CHAPTER TWO
lips of honey

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THE SUN WAS GOING down, turning the sky into the burnt amber of a firefly's abdomen, and Nadine Vidal had yet to find somewhere to stay. The issue with being sent back twenty-eight years before she was even pushed out of her mother's womb was that, technically, she didn't exist. There were no birth certificates, driver's licenses, or other pieces of I.D on her person that weren't from the future, which made it exceedingly difficult to go anywhere or buy anything. Although she did have money—though only a few dollars, the rest of which left behind at the collapsed Academy—it, too, was useless. Money was different in 1961 than it was in 2019, which meant that handing over her futuristic bills probably wouldn't be the best idea. This meant that right now, Nadine's only possible means of payments were her looks—and even those were failing.

Although the racist back at Stadtler's had obviously been too busy gaping at her chest to notice, Nadine was looking quite rough. She'd stared into the window of a mom-and-pop store as she'd made her way through Dallas, and found that the bandages wrapped around her head were blood-spotted and peeling. Dirt speckled her cheeks, a cut had opened near her eye (likely sometime during the fight at the Icarus Theatre), and, although Nadine had attempted to wring her hair out and tie into a ponytail, her hair was still a bird's nest.

Plus, she was still wearing those fucking bowling shoes.

People may have been able to bypass all of these flaws earlier, focusing on her creamy skin or wide blue eyes, but now, when it was almost dark, she became yet another creep that haunted Dallas's streets. A limping, wild-haired, eye-bagged (it hadn't taken her long to become incredibly jetlagged—she'd left 2019 in the evening, and dropped into Dallas in the early morning) creep. Someone people would give a wide berth to.

She'd already gone through her pockets in an attempt to discern what had come along to 1961 with her. Other than her clothes, her pickings were despairingly small. She had her wallet, containing the present-day money, her useless I.Ds, and a picture of she and her father on her tenth birthday (Beau was beaming, balloon in hand, and Nadine was spooning cake into her mouth, party hat slipping over her eyes), and her cellphone, which refused to turn on. She wasn't sure if it was because it had run out of battery (though that wouldn't surprise her) or because it simply couldn't work here, as it hadn't been invented yet. Either way, it had quickly become nothing but a piece of junk. It certainly wouldn't help her build a temporary life here.

Now, there was nothing to do but walk. So walk she did, until her legs were as sore as the rest of her body, and her stomach had seized up with hunger. She hadn't eaten all day—nearly two days, now—and she was beginning to regret not filling her stomach up at Stadtler's when she'd had a chance. As for fluids, she'd managed a few sips of water from a fountain, but that had been hours ago. Now, her tongue was as dry as sandpaper.

She wasn't an idiot. She knew she couldn't continue like this forever. Her whole body seemed as if it were set on collapsing on her, with aches and pains and a stiffness that settled deep into the grooves of her bones. If she wanted to survive the night, she needed to find somewhere to stay, soon. Otherwise, she might close her eyes and never open them again.

Eventually, when her entire body groaned in protest every time she took a step, she found herself in front of an old motel at the end of the street. According to a flaking sign perched in front of it, it was called The Sunrise Cove. But although this name brought to mind a tranquil blue lagoon, lit up by the mandarin of sunrise, the actual motel left much to be desired. With only a few banged-up cars sitting in the parking lot, the motel was practically crumbling. Ivy crawled up the walls, the paint was peeled and faded, and some of the lights seemed to be flickering. Still, it boasted $3 PER NIGHT, which was probably the best she was going to get. How she was going to manage to pay for a room without any real money... well, she could figure that out once she'd gotten inside. For now, though, she just needed to get out of the elements, maybe sit down. Even if it was only for a few minutes.

A bell jingled as she pushed her way through the door, and a blast of cold air—too much cold air—blasted her in the face, sending goosebumps sweeping up her arms. At the sound of her arrival, the motel's receptionist—who, before now, had been sitting idly at the front desk, reading a magazine—looked up. As she took in Nadine's haggard appearance, her eyes widened.

The first thing Nadine noticed was that she was around her age, perhaps a year or two younger. The second was her face, which was, for all intents and purposes, quite lovely. Her hair was shoulder-length and dark, her cheeks were rose pink, and her thin lips were pursed in concern.

Inadvertently, Nadine's heart rate increased.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked. She had a voice as lovely as her face, and it put Nadine in mind of honey, of all things sugary.

