Together, Too (5 06)
I will punish the world for its evil, and the wicked for their iniquity; I will put an end to the pride of the arrogant, and lay low the haughtiness of