CHAPTER THREE
man's world

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WHEN NADINE WAS younger, her father used to tell her that she was the most restless person he'd ever met. She always had to be moving, doing something—standing around had no value to her. This may have been the case for many other children, also full to the brim with energy, but quickly, Nadine's restlessness escalated to another level. Six, seven, eight, nine... those were the days she could barely stand in line at the grocery store for a couple of minutes before tugging on Beau's sleeve, or go only on the rides at theme parks with the smallest lines. And although Beau used to chide her for this ("Patience is a virtue," he'd lecture, a crease between his brows after Nadine whined about having to wait for the bathroom, or her food at a restaurant), it never stuck. Nadine would just stick her tongue out at him, because why would patience be a virtue when being patient made her miss out on so many things? In the three minutes she spent waiting for a red light to turn green, she could be going down a slide or eating a yummy treat or watching a fun-shaped cloud amble its way across the sky. There were endless possibilities, and it was obvious to Nadine that in the future, all of the time she'd lost would add up. It made her itch to think about.

As an adult, Nadine was certainly better at being patient than she was as a child, but there were still days she felt that same restless itch. November 15th, 1963—two years, one month, and fourteen days after she'd dropped into Dallas Texas, not that she was counting—was one of those days.

In the morning, she awoke burdened by the knowledge that it would be another day without the Umbrella Academy returning for her. It was such an exhausting thought that she nearly rolled over and went back to sleep, but with some internal prompting (a reminder that she hadn't missed a day in over a year now, and she didn't want to start now), she managed to garner the motivation needed to climb out of bed. The cherry-red clock on her nightstand ticked as she pulled on a pair of fuzzy slippers, and she glanced at it, reading the hour.

5:45 am. She had an hour and fifteen minutes before Molly woke up.

Enacting her usual routine, Nadine got changed, pulling on a man's jogging gear and tucking her short blonde hair under a cap. She used to run in her regular clothes, but after she'd discovered that running while dressed as a man preventing her from being catcalled (which could end badly, considering how Nadine's mouth often moved before her mind), she'd made the switch. It was unfortunate that she had to pretend to be someone else just to feel safe, but this was the '60s. It seemed that being yourself was something strictly frowned upon here.

After she'd gotten dressed, Nadine made her way outside, saying a silent goodbye to Molly, who was still asleep. Molly may have been the most responsible person Nadine had ever met, but she did have one vice, and that was sleep. In fact, she loved it so much that she set her alarm to the last possible minute, ensuring her just enough time (down to the second) to get up, make breakfast, and prepare for work. It was something Nadine could certainly respect. Before she'd gotten shot, she used to be a fairly heavy sleeper. Afterwards, she'd been diagnosed with acute insomnia. Even years later, she could never sleep as deeply as she used to, and chose instead to wake up early.

It was all right, though. Molly had everything planned to the T, an intricate routine that ensured that neither she nor Nadine would ever be late for work. At first, these mental customs had confused Nadine, but by now, it was locked in her skull, too. Prime example: Nadine knew for a fact that by the time she arrived back home from her run, Molly would be up, and making them breakfast (Nadine would offer to help, but she really was a disaster in the kitchen—so much so that she'd once gotten a second-degree burn while making fried eggs). Then they'd eat together, and their routine would continue.

The sky was orange this morning—not burnt amber, like the sunset on Nadine's first day in Dallas, but a ripe mandarin, splitting its juices into the atmosphere. Here was another reason Nadine liked waking up early—she got to see the sunrise. Sometimes it was orange, like today, but other days it was as pink as a grapefruit or the light blue of a calm sea. Sometimes it was clear, like a pond with scarcely a ripple, while others it was foggy, clouds clustering the sky like knots of rope. Today, though, only a few clouds speckled the sky, and the moon, whole and undestroyed, had not quite gone to sleep yet. Whenever Nadine saw it, she breathed a sigh of relief. It reminded her of the fate she'd narrowly escaped back in 2019, and that, despite everything, she was still alive.

Nadine took off, her feet pounding against the sidewalk. Her arms pumped. Her breathing was slow and steady. In just a few moments, this became all she focused on; all she was. Feet on gravel. The swing of two bulky arms. Rhythmic breathing.

