Luke drew his attention back to June's delicate body, backlit against the wane glow of streetlights outside. She was sleeping fitfully, moaning softly, as she often did now. He kissed her neck. For several heartbeats, he let her pulse thrum against his lips and breathed with her, deeply, slowly, willing her to relax. Then his mouth wandered upwards, kissing her cheek, her eyelids, her forehead. She brushed him away like an insect, so he moved away from her and examined the face he knew so well. There were new wrinkles around her eyes. From too much worrying, he mused. And she's got too few laugh lines. He vowed silently to do something about that; he had always been good at making his wife laugh…or at least smirk. Nowadays she smiled at him a lot but rarely gave a real laugh. That would take time, which was all right with him. Luke was a patient man.
June kept moaning in her sleep. Her hand jerked forward, seeking something. Luke wrapped his fingers around hers, trying to be reassuring. It didn't work; she pulled away again. He shook his head. She had never had nightmares in their life before, and he was at a loss when it came to handling these. She flipped over, towards the wall, muttering incoherently. No matter. Even when he could make out words, he never understood their meanings. They'll put us on the wall. May the Lord open. Wings on, yes, Aunt Lydia. Pull the rope, girls. Guardians outside the door. He had asked June about one word that she'd repeated in her sleep during her first week back—awffred, or awfud, maybe?—but she had shut down as soon as he mentioned it. He'd considered asking Nick if it meant anything, but had eventually concluded she would tell him herself, when she was ready. They didn't need Nick to play translator.
He caressed her hair lightly and shushed her. That sometimes had a calming effect. God, her hair had gotten long. Almost waist length, thick, silky-soft. Fantastic. She wanted to cut it short, as a symbol of her liberation or something, but he kept begging her to keep it as it was. For him, as a gift.
Her skin was moist—she'd broken out into a sweat, her forehead was damp—so Luke gathered her hair into a long ponytail to keep it off of her clammy neck. She jerked away again, inadvertently pulling her hair. That set her off. She balled her hands into fists and hit the bed, the pillows, the wall. "No, no, baby, you'll hurt yourself," he warned aloud, wondering whether to wake her. If she woke up now, she'd remember the dream and would probably be unable to go back to sleep for hours. Better to just pull her to him, and hope she settled down. He took her arm, tried to flip her back over towards him. When she punched the wall again, he heard the crack of her fingers. "No, no," he admonished her, and grabbed her wrists firmly to prevent her from breaking something.
The effect was immediate and vicious. She began thrashing in earnest, kicking at him, alternatingly whimpering pleas and shouting curses at…whomever. God or Gilead or her own personal demons. She begged them to stop. She called Serena's name. Then Nick's.
Luke had no idea how to fix the situation. No idea how to fix June, he corrected silently. He decided to swallow his pride and call for backup: her well-being was certainly more important than his ego. So he left their bed and hurried to the baby's room. "Nick?" he called quietly into the darkness.
Silence for a heartbeat, then a sharp intake of breath. "What is it?" Somehow, Luke mused, that guy could go from a deep sleep to wide awake instantly. But he had a wild-eyed, deer-in-headlights look on his face. Perhaps he slept as fitfully as June did.
"Sorry to wake you, man, but she's having a nightmare, it's bad, I can't get her out of it." Nick didn't wait for more clarification. Clad only in grey boxers and a white t-shirt, he followed Luke back down the hall.
"I think I made matters worse by taking her by the wrists, but she was punching the wall…." He trailed off. June was still thrashing, the sheets crumpled, her face flushed and sweaty.
Nick glanced at Luke. "Do you want me to tell you what to do, or…?"
He shook his head dismissively. "No, just get in there and help her."
"Okay." Nick climbed over June, so that he was between her and the wall. Luke wondered why he hadn't thought of that. "You can't grab her or hold her down," he instructed. "Just put your body against hers, so she can feel your warmth." He lay alongside her, running his fingertips up and down her left arm while she punched with her right. She hit him a few times in the chest—Luke hoped he didn't break a rib. She had somehow developed quite a good right hook in Gilead. But Nick didn't react or move away. "It's okay now," he murmured. "We're safe, we're in Canada, nothing to worry about. They can't hurt you now, it's okay."
He continued talking to her, soothingly, repeating like a mantra that they were safe in Canada. It didn't have an immediate effect, but after a minute, she stopped moving and sat up in the bed. "Are my feet still attached?" she asked, her eyes open but sightless.
"Your feet are fine, they're just fine now," Nick assured her. "You can sleep now." He didn't touch her, but spoke softly into her ear. She looked around, then lay back down.
"Huh?" Luke whispered.
"She was beaten at the Red Center," he whispered back. "Just her face and feet—nothing that would hurt the baby," he added bitterly. "They whipped the soles of her feet with those little leather things, like a cat o' nine tails, til the skin was pretty much shredded." He pulled up the sheet, to show Luke her legs. "I guess you don't notice the scars unless you look for them."
Luke looked at the bottom of his wife's feet and felt tears well up. How had he missed the crisscross of scars on her soles? And what other marks had he missed? He touched her feet gently. Fingertips only, like Nick had done. "What are the little bumps here?"
