[Trigger alert for this chapter: reference to sexual violence. Please feel free to skip the second half of this page if you need to.]

Luke was working as much as possible to support his newly swollen family, doing construction jobs—under the table—and working at the Refugee Center in the evenings and weekends. Nick accompanied him to the work sites sometimes, though he was trying to find a full-time job as some sort of mechanic. He'd spent plenty of time babying Waterford's Mercedes, and what else was he supposed to put on his resume? Lots of Gilead refugees worked as Uber drivers, but Nick had zero interest in doing that job again. Besides, they didn't own a car. Meanwhile, June was trying to find work that she could do from home. Until they got their residency papers, they had few choices, and childcare for Nichole would cost more than she could probably earn working illegally. But she was restless; going from a budding revolutionary to a stay at home mom was not to her liking. People were suffering and dying in Gilead, and she was useless to them in Toronto.

"So I was thinking of maybe writing a book," she ventured to Nick, as they were sitting on the floor playing blocks with their daughter.

Nick managed to tear his gaze away from Nichole for a minute. "What kind of book?"

"Non-fiction. Autobiographical. About my time in Gilead. I've been thinking about how we can help the fight from here, and those letters you got published made a big difference in shaping people's attitudes. Anything to get Canada closer to an invasion." She paused. "I could write my story, if you'd be okay with that. You would…be in the book, obviously."

"Abraham Lincoln called Harriet Beecher Stowe the little woman whose book started the Civil War." He nodded. "A book can make a difference. You should write it."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do. What does Luke think?"

"I haven't asked him. I wanted to get your okay first."

Nick squinted at her. "June, you don't need my permission for anything. If you want to do something, fucking do it."

"The girls would read it." She looked at him meaningfully. "About us, about my…unfaithfulness to my husband."

"I think Hannah figured that out after one look at her sister. It doesn't seem to bother her."

She shook her head. "I don't think she's really connected the dots. She might be mad at me about it someday."

"So explain it to her. Writing it all down would be easier than trying to tell her the whole story. Besides, Luke needs to know what happened, and why." He looked down at Nichole, who was still sitting up but with her head drooping in front of her. Fast asleep. "I think she's had it with blocks." He stood and picked her up. As he carried her to her crib, he tossed out, "Guess she's not going to be an architect either."

"Shepherd is still plan A, then." She handed him the stuffed sheep, whom they had christened Baabaa. Nichole slept better with it nearby.

When he returned sans baby, he sat next to her on the living room couch and changed the subject. "June? How'd you get the bruises crossing into Canada?"

She averted her gaze. "I told you."

"Yeah, you told us a Guardian found you in the back of the truck at a checkpoint, but he just punched you a few times and then let you go. I was kinda hoping for the actual story."

"Maybe this is one of those things you think I should tell Luke about." Every time she mentioned Gilead to Nick, he encouraged her to explain the reference to her husband as well. But she didn't. Couldn't. Luke didn't need to hear horror stories. At least one adult in this household had to sleep soundly.

"Yeah, you should," he agreed easily.

"But I can't." Her voice was hoarse. "When I got here, all he wanted to do was be close to me. What was I supposed…I couldn't tell him about that checkpoint." June said the rest in a hurried way, spit the story out as she had spit in that truck. "Three Guardians inspected the back, found me, they were young, maybe twenty, never seen a handmaid up close. I told them I'd do them all if they'd let me go. And your friend Rafael, he just sat in the driver's seat and smoked cigarette after cigarette. Now the smell of cigarettes makes me nauseous." She paused. "What was I supposed to tell my husband? Sorry, I know you haven't seen me in years but not tonight, honey, I whored myself out yesterday and I'm a little sore down there?"

"You're not a…that's not what happened." He shook his head, adamant. "No. You bought your way out of Gilead with the only currency you had. You survived, June. That's what happened. You hear me?" He leaned towards her and she accepted the invitation, dropping her head into his chest to sob. Nick embraced her, stroked her loose hair, kissed her tears away. He spoke soothingly. "You survived, and now you're home with your girls, and that's all that matters." She wrapped her arms around him, moved to sit on his lap. "You're okay. It's okay now," he repeated as she cried.

He told himself that he was just being a supportive friend, but he also knew that was a bullshit justification. So when Luke unlocked the door and saw them, Nick automatically removed his hands from her face and pushed her away. He was never exactly sure where the line with her was, but he knew he had surely crossed it. Again. "Hey, Luke," he said awkwardly.

"Hi," Luke said uncertainly. "You okay, June?"

She blinked, composed herself. "Sure, fine. Welcome home." She smiled up at him and pretended her eyes weren't bloodshot. "How was work?"

He wasn't falling for that. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said reassuringly. "We were just taking about…Gilead stuff. Nothing you need to worry about."

Nick stood to leave them alone. "I'll make dinner." To Luke, he added solicitously, "Can I make you a drink?"

Luke pushed him past the kitchen and into the master bedroom. He closed the door but still spoke softly. "No drink, but you can tell me what's up with her."

Nick sighed. "It's not really my place."

"Sure," he growled. "You know, I'm trying to take care of her. Trying to care of my family, and you, and your kid. I just worked thirteen hours, and every single muscle in my body aches. And I really don't want to come home to some guy making out with my wife on the couch."

"We weren't." Nick looked straight at him. "We wouldn't do that."

"Well, that's what it looked like, my friend."

"I'm sorry. I know you had a hard day, and I appreciate all your work, and I know we looked…bad." He held Luke's gaze. "She was crying, okay? About something that happened to her in Gilead. I was just comforting her. That's all."

"Maybe," Luke said, still whispering so that June wouldn't hear, "you could have just asked her to save her stories for me, and let me comfort her?"

"Yeah, I tried that. She won't tell you this stuff. You…wouldn't understand it."

"I'd understand a lot better if she'd ever fucking talk to me."

"Look, just trust me, there are some things you don't want to know."

"There is nothing about my wife that I don't want to know. And if you'd ever been married, you'd get that."

In his heart, Nick felt like he had been married for the last two years. Another facet of their life in Gilead which Luke could not comprehend. But if he really wanted to know, Nick could oblige. Screw it. "The day she crossed into Canada, she was stopped at a checkpoint."

"Yeah, she told me that. Some Guardians found her."

He nodded. "She bought them off. She bought her freedom from them," he added meaningfully.

"Yeah." Luke's face was neutral.

"Yeah?" Nick said, incredulous.

"I mean, okay. So what?"

Nick wanted to roll his eyes, and had to remind himself that Luke really did not understand what was being implied. "There's no money in Gilead. She didn't pay them. She bought her freedom…on her back. Or her knees," he concluded thickly. "Is that what you want to know? You want some more stories about handmaids and forced prostitution and gang rapes?"

Luke looked like he'd been punched. "No," he whispered.

"All right then. Why don't you just let me deal with all of the shit that she went through in Gilead, and you can just be married to Happy June, okay?" With that, Nick turned on his heel to make dinner. Luke sat on his bed, head in his hands, and considered what sort of husband his wife actually needed.