When she ran, she didn't think about the Week of Hell with the Umbrella Academy. She didn't think about Louise, Beau, or Camille. She didn't think about Harold Jenkins, the Commission, and Hazel and Cha-Cha. She didn't think about the end of the world.

It was one of the reasons she liked her runs so much.

I'm here. I'm alive. I'm safe. I'm not alone.

Two years, one month, and fourteen days ago, Nadine had fallen into Dallas, 1961. Two years, one month, and fourteen days ago, she'd had nothing. And yet, somehow, against all odds, she'd managed to get through it. She'd built a life for herself here—even if it wasn't a life she'd have picked if given the choice. But it didn't matter whether or not the circumstances were ideal. What mattered was that she'd gotten a second chance. A new Nadine. And, surprisingly, happiness.

Happiness. Two years ago, that had been a foreign concept. Now, it was her reality.

Now, Nadine didn't wear uncomfortably tight bowling shoes—instead, her feet were typically clad in the heels so in fashion for women. She didn't wear that bloodstained polka-dotted dress, ripped from the collapse of the Umbrella Academy—now, she had a selection of colourful, chunky maxi dresses she had to admit were quite stylish. She wasn't limping, either, nor did her head throb and her shoulder pulse with a residual ache—two years later, she was healthy, skin unmarred. In fact, she was probably doing better here than she was in France, back in 2019. She maintained an excellent diet (courtesy of Molly, who turned out to be somewhat of a health nut), she exercised and stretched, she managed to keep her skin and hair flourishing. She'd made it, and even though each day that passed only made her more suspicious that she'd never see 2019 and the Umbrella Academy again, she knew she was a better person now. In her own way, she supposed she was thriving.

Nadine crossed the road, continuing her jog through the neighbourhood. It was quiet here, with rows of houses that somehow managed to be both unique and a little like the ones beside them. Because it was so early, only a few people were outside—an old man mowing his lawn, a woman smoking a cigarette on her porch, a pair of children playing Patty-Cake. None of them gave her a second look when she ran by, and she relished in the utter lack of attention.

By now, she knew her neighbourhood like the back of her hand, and therefore was able to navigate it with ease. She enjoyed the rest of her run, taking minimal breaks, and before she knew it, she was standing at the front door again. Breathing hard, Nadine took a moment before going inside, smiling when she heard the sound of Molly humming through the door, right on schedule.

After soaking up the sound of Molly's angelic voice, letting it fill every crevice of her body, Nadine finally opened the front door, making her way inside just in time for breakfast.

At the sound of the door creaking open, Molly's humming paused. "Hi, Nadine," she called instead. As usual, she was cheerful. "Omelets are almost ready, and your smoothie is in the fridge."

"Hey, Molls," said Nadine. Molly Hamasaki always managed to give her a little more strength to face the day, but she knew this wasn't going to be one of her better ones. Her run had only provided a temporary relief from the faces that had nestled into the back folds of her brain, and now that she was stagnant again, they all returned with a vengeance. Nadine clenched her fists. She may have been thriving here, but these names were the reason she would never achieve the level of happiness she strove to. The names that currently ricocheted through her brain, all of them blurring together to form one entity.

LutherDiegoAllisonKlausFiveVanyaBeau.

I'm home now, she thought fiercely. I'm safe. I'm not alone.

She didn't need to go back to 2019. Not when she had Molly.

She didn't.

In the genkan, Nadine removed her shoes and replaced them with slippers. They weren't the uwabaki that Molly wore—they were just regular fluffy pink, with purple pom-poms—but Molly had ensured her they were good enough. All that mattered was that they weren't her outdoor shoes—in Japanese culture, the outdoors was considered an extremely unclean space, and so a change in footwear was needed.

