A bend in space-time (Season 3) - The Umbrella Academy

Chapter 6: The legend of the White Buffalo

Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3, episode 2, around 06:00 (while Viktor gets a haircut, and Klaus wakes up before leaving for Pennsylvania).

Suggested soundtrack: Caravan Palace - Miracle ; Yom - Ancestors Dance.

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April 3 2019, 09:31 am

I still remember my first night in the sixties. Troubled, lonely, anxious. Marked by the pain of the gunshot wound I got at the Icarus Theater, by the apocalyptic nightmares glimpsed through Five's eyes, but even more by the fear of having lost Klaus and the other Hargreeves.

This first night, now back in 2019, was nothing like it.

Of course, I felt the familiar burning sensation on my forearm after the tattoo I got last night: a mix of tingling and burning, which isn't unpleasant in itself because I know it comes with a sense of accomplishment and relief. Sure, there was that strange feeling after the power outage that hit the neighborhood. But I told myself that my heightened senses might just be due to tiredness, and I chose to ignore it.

Clearly, on my first night here, I had nothing to worry about losing Klaus. Until 2:15 in the morning, he meowed at my door for me to let him in, lamenting about Five's squeaky mattress and Luther's flatulence. I begged him to let me sleep alone, just this once, and he gave in. I'm sorry, but - sometimes - I have to think a little about myself too: that's also one of the lessons the hippies and Dallas taught me.

I had a decent night's sleep, even though the bed isn't as comfortable as one might expect for a high-end suite. I was a bit bothered by the neon lights from the large sign, as well as a strange continuous humming resonating in my chest—maybe the mini fridge from the bar corner, though the sound seemed to come from everywhere. But I eventually drifted off. And I think that - this morning - my strength has returned.

I feel filled with a kind of euphoria, as I climb the stairs leading to the mezzanine where Diego is already playing pool. As Five said: we may never find a better landing spot in time than this one. So, we might as well feel at home here and embrace who we are now. Thus, I naturally head toward the barbershop housed within the small row of shops in the hotel, its retro glass door displaying the name 'Enrico's, timeless styles for all occasions'. Given the request I'm about to make, this poor guy might just choke.

The little bell on the door tinkles as I let myself in. The man named Enrico is already styling someone's hair, and it only takes me a second to recognize who, despite the radical change in hair length. Viktor, under the towel draped over his shoulders, smiles at me in a calmer way than he ever has before.

"I'll finish up and be right with you," the barber says to me professionally, though somewhat mechanically. His dexterity with the scissors is, however, extremely precise, and I can see that he does his job with dedication.

I nod: I'm not in a hurry. So, I sit down in the chair right next to Viktor's, looking in the same direction as him.

"Cool tattoo," he says, having immediately noticed it on my left forearm.

And I know how sensitive a topic tattoos are for him. Despite his desire to belong to that complicated family of his, I know he still often feels like an outsider. And despite all the pain associated with that symbol, the absence of an umbrella on his arm has been harder on him in the past than it ever was on me.

"Thanks. Nice haircut."

More than the compliment I give, it's the energy I briefly stir that speaks for me, and Viktor might be able to sense it even in the inaudible spectrum of sounds. I have admiration for him, for his strength of will, for his life journey. For the steps he has managed to take, while others remain in an in-between, like me somehow.