Nadine blanched. Now that she was in here, she realized she really didn't have an idea for what came next. She couldn't ask for a room, not when she couldn't pay a cent. Nor could she even ask to use the phone—here, she had nobody to call. As for sitting down... well, considering the only chair in the room was teetering dangerously on three legs, Nadine figured that was out, too.

So she just stood there, blinking dumbly in the flickering light, until the receptionist got to her feet. Her eyebrows pressed together in concern. "Are you all right?" she asked, hustling out from behind the desk. "You've got—you've got blood on your face. Do you need me to call someone?"

Nadine opened her mouth, but no words came out. All of a sudden, like a great avalanche, everything that had occurred today alone came crashing down on her.

Vanya's bow, cutting into Allison's throat like a knife into fruit.

Harold Jenkins, slamming her head against the wall.

Harold's corpse, a pincushion of kitchen utensils, surrounded by so much blood.

Luther's hand around her collar, interrogating her as Vanya desperately pounded against the door of her prison, loosing screams nobody could hear.

(If nobody could hear you scream, were you even screaming at all?)

Diego and Klaus's hands on her, dragging her away from Vanya. The Academy collapsing, debris knocking Nadine's shoulder from its socket. Grace blowing Diego a final kiss before the building crumbled under her feet. The goons from the Commission, bursting into Super Star and raining gunfire down on the Umbrella Academy while Saturday Night by Bay City Rollers played. Vanya, in that white suit, playing a concert that the world's fate depended on. An energy-sucking beam that pulled the life out of Nadine. The gunshot that had ended everything. Chunks of the moon, drifting towards Earth. The world disappearing in a flash of blue light, right before it died.

(Was it the end of the world, or the end of one?)

Her mind went even farther. That day in the alleyway, with cartoon masks grinning at her as a bullet tore into her shoulder. Months of recovery, and the mental and physical scars that had come with it. The night Louise had stroked Nadine's hair and whispered about how she loved her when she was asleep.

Nadine clenched her fists, hard enough that her nails dug crescents into the soft skin of her palms. The pain, however faint, was enough to jolt her back into reality. Now, when she blinked, she didn't see the dull white walls of her hospital room. Instead, she saw the flaking ones of Dallas, Texas, 1961, and the concerned face of The Sunrise Cove's receptionist, who she still hadn't responded to.

She opened her mouth again, but she couldn't think of what to say. Her thoughts blurred together in a jumble, all of them in French. She was scarcely able to translate them into English, much less say them aloud. She was... she was completely and utterly helpless, and any minute now, she'd be tossed out of the motel. Perhaps she'd find an alleyway to sleep in tonight. Perhaps she'd lay down, and never get up again.

But instead of the receptionist thrusting her out of The Sunrise Cove, the woman's face softened, and she took Nadine's arm with feather-light fingers. "Come with me," she said. "I'm here to help you, I promise."

When she smiled, it was warm and comforting as a blanket over weary shoulders. "I'm Molly. Molly Hamasaki."

"Nadine." Finally, Nadine managed to let a word loose. It jostled in her throat, coming out thinner than she would've liked, but it was something, and right now, that was all that mattered.

"Nadine." The name was delicious coming from the receptionist's (Molly) lips. "Here."

Molly led Nadine outside and through the parking lot. By now, the sun had completed its descent beneath the horizon, and the sky was a deep indigo, speckled with a few stars. The light pollution coming from Dallas blocked out the rest.

They stopped at one of the rooms on the bottom floor of the motel, and Molly procured a key, unlocking the door and pushing it open. When Nadine stepped inside, she was greeted by a small, slightly dusty room. It had a small bed tucked into one corner (the duvet was patterned with daisies), a window that overlooked the parking lot, a sickly yellow lamp, a desk with a rotary phone, and a painting of an ocean hung on one of the walls. It wasn't the most extravagant place Nadine had ever stayed at (Her room at Le Petit Montagne had been near twice this size), but it was nicer than she had expected.

Although a large portion of Nadine's mind was still reliving all of the events from the past few days, a fragment of it managed to wonder why Molly had taken her here. How was she going to help?

"Sit down," said Molly, soft enough that it was a suggestion instead of an order. Nadine obliged regardless, settling down onto the bed, which groaned under her weight. It was thin, but she didn't mind. She'd spent enough of a portion of her life in motels and hotels to be used to uncomfortable beds. At times, she actually slept better in them.

"I thought it might be better in here," Molly said, looking down at the carpeted floor. "I mean, granted, it's not the nicest of places, but it isn't completely horrible, either. Now... um, do you have anyone I could contact?"

Nadine shook her head. She was alone. She was so fucking alone.