As soon as she was wearing her slippers, Nadine plodded into the kitchen. There, she found Molly, still in her nightgown, ladling omelets onto plates. Her hair sat in rollers, her feet in uwabaki, and her eyes were bright with the promise of a new day. For although Nadine and Molly may not have had their dream jobs, neither of them minded gritting their teeth for eight hours if it meant having a few blissful hours to themselves afterwards. When their shifts came to a blissful close, and they met up again, they'd have dinner and a drink and discuss the days they'd had. Often, to make it more amusing, they'd tell their stories as skits, acting out each character in an exaggerated way. Molly was certainly better at it. She had a way of making everything sound hilarious—even a story about cleaning a room at the motel could send Nadine into a laughing fit, solely by the way Molly enacted it. Nadine may not have been as entertaining, and resorted more to mocking coworkers and customers than actually dramatizing anything, but Molly didn't mind. She laughed anyway.

In her first few weeks with Molly, Nadine had learned that for this era, Molly's living situation was quite peculiar. Before Nadine had started living with her (which had happened only a week after they'd first met), Molly had been on her own. This hadn't been her choice, however—her husband, John, had died of lung cancer five years ago. Being a widow at twenty-four had been immeasurably difficult for Molly, especially since she'd only gotten to be John's wife for three years. So, even though it was customary here to remarry after recovering from her grief (she was at prime birthing age, after all), Molly decided not to. Instead, she'd taken John's inheritance, moved houses, and attempted to live her life the way she actually wanted to. This had always been something Nadine admired about her. It was no wonder the two of them had grown so close in such a short amount of time.

Now, Nadine pulled open the fridge, procuring the post-workout smoothie (almonds, oats, flax, yogurt, blueberries and bananas) she'd made last night. As she poured it into a glass, Molly ladled her breakfast onto the table. The omelet was perfect, neatly folded, and Nadine's stomach growled at the sight of it. As soon as she'd taken her seat, she dug in.

Molly sat beside her, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. Her curls bobbed a little as she did so, and a blush rose to Nadine's cheeks. Even freshly woken up, Molly was gorgeous. Her skin was almost unnaturally flawless, her eyes clear and bright, and her smile could light up a pitch-black cave. Nadine stared. Her fork hit her cheek instead of her mouth.

Molly laughed, a lovely sound. "Eyes on your food," she said, teasing. "I don't make you breakfast every day for you to stab yourself instead of eating it."

Nadine's face flamed even further, and she smiled, correcting her mistake. "Well, if you want, I can make breakfast tomorrow."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'll have to pass. I don't fancy the house going up in flames."

"I'm not that bad of a cook."

Molly laughed again, a hand over her mouth. "Not that bad? Nads, you told me you once almost burned down your kitchen trying to make a grilled cheese."

"Well, that was my first mistake. I tried to make your strange American food. It was only a matter of time before the gods tried to smite me down for it."

"Oh, shut up and eat your omelet. You know you love our food."

Nadine nearly choked on said omelet. "Pardon?"

"You talk too much."

Nadine grinned as she took another bite. "You are a far cry from the anxious woman I met at The Sunrise Cove two years ago, that's for sure."

Molly nudged her. "I guess you rubbed off of me."

Nadine shook her head, still grinning. She speared another piece of omelet on her fork, and managed to get it to her mouth without difficulty. "I do have that effect on people. Though they usually despise me for it."

Of course, that was the cue for Camille's face to bloom in the forefront of her mind, lovely and radiant as usual. Nadine's mood sobered, and batted the image away like it was an annoying gnat. She didn't want to think of Camille today. It had been years since they'd broken up, and she was fairly sure she'd finally gotten over her. Besides, they were decades and continents apart, now. Even if she wanted to see her again, she couldn't.

"Impossible," said Molly. "I can't imagine anyone despising you."

Nadine snorted. "I appreciate that, Molls, but it's a complete lie. If I made a list of everyone who hated my guts, I'd be here all day."

"I don't believe that. Name one person who hates you."

Taking a sip of her smoothie, frothing her upper lip in blue, Nadine listed, "My boss, for one. I mean, come on. I've worked with him for a year and a half now, and he's still convinced that I'm too much gibbering moron to do any actual fucking work."

"He'll come around," said Molly, unfazed by Nadine's casual cursing. She'd lived with Nadine too long to be bothered by the fact that she swore like a sailor. "You're dedicated, talented, and have twice the brains of any man who works there. Once he sees how useful you are, he'll definitely let you on the team officially. He has to."

