawing. "I was also unaware he had any other jobs."

"Well, he's quite like you, you know." Neleus swung his legs playfully, like a child. "Magic and all. Can't keep him in one place too long."

"I'm not quite sure what you mean by that." Mary shook her head, and turned back to Bert. "You're a wonderful artist, I thought you should know."

"Thank you, miss Mary Poppins." Bert tipped his cap, snapping from his statue-induced trance. "I've had a while to practice."

"I'm sure." She nodded, looking down at the drawing again before continuing to walk along. Neleus laughed and vaulted himself back into place, freezing again for Bert to finish his drawing. He stared after her for a moment, before going back to his work.

That wasn't the last time they'd run into each other in the first week of February. 

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The first week of February comes yet again. Mary stopped keeping track of how many times it's been a while ago. She checks the names on the letter, a routine she's drilled deep into her head by now. Once she's done looking over it, she descends into the street in front of Number 17, Cherry Tree Lane, and knocks on the door. She's escorted inside, and she greets the parents. This time their names are George and Winifred. The father, distant as ever, leaves, allowing Mary to conduct her interview. She passes, of course, exactly as she does every time.

The children are next, this time named Jane and Michael. The boy is younger this time, he has been for a while, though he started off older, and they spent a dozen or so Februaries being twins. Their room is untidy (as it always is, until the three of them tidy it), and they whine when she suggests the park (as they always do, no matter what she suggests), but Mary continues her methodical routine of showing them her simple tricks first.

Despite the season, it's sunny (as it always is that Monday) and Mary seems to leisurely float through the park, causing the children to complain (as they do every time) and drag their feet as they trail behind her. She stops near Neleus, and surveys the other park-goers. Right on schedule, the park keeper marches past her to lecture someone painting on the pathway. The children, as always, are curious, and so Mary leads them over. The park keeper, worried about his reputation more than upholding his values, leaves, and Bert looks up with a grin.

They dance with the statues. They visit the bank. They feed the birds. They do everything exactly as they've done a hundred times, but the children seem to actually be picking things up, and for once, Mary thinks, she might have done it.

Then, the children argue with her, and for the first time in a long while, she truly doesn't know if she can continue to do it.

Mary returns to the rooftop where she'd first met Bert. He's there again, as he is on the first Wednesday every time without fail, and she relays to him her thoughts as they both dangle their legs over the side of the building. With a sigh, Bert shakes his head and leans back.

"Truth be told, Mary, 'm right' there with ya." He sighs, and Mary frowns. It makes her a bit uneasy to not hear her full name any time she's addressed (besides by her uncle, of course). She ignores it, and readies her umbrella to jump from the roof. "See you back on Monday."

When Mary jumps, nothing.

When Mary takes her things from the house, nothing.

When Mary returns to Uncle Albert's, nothing.

Mary wakes up on Thursday with nothing but a sense of confusion as to why the week didn't reset. She quickly makes her way to the park, hoping to catch Bert before his job-of-the-day, but it's raining, and so the umbrella mumbles little annoyances in her ear the whole walk there. 

"So, it's Thursday." Mary begins, walking up behind Bert, where he's stood against a tree, taking shelter from the rain. She closes her umbrella to join him more comfortably. "Very much not Monday."

"Admiral says a storm's brewin' that we ain't ready for." Bert shakes his head. "He ain't like us, but he's got a flair for the dramatic alright." 

"I hate it." Mary hisses. "Of course I hate waking up on Monday every week, thinking maybe this once I'll finally get it right, but if this is it, why? Why have me fail over and over and then finally, when I'm nearly ready to leap from the ledge, have it finally work? What have I done to deserve this?"

"How are you so sure it's you?" Bert asks, turning to her. He rests a hand on her arm comfortingly. "Maybe one of the other people like us got something wrong too. Maybe you and I are stuck in it by pure coincidence." 

"Promise me something…" Mary trails off until Bert nods for her to continue. "No matter what, we stay off the ledge. If this truly is the race, I'd like to walk alongside them, not fall."

"Eloquent as ever, Mary Poppins, every word from you's poetry, ain't it?" Bert jokes, but he isn't smiling. Mary, in return, doesn't laugh. He sighs and he breaks routine, pulling her into a comforting embrace. Mary's having trouble keeping herself from crying. "I promise, okay?"

"Thank you." She mumbles, shakily, into his shoulder.

The first week of February ends, and she returns.

The family makes up, as the second week passes.

The third week comes, and she leaves with it.

In the first week of March, Mary returns to the park.

She's looking around for someone in particular when she's startled out of her thoughts by a voice behind her. She turns on her heel.

"So…" Bert is standing a foot away, hands in his pockets. He's about to speak again, but before he can, Mary surprises them both by running and nearly knocking him over with a hug.

"It's over. It's done. We're free." She speaks in quick bursts with every breath. She's crying now, but the smile never leaves her face.

"What'd you do?" He asks, and Mary steps away, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and dotting away her tears. "After the nursery?"

"Nothing!" She's grinning widely still as she places the handkerchief back in her coat. She shakes her head and the umbrella complains about how tightly she's holding it. "Oh, shut up!"

"Why'd it break, d'you think?" Bert looks up at the sky as he finishes his question. It's about to rain again, but Mary couldn't care less.

"Maybe…" Mary thinks back on everyone she took the children to meet, every lesson she gave them, every lecture and every leisure. "Maybe they've finally learned to walk."

"You're really fond of that metaphor, ain't you, Mary?" Bert breaks routine again to call her only her first name, and for once, it doesn't feel foreign. It feels fine. Maybe she's grown fond of him, or maybe she's high on life; high on having a freedom she hasn't had in a very, very long February.

But it isn't February, it's the first week of March, and in the first week of March, she can't find a reason to be anything other than happy, as, instead of running, everyone walks.