Even after twenty-seven years in the diplomatic service, Valerie LaPierre's patience was wearing thin with Luke Bankole. She sighed as his phone went to voicemail—yet again—then hung up and redialed. Finally, he picked up and slurred a greeting.

"It's five thirty in the fucking morning. Whaddya want?"

Putting on a pleasant professional expression, Valerie spoke politely into the speaker phone. "Good morning, Mr. Bankole, I'm very sorry to wake you. This is the US consulate calling. A refugee from Gilead has just arrived here in Toronto, and he says he knows you. We were hoping you'd—"

"Who is it?" Bankole interrupted. He sounded awake now.

Valerie looked up at the man sitting across from her, and gestured to him.

"Hey, Luke, it's Nick Blaine." He paused a moment, took a breath. "We met at a bar last year. I gave you some letters."

"June's Nick."

"Yeah." A corner of Blaine's mouth twitched up. He'd never been called that before. "She didn't get out with me, sorry, but I brought you a present. A…peace offering."

A peace offering? Valerie wondered idly what harm Blaine could possibly have done to the foul-tempered Canadian all the way from Gilead, but decided to focus on business. "Would you be so kind as to come to the US consulate, Mr. Bankole? Mr. Blaine has had a long, eventful night, and would appreciate a lift to your home, if possible."

"Yeah, of course. Gimme twenty minutes."

The girl in pink hadn't stopped grinning since she'd heard the man on the phone. "I'm the present?" she asked Nick, who smiled right back at her.

"Yeah, you're the special surprise. You're about to give your daddy the very best day of his life. How about you hide behind me, and then pop out when I give you the secret signal?"

Hannah nodded. "I'll wait for the signal." She couldn't decide if Nick was an Eye, a Guardian, or a superhero, but she was very much enjoying all the spy stuff. He had shown up at her school with two other Guardians, all in black, machine guns slung over their shoulders, and had told her teacher some story about a crazed handmaid who was planning a kidnapping. The McKenzie girl had to be taken into protective custody, he'd said, and had walked her right out the door and into a black car. The teachers hadn't said a word of protest. Then the Guardians had driven her to a field in the middle of nowhere, had gotten on a tiny little plane with propellers, and flown all the way to Canada.

The best part of the whole adventure was Nick. She had been scared of him at first, but when they got into the black van, he had whispered "Hi there, Hannah Banana" in her ear. Not Agnes, not even Hannah. Nobody knew that nickname except her first parents…and apparently this man, who had learned it from her mother. It sent shivers down her spine, to hear herself called that again. Nick reminded Hannah that she had met him, along with her mom, at the big house in the snow. He huddled in the back of the car with her, hiding together under a nest of blankets when they'd passed checkpoints and whispering jokes at her until they reached the airfield. Nick hugged her when the plane shakily took off, and explained "turbulence" in a grown-up way, not like the aunts at school who treated eleven year-olds like dumb toddlers. Hannah had never been on a plane before, and she decided she didn't like it at all. But the plane took them out of Gilead, so even if it was scary, it was part of the adventure.

And now her daddy was coming to get her. Her real daddy, from before. She barely remembered what he looked like, but she knew she had felt safe and happy when she lived with him.

The hallway was brightly lit with florescent bulbs. They hurt Hannah's eyes; Gilead never used bright lights like this. She heard the security door beep, then the wide double doors burst open. The photographs of missing Americans on the bulletin boards fluttered as her father ran past them. She stayed hidden behind Nick.

"Mr. Bankole?" the diplomat lady called out.

"Yes, hi," he answered hurriedly. Hannah could hear his footsteps approaching. It was strange that he said "hi" instead of "blessed morning." But maybe they didn't say that in Canada?

"It's really good to see you again, Luke." Nick sounded happy to see her father.

He brought one hand back behind him, and tapped his finger. The secret signal. The girl jumped out and threw her arms wide. "Surprise!"

The father froze in place, mouth falling open. "Hannah," he breathed. Then he was running at her, gathering her up in a fierce bear hug like she remembered from when she was little. And he was crying and laughing and hugging her all at the same time. Nick was right: it was maybe the best day.