"If he was going to do that, he would've done it on interview day, where I proved that I know what I'm talking about. No, if I'm going to be part of the team, Molls, then I've got to do it my own way."

Molly took a sip of orange juice and reached across the table to squeeze Nadine's hand. "You're so confident," she said. "I envy you for it. You don't let any man knock you down."

"Well, why should I? I'm far more capable than they'll ever be."

With an amused shake of her head, Molly took another bite of her omelet.

The two women finished breakfast in amiable silence, then continued their morning routine. After they stacked their dishes into the sink, Nadine went off to take a shower, Molly to get dressed. Nadine didn't spend long under the hot water, and before she knew it, she'd brushed her teeth, pulled on her outfit for today (a blue and pink shift), and teased her hair, forcing her straight bob to have a little more curl. After spraying on sweet perfume (Lily of the Valley, according to the label) and painting her cheeks with rouge, she met Molly at the front door, where they traded their slippers for heels and prepared to venture out.

Two years ago, when Nadine had been technically homeless, Molly had suggested she join her in working at The Sunrise Cove. The job didn't pay much, she'd warned, but it was good work, and she'd never go hungry as long as she was an employee there. This had initially seemed like the perfect offer for Nadine, so after an easy interview with Molly's panty-waist boss, Earl, she was officially part of the team.

As she'd suspected, it was an easy job, nearly identical to what she'd done at Le Petit Montagne. Comforting. Mundane. Run-of-the-mill. It was exactly the kind of work that Nadine knew she was good at. It was exactly the kind of work she should've wanted.

But it hadn't taken long before an itch was forming under her skin. She began to wonder why she was doing the same things she had back in 2019. After all, she'd been dropped into an entirely new decade. She'd been given the chance to reinvent herself. So why wouldn't she use that? Why wasn't she pursuing the career she'd sought after since she was sixteen years old? She had the degree, she had the brains, she had everything she needed to go down the path she'd always desired.

This was why, after only four months at work at The Sunrise Cove, Nadine had quit and decided to become an Ichthyologist.

To her dismay, however, her job hunt didn't go as seamlessly as she'd thought it would. Living with such a progressive woman had nearly made Nadine forget how women were really valued in the 1960s—as nothing more than housewives, there to pop out babies and keep the house clean while their husbands were off at work. Sure, there were a few women who were beginning to go into the workforce, but they were a minority, and usually could only secure the most entry-level of jobs. After all, why would a woman be in a higher position, when there was always a man who could do it better? It was ridiculous. Women should just learn their place.

Being from the future, this extraordinarily old-fashioned mindset didn't exactly sit well with Nadine. Sure, 2019 still had its problems, but she sincerely doubted anyone but the most delusional of men were under the impression that women should be nothing but housewives. So, although she'd reminded herself that the 1960s were incredibly different from the 2010s, she still hadn't been prepared for what happened the day she interviewed for a job at the Dallas Aquarium.

She'd put extra effort into her appearance that day, hoping that the men who undoubtedly ran the place would appreciate it. Her hair was in perfect curls, her dress flattened, ironed, and tied neatly with a bow. With her crimson lips pursed in anticipation, she'd entered the aquarium, heels clicking on the polished floor.

Even in the entrance hallway, a few fish tanks were in view. With their scales in a rainbow of colours, glinting in the deep blue lighting, they were majestic creatures, too often overlooked. Nadine hadn't had a fish since her childhood pet, Marvin, but perhaps that was for the best. Not only because his death had sent a younger Nadine into a spiral of depression (he'd practically grown up with her, miraculously surviving for ten whole years), but because fish didn't belong in such cramped confines. These tanks, while still a means of imprisonment, were at least large enough for them to swim in more than just circles.

It was pleasantly cool in here, and a newfound surge of confidence swelled through her as she checked in at the front desk and made her way to the offices. Sure, she might have fibbed a little on her application, but once Leroy Flannigan, the head of the aquarium, realized how knowledgeable she was, he'd let her in for sure. He couldn't just... ignore her qualifications, could he?