Molly sucked in a breath. "Okay. Well, um, stay here. I'll be right back."

Nadine stayed, because she didn't have anywhere else to go. At least in here, it was cool, and closed-off, away from judging eyes. She closed her own, attempting to take deep breaths in through her nose. Pull it together, Nadine. Her heart was jackrabbiting in her chest, as if some kind of danger was upon her, and a sheen of sweat shone on her brow. It made her realize how numb she'd been all week. Sure, she'd definitely lost her shit a few times—especially after Vanya had cut Allison's throat—but those freak-outs seemed like nothing compared to the torrent of emotion that swelled over her now. This week truly had been a Week of Hell, and she'd been too busy trying to survive it to really attempt to come to terms with everything that had happened.

Molly came back only a few minutes later, emerging from what Nadine judged to be the bathroom. She carried a wet cloth, a towel, and a soft robe, all of which she proceeded to hand over to Nadine. "Here," she said gently. "You can... you can clean yourself up for now, if you want. Is... is, um, your head still bleeding? Do you need me to go get the medical kit?"

Nadine raised a hand, touching the pad of her finger to the cut near her eye. It came away speckled with dried blood, not fresh. "No," she said, and put the wet cloth to the sore. "It's not bleeding anymore."

"Okay." Molly exhaled, and then, with nowhere else to sit, sank down into the desk chair. "I'm sorry. I've never done this before. I've gotten a lot of guests at this motel, but none of them were ever injured. So... Nadine, you said your name was? Do you... do you need a place to stay? Is that why you came here?"

"I don't have any money," said Nadine, cleaning the blood from her face. She hated how pathetic her voice sounded, even if it was a step up from her temporary mutism. "I... I don't have anything. I'm sorry."

Molly exhaled, puffing out her cheeks. "That's—that's all right. I mean, it's been a slow few days anyway, and I'm sure my boss will understand if you stay here for a night or two. I mean, if you want to. I'm not pressuring you or anything."

"I... thank you," Nadine whispered. An inordinate amount of exhaustion swept over her, and it was all she could do to keep herself from descending into blissful darkness. She had a place to stay. She wouldn't have to go back out on the street. She had a bed for tonight, at least.

"May I..." Molly swallowed, her throat bobbing. "Can you tell me what happened? Only if you're comfortable, of course, but... oh Lord, I'm sorry. I'm being so unprofessional right now."

Nadine licked her lips. The skin there was beginning to split. "Car accident," she said eventually.

"Lord... and you're sure you're all right? No broken bones or anything?"

Nadine rolled her shoulder experimentally, but she found that the pain had diminished. "I... I dislocated my shoulder," she admitted. "But I managed to pop it back into place. It hurt, at first, but it feels all right now." She cleared her throat, trying to muster the old Nadine vigour back into her voice. She hated feeling like this, hated being someone's charity case. She hated that no matter how strong she got, she could never quite manage to protect herself. "I'm okay, honestly. I think... I think that I was just in shock. I'm sorry if I... I'm sorry if I scared you."

Molly sank back in her seat. "It's okay," she said. "I mean, of course, it's okay. I'm just glad you're okay."

Nadine nodded. "Thank you. I was... I was very lucky."

Molly gave her a comforting look, then stood up. "I'm sorry to say it, Nadine, but I need to get back to the front desk. I'm close by, though, I promise, and if you need anything, you can come back and find me. You can have this room for as long as you need—here are the keys," she added tossing them to Nadine. When Nadine caught them, Molly continued, "But if you need clothes, food, toiletries, anything like that... just let me know, all right? I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," said Nadine for the third time. "You've been so kind. I don't... I don't know what I would've done without your help."

Molly smiled, and it sent heat into Nadine's core. "Of course," she said. "Don't worry about it. I know what it's like to be—" she cut herself off, shaking her head. "I mean, I'm just being a decent person. Anyone could see that you were in need of help."

"But not everyone would help. I promise, I'll find a way to repay you for all of this."

"You don't have to," said Molly. "Honestly. I'm just—I'm just paying it forward, you know? When I was younger... I wasn't in the best place. There were certain things... I, um, I had trouble dealing with. But I had someone then, someone who hardly knew me but was there for me regardless. He helped me through it, and I've told myself ever since then that I'm going to find a way to one day put that energy back into the world. And now, here you are, needing my help."

Nadine set her towel down. "Then I promise that, once I'm back on my feet, I'll do the same. I think that's a good way to think—paying it forward, I mean. It's nice, I think. To know that I would give to others what I got for myself."