"After they beat her," Nick explained dispassionately, "they made her stand on uncooked grains of rice for hours. It sort-of sank into her soles." Luke looked back at June's face. Her eyes were closed now, her breathing beginning to slow. Her hands clutched Nick's shirt.
"Okay, okay," Luke said mostly to himself. Then, to June, "Let's tuck you in so you don't get cold." He pulled the blanket down over her feet, and then smoothed the covers over the two of them, tucking in the edges.
"You wanna switch places?" Nick whispered at him. He was still laying alongside June, trying not to touch her. She was the one leaning towards him, her hands still grasping convulsively, her face pressed into his chest.
"No." Luke stood up, comfortable in the decision he had just reached. "She needs you right now, not me. I'll be in Nichole's room." He took a step backwards. "Don't bother waking up with the baby tomorrow; I got it. Just stay with June. And if she's wakes up again, you know, just…take care of her. Whatever she needs." He looked straight at Nick, hoping he understood the meaning. "You hear me? Whatever."
"Yeah, she won't wake up again," Nick muttered, averting his eyes.
" 'kay. See you in the morning." Luke turned his back on his wife and closed the door gently behind him.
A tentative voice greeted him in the hallway. "What's wrong with mom?"
"Oh, hey, Hannah. She's okay, she just had a bad dream." He took her hand, led her gently back to her bed. He hoped his voice sounded steady and soothing. "Nothing to worry about." He fluffed her pillows, tucked her in as he had just done for her mother.
"I get those a lot. They're scary."
"Yeah? A lot?" He looked at her, not as surprised that she had nightmares as that she was confiding in him. Hannah had been pretty shy with him, at least with serious matters. "I'm so sorry you have bad dreams. It'll get better, you'll see." She didn't look reassured. "Your mom dreams about scary things that happened to her in Gilead. How about you?"
She nodded, unable to articulate any more. Then: "Is Nick with her?"
Luke paused, unsure of how to answer that one. "Yes. He's good at that stuff, you know, talking through what happened there."
"He gets it," the girl said confidently. "The next time I have a nightmare, I want Nick to be there too."
"Not me?" Luke tried to keep his tone light, but he was stung.
"You didn't live there, Daddy," she said matter-of-factly. "You wouldn't know what I was talking about."
"Yeah, I guess not." He kissed her forehead, then kissed her doll's face, making sure it was tucked in alongside Hannah.
She smiled at him. "You make the best pancakes, though."
"Hm. Well, that's something." He smiled back.
Out of habit, Nick turned on his back, bringing June on top of him. She didn't like sleeping under him—his weight was too smothering, too oppressive. She liked sleeping on her belly, with her face pressed into his neck or shoulder and his arms around her. Not that they had really slept together much, he mused. For most of their time at the Waterfords, she'd crept over to his apartment above the garage, stayed for an hour, or twenty minutes, just as long as they dared, and then she'd scurried back to her room. No time for sleeping contentedly in each other's arms. There was no contentment in Gilead, except when they'd been at the Boston Globe or in a safe-house. There, at least, they had managed to relax a little and feel some semblance of freedom.
Nick ran his fingers up and down her back. She didn't stir. He thought about the night before he left for Chicago. He had gone to see her at Commander Lawrence's house. Beth had graciously snuck him in, right under Lawrence's nose. He was feeling close to despair then—scared of fighting, scared of killing his former countrymen, scared of dying. Scared for her, left alone in that nutty household. And so he had clung to June all night, tiptoeing out just before dawn. She had slept soundly that night, like she was right now. He hadn't—too nervous about getting caught. His belly was clenched most of the time in Gilead, his nerves constantly frayed. But at least for a few hours at the Lawrence house, he had managed to find a small oasis of tranquility at her side. And they had conceived Peachy that night. So it had been worth the risk.
It was always worth the risk to be with June. Nick didn't really have anything else to live for.
He slowed down his breathing to match hers, trying to fall asleep. He stared at her face, calm in repose. The sight of her centered him. And although he knew damn well he should not, he brought his hands to her belly to feel the firm little bump there. Week 15. An apple. Next week an avocado.
It took Nick a long time to fall asleep, and when he did, he dreamt of apple trees.
He woke up before she did, which saved them both from an awkward conversation about who belonged in which bed. He removed his hand from her belly—had he really just slept all night with a hand pressed against her baby bump?—and prepared breakfast for everyone. June had no memory of the nightmare, and the men never discussed it again.
"Hannah's been invited by the girls in 2c for a sleepover," June announced over eggs and toast a few days later.
Luke looked towards the hall, making sure their girl wasn't in earshot, and spoke softly. "Do you think that's a good idea? With her…" He dropped his voice even lower. "Nightmares?"
She shrugged. "We'll warn the parents beforehand. She'll just be downstairs; we can go get her if she has a problem." She looked directly at Luke. "She needs to make friends."
"Yeah, yeah," he agreed easily. It would work out well, he realized suddenly, to have her out of the house for an evening. "I need to talk to you anyway." He gestured to Nick, sipping coffee wordlessly. "To the two of you, if you're free tonight." He spread his hands. "Family meeting?"
Nick tilted his head, curious. "Sure."
June exhaled through her nose. "Sure," she echoed.
Hi, everyone, and thanks so much for reading this far! I really appreciate reviews, so if you have any thoughts about any chapter so far, I'd love to hear from you...