"Here we are." Luke gestured at the living room as he led his daughter and Nick inside. "Home sweet home."

Moira was sitting on the couch, with Nichole and a stuffed rabbit in her lap. She looked first at Nick, whom she didn't recognize, then at the child in pink. "Oh my God," she whispered. "Hannah?" The girl stared back at her, puzzled. "Hi, Hannah Banana. I'm your auntie Moira. How'd you get here?"

"Nick brought me out of Gilead." Hannah smiled tentatively at her. "Blessed morning, Aunt Moira." That's what you said to an aunt, even though this woman didn't dress at all like one.

The woman instantly realized her mistake. "No, baby girl, I'm not that kind of aunt. I'm a friend of your parents. You can just call me Moira, okay?" Then she turned her attention back to Nick, looked him up and down. "So you're the famous Nick." She threw a cheeky glance at Luke. "Oof, he's cute."

"Nice to meet you, Moira," Nick murmured without really seeing her. He had taken two steps into the apartment and then stopped, rooted to one spot. His gaze was locked on the baby in her lap. Wispy brown hair, intelligent blue eyes, June's strong nose and mouth, light green onesie with little turtles, bare feet, pink toes.

Ignoring Moira's jab, Luke crossed the room, picked up the baby, and brought her over to her still-unmoving father. "Sweetie," he told her with a kiss, "this is your daddy and big sister Hannah. Hannah, this is Nichole."

Hannah smiled up at the baby and shook her pudgy little hand. She stumbled before settling on a proper greeting. "Bles…praise…hi?"

"Say hi," Luke prompted Nichole, who smiled wordlessly and grabbed the pompom on Hannah's pink cloak.

"You like my coat? You can have it," she said earnestly. "I hate pink."

Luke wanted to give Nick some time alone with his daughter, so he handed Nichole over and steered Hannah away. "You must be so tired. Want to take a nap?" He looked over at Moira to explain. "She barely got any sleep. They flew in late last night, and got debriefed by the Americans and Canadians for hours." He looked apologetic. "I guess we'll need a bigger apartment, but just for today, can Hannah have your room?"

Moira leaned down to stroke Hannah's cheek. "Of course. You just make yourself right at home, and I'm gonna pack a few things and go stay with my friend Emily. This is your home now, Hannah." She smiled at the girl. "Welcome home."

As Luke took his daughter's hand to show her to her new room, Nick stood staring at the child in his arms. She looked at him, touched his hair, and smiled, so he had to smile back at her. "Hi there," he finally managed.

Moira regarded him. He really didn't know how to hold a baby, she decided. Probably never got a chance to practice at the Waterfords, knowing that witch Serena. And the man had that shell-shocked look that all new arrivals from Gilead shared. She spoke gently to him. "Lemme show you the baby's room. It's got a rocking chair that she likes." Moira began walking down the hallway, checking once to make sure Nick was following. "She's already had her breakfast, so usually we have story time and playtime, then a diaper change, and then a walk to the park."

"You take care of her during the day?"

"Yeah, I work nights at a bar, while Luke works days. And we've got a couple of friends who babysit sometimes, too. It takes a village, all that." She gestured to an open door. "The futon in here opens into a couch—that's our guest room. So I suppose this is your room, now."

The bedroom was painted a calm pale yellow, with a colorful rug over the wooden floor. In the crib were stuffed animals: a fluffy bear and a pink pig. Nick sat down in the armchair with his daughter and looked at Moira gratefully. "Thank you for taking such good care of her." That didn't really express what he wanted to say, but it was a start.

She shook her head. "Hey, it's nothing. I'm June's best friend. That's what friends do." She paused. "That's the only thing I've been able to do for her from here, take care of her baby girl." She smiled at him. "Anyway, I'm gonna pack some stuff. I'm glad you got out, Nick. You call me when you need to talk to someone who was there, okay? Day or night. You call me. 'Cause you're gonna need to. Luke's great, but…he wasn't there. He doesn't get it."

Nick nodded, and she left him alone with his daughter, who pointed at the pile of books on the ground.

"You want a story? Got it." Nick re-positioned her on his lap, and picked up a book. "This one is about a very hungry caterpillar," he began earnestly.