Throughout her life, Nadine had been mostly focused on revenge. An eye for an eye, an arm for an arm. What you gave out got dished back to you. She'd never been good with words, with people, but she had been good with her fists, so they were her preferred method of confrontation. She didn't offer comfort; she offered solace in the knowledge that those who hurt the people she cared about got their ass handed to them. But after that night with Klaus in the Umbrella Academy's living room, she'd begun to realize the value of consolation, too. She wasn't sure if it was completely her thing, but perhaps she could try it out.

Molly bid Nadine goodnight and left her alone in the motel room. As soon as the door clicked shut, Nadine closed her eyes, taking in yet another deep breath. Molly's kindness had reigned in some of the heaviness that had overtaken her, but now, with her gone, everything was starting to come back out again. To prevent her brain from descending back into another rerun of the trauma this week had brought Nadine, she got to her feet, taking the robe in her arms and padding into the bathroom. It was small, just wide enough for her to stand in the middle and stretch her arms out, and contained a dingy shower, a rusting sink, and a toilet. Immediately, Nadine tore off her dress and stepped into the shower, eager to wash the day's blood and muck off of herself. Perhaps, like before, she could attempt to scrub the memories away.

The water was too cold, and the stream was too thin, but Nadine didn't mind. She just rubbed soap through her hair and down her body, closed her eyes, and imagined she was anywhere but here.

IN THE MORNING, Nadine cut her hair. There were a pair of rusted scissors under the equally rusted sink, and when she slid them out, she stared upon their blades for a few minutes. One hand threaded through her golden locks, the length of which had bugged her ever since she'd broken up with Camille (when they were together, the nickname Camille had given her—Rapunzel—had been sweet, a little silly, but now, with their break-up, the epithet had rotted into an insult). At first, it was difficult to muster up the courage to snip. But then, yet again, her mind flashed back to the past week, and before Nadine knew it, she was closing the scissors, letting tufts of blonde hair float down into the sink.

Cutting her hair felt like cutting off parts of herself. The parts that were weak, traumatized. The parts that had all banded together last night and given her a panic attack in front of Molly. The parts that had frozen up when Hazel and Cha-Cha had invaded the Umbrella Academy, and again when Harold had drawn out the gun in the cabin. The parts that had caused her to fail, yesterday. The parts that had let the world end.

She continued cutting, and it felt like freedom. It felt like release. It felt like a sigh of relief.

When she was done, she turned on the water. The vaguely uneven stream washed her hair down the drain, leaving her behind.

It took her a few minutes to drag her eyes from the gurgling sink up to the mirror. When she did, she found herself face-to-face with a hollow-eyed woman. Purple half-moons shadowed her eyes, her skin was blanched, and there was a certain gauntness to her face that definitely hadn't been there last week. Although she'd changed the bandages on her head, the ones that covered the cracks in her skull from where Harold had slammed her against the wall, it was as if she could still see the fissures. Her shoulder was bruised purple and black.

But her hair was hers. Instead of rippling down her back, a waterfall of gold, it curled just above her chin. It was matted (though leagues better than the bird's nest it had been yesterday) and slightly uneven. Nadine adjusted the cut, relishing the way she could shape herself with just a twitch of her fingers. When it had all formed a vaguely straight line, she exhaled. For the first time since she'd arrived in 1961, she truly felt like she could breathe.

Nadine was broken out of her contemplations by a knock on the motel room's door. Hastily, she looked down at herself. She was wearing nothing but the robe Molly had given her last night—her 2019 dress lay in a puddle on the shower floor, soaking wet after a futile attempt to rinse it. She clutched it close to her as she headed for the day. It wasn't as if she minded showing a bit of skin, but this was 1961. She assumed that things would be a little more prudish here.

When she pulled open the door, she found Molly Hamasaki with a cup of coffee and a paper bag. The receptionist was wearing a mint-green shift this morning, and her hair, which was now only slightly longer than Nadine's, had been curled at the ends. It seemed as if she was just about to say hello when she fully took in Nadine's appearance. Her eyes widened..

"You... um, you cut your hair," she blurted, then immediately pinked. It had obviously not been what she'd wanted to start the conversation with.

Nadine just gave her a ghost of a smile, ignoring the way her heart rate had increased again. "Do you like it?" she asked, sliding a hand through her new and improved locks. "I was, euh, tired of my old look. I wanted some change."