She'd arrived at what she remembered to be the correct room, and given herself only a moment to take a deep breath. Then, heart pounding, she entered.

The room she found herself in was almost completely decked in white. The walls were white, papered with a few diagrams of fish—although they were unlabeled, Nadine recognized the wels catfish, the lanternfish, and the northern pike. The floors were polished white linoleum, the popcorn ceiling tipped between being eggshell and pearl white, and even the filing cabinets tucked into the corner were the same shade as paper. The only thing that wasn't some variation of the shade was the blackboard, scratched with a few notes in illegible handwriting, and the long table in the center of the room, which was a deep gray. Overall, though, the effect was almost blinding, and certainly served as an accurate descriptor to the only types of people who'd work here.

Nadine didn't have long to take in the room, however, for the man sitting at the table cleared his throat. He was white (he could blend right into the room, Nadine thought), middle-aged, and dressed in his finest suit, his dusty blond hair slicked back with too much hair gel. This was, presumably, Mr. Flannigan.

As Nadine let the door close behind her, the man got to his feet, brushing out a crease in his crisp black jacket. Looking her up and down (Nadine resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest, or flip him off), his brow crinkled, and he said, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I think you might have the wrong room. I'm doing job interviews here, you see."

It was a bad way to start, but Nadine didn't let herself crumble immediately. Instead, she double-checked the number on the door and turned back to him. "No, this is the right room. I was specifically instructed to come here by the woman at the front desk."

The crease in the man's brow deepened, and he looked down at the file in his hand. "It says here that I'm looking for a Beau Vidal."

Nadine gave him a tight smile. "It's Nadine Vidal, actually."

"I'm sorry, Miss Vidal." The man assumed a look that was likely meant to be apologetic, but seemed more patronizing than anything else. "I think you mixed up your job application. See, we're not hiring a secretary."

"Nor do I want to be a secretary. I saw your job posting in the newspaper; it struck my fancy, so I figured I should apply. I do apologize for taking..." she bit her lip, fumbling for the word in English, "preemptive measures, but I figured that it was a surefire way to get you to see me without any... ah, biases getting in the way."

Indignation had crossed the man's face, flaring his nostrils. "Will all due respect, Miss Vidal, I don't think you're the sort of candidate we're looking for here. See, this is a very coveted position, and it would simply be... unconventional to allow someone like yourself to take it."

A muscle ticked in Nadine's jaw, and her hands instinctively curled into fists. "How do you know I'm not the one for the job when you haven't even interviewed me yet?"

He'd laughed, and the sound sent anger pulsing through her body. "No offense, sweetheart, but do you even know anything about Ichthyology?"

"Test me," Nadine challenged, taking a seat. "Ask me any question about Ichthyology. I'm sure I'll be able to answer it. I'm very knowledgeable, you know."

Mr. Flannigan blew out an amused sigh, and then spread his hands out as if he was going to great lengths to indulge her. "All right, then. Let's start simple. What's the largest fish in the world?"

Nadine blinked. Really? "The whale shark," she said, insulted by the simplicity of the question. "It can grow to be more than fifty meters long."

"And what's the smallest fish?"

"The tiny goby. I thought you said this was a coveted position."

"It most certainly is, Miss Vidal."

"Well, these questions don't exactly narrow down the candidates. Anyone above first-grade level could tell you what the largest fish in the world is."

Another flare of the nostrils. "You want more difficult questions? Is that it? Fine, then. Answer me this, Miss Vidal: what was the collaborative work published in 1896 by Tarleton Hoffman Bean and George Brown Goode?"

As he spoke, amusement was flickered across his lips, as if he expected this question to stump her. But as soon as he'd finished, Nadine, her anger growing, blurted, "Oceanic Ichthyology. It was the culmination of thirty-nine papers Goode and Bean wrote together."

His eyebrows raised. "You've done your homework."

"Of course I have. I've been interested in Ichthyology since I was a kid. I got a degree—" Nadine cut herself off, pressing her lips together to prevent the final words from coming out. It was true that she'd gotten a degree in Ichthyology back in France, but she wasn't sure if such a thing was possible for a woman in the 1960s. So, instead of finishing, she just leaned forward. "All I mean is that I've worked for this opportunity. I'm not coming in here clueless—I know what I'm talking about. I think that you'll find that I'm just as, if not more, qualified than any man you might hire."