"You look... really pretty," said Molly, then cleared her throats. Her already pink cheeks darkened to crimson. "Sorry. I mean, you are, but... um, never mind. What I was going to say is that I brought you breakfast." She held up the coffee and the paper bag. "I know I said yesterday you could come to me for food, but you didn't, and... I don't know, I thought you still might be hungry? Anyway, I got this for you."

Now it was Nadine's turn to blush. "Really?" she asked, her already rapidly beating heart increasing in speed. "That's... that's very kind of you. Thank you."

"I was just... worried about you," said Molly. "I mean, I know you said you were all right, but car accidents are no joke."

"I know. I was very lucky to get out of there with as few injuries as I did."

Molly nodded. "Anyway, I wasn't sure if you have any dietary restrictions, so I hope a breakfast sandwich is all right... unless you're vegetarian. Are you vegetarian? Or vegan? If you are, I can totally run out and get something else—"

Nadine shook her head, stopping Molly before she could go on a tangent. "No, no, I'm not vegetarian or vegan. I'm not picky at all, really. I do have a kiwi allergy, but how many times in a day are you served kiwi? And I suppose American food is very different from French food, but I've gotten used to it, too."

She cut herself off before she could say more. What was wrong with her? Telling Molly she had a kiwi allergy? Who cared about that? She shifted from foot to foot, feeling as if her entire face was seconds away from lighting on fire. God, her attraction to women could come out at very inconvenient times.

"So you are from France," said Molly. "I noticed the accent, but I wasn't entirely sure. So, when, um, when did you come to America?"

Nadine swallowed. It had only been just over a week, but it felt like a thousand years since her plane had landed on American soil. "A while ago," she said eventually. "Though I still haven't gotten completely used to life here yet. As you can tell, my English is not exactly perfect."

"Well, between you and me, I think you speak English like a local," admitted Molly. Something lit up in Nadine's stomach at the comment, and before she could question it, an old conversation drifted into her mind.

"My English has gotten way better, and I have only been here for three days!" Nadine said to Vanya, standing in the street after she'd first met Harold. "Soon I'll be speaking it like a native."

"You practically are already," replied Vanya with a grin, a smile that radiated sunbeams.

Nadine bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood. "Thank you again," she said eventually, taking Molly's breakfast in hand. "You're very sweet."

Now it was Molly's turn to grin.

Nadine tried to smile back, a real smile, but the corners of her lips couldn't quite manage to turn up. Not after yesterday. Not after she'd nearly been swept up by the end of the world. Molly definitely noticed, but to her credit, she didn't say anything. She instead reminded Nadine that she would be at the front desk if she needed anything, waved goodbye, and headed back to her post. Nadine, bewildered by the unexpected stream of gifts, stood in the doorway for a few moments, then headed back inside. She really was starving. And that breakfast sandwich smelled heavenly.

As she sat down on the edge of her bed and tucked into her breakfast, praying that Five would find her soon. She'd only been with the Umbrella Academy for a week, but with them, she'd truly felt like a part of a team. Now, she couldn't help but feel alone. No haircuts or kind receptionists could fix that.

Five is coming, she told herself, brushing sesame seeds off of her bed. She knew he was. She knew she wouldn't have to stay here forever.

Nadine finished her sandwich, lay back down in bed, and stared at the ceiling. Five is coming. Five is coming. Five is coming.

She was only half-right. Because although Five Hargreeves would one day insert himself into her life again, that day wouldn't come for a long, long time. So long, in fact, that before he dropped in, Nadine would've longed stopped believing she'd ever seen him again.

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HAVEN: there she is!! everyone, i'd like to introduce you to a character i have been WAITING to show to the world for a year now... molly hamasaki!! i probably say this with every single one of my ocs, but she is genuinely one of my favourite characters i have ever written. she is a ball of sunshine and her relationship with nadine is so so precious to me. i love her so so much, and i'm so glad you guys can finally meet her <333 

also, shoutout to molly's faceclaim, karen fukuhara, for voice acting TWO amazing pink-and-purple girls that i love with my whole heart :)) 

(fun fact: i actually cast karen fukuhara as molly BEFORE i'd seen either she-ra or kipo. watching both of these shows only solidified that she was the perfect casting for molly)

(this is also your sign to watch kipo and the age of wonderbeasts, which is a CRIMINALLY underrated show with amazing worldbuilding, characters, music, and animation!!)

since i now have all of this book prewritten, i'll probably be updating sort of frequently?? it still takes a while to edit, but i'll feel more confident working on this than trail of the fireflies, which only has twenty chapters prewritten. it's gonna be yet another wild ride, folks!!

thank you for reading <3333