Mr. Flannigan pursed his lips. "Look, I'm sorry. I simply can't hire you for this position. It just wouldn't do! I mean, what would my employees think, if there was a woman in their midst? Why, they'd simply be too distracted to even complete their jobs!"

"Well," hissed Nadine through gritted teeth, "that would be their problem, wouldn't it? Not mine."

Mr. Flannigan sighed, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "If you really want to work here, we're currently looking for a janitor. You can clean the tanks, mop the floors, and tidy the bathrooms. Even if it's not the position you requested, you'll still get a piece of the Ichthyology action—more so, in fact, than you would anywhere else. If you're uninterested, then I'm sorry. I'll have to ask you to leave."

Nadine ground her teeth so hard her jaw creaked. She didn't say anything for a moment, contemplating this newfound offer. As much as she was tempted to give this Mr. Flannigan a big fat middle finger and storm out, she couldn't. She'd been so convinced that she'd get the job here that she'd dropped her position at The Sunrise Cove, and it wouldn't exactly be fair to Molly to come home and ask to get her hired again. Nor would it be fair to be unemployed—Molly had already given her so much, and the least Nadine could do was work to pay her back. Which meant that Nadine either needed to get another job, and fast, or suck it up and remain here. Perhaps there would be a way she could bring herself to the top. Start small, and work her way to better positions. If she continued her Ichthyology research, wrote a few papers... maybe her lifelong dream wouldn't be so far away, after all.

But staying here did mean she'd have to exercise an enormous amount of self-restraint—which was something she was notoriously bad at. There would likely be a day that Mr. Flannigan or one of the other men here said something bigoted, and Nadine punched their lights out, but maybe that day wouldn't come for a while.

So, reluctantly, Nadine agreed to join the team. Mr. Flannigan acted like even giving her the janitorial position was an above and beyond offer, as if she should be getting down on her knees and thanking him for such a gift. This already put a sour taste in her mouth, but she plastered a fake smile on her face, shook hands with her new boss, and walked out of the Dallas Aquarium as a brand-new employee—even if it wasn't at all what she'd wanted.

Now, Nadine sighed, sliding into the passenger seat of the car. Over a year and a half had passed with her as an employee, and little had changed. Despite the papers she'd written, the arguments she'd made, and even the dinner she'd once taken Mr. Flannigan out on, he still refused to elevate her position. It was already irritating, but what it more so was that half of the actual Ichthyologists at the aquarium couldn't rub two cents together. But, of course, they were men, so they got to keep their positions.

When they were around, it took remarkable self-control for Nadine to keep herself from breaking something.

Well, I guess that's how it is, she thought, leaning her head against the window. And people wonder why I hate men.

As Molly turned the keys in the ignition, Nadine could do nothing but tell herself that the day would be over soon. Even if she had to deal with irritating, patronizing men all day, it would be worth it.

It was always worth it, if only for Molly Hamasaki.

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HAVEN: this chapter literally took me three days to edit so i hope you enjoyed!! i hope you guys are liking the longer chapters, because they're here to stay in this fic :)) they may take a little longer to get out, but you get more to read in one go!! yippee!!

nadine really brings out the man-hater in me, lmao. i don't even want to see anyone commenting about it, because if you're gonna say some shit like "not all men" or whatever, then you've completely missed the message of this. as a woman in the 1960s vying for a position in a male dominated field, nadine is obviously going to struggle. she's obviously going to be angry that men who are less talented than her are being paid more, and getting higher-up positions. throughout this fic, you'll be seeing a lot about male privilege—specifically white, straight, cisgender male privilege—and i won't be apologizing for any of it <333

okay, but for real, hopefully you found this chapter interesting?? i know not much technically happened, but i wanted to set up molly and nadine's relationship (which you will definitely be seeing more of, wink wink) and sprinkle in a little bit of foreshadowing for future chapters 🏃‍♀️ buckle up, everyone!!

thanks for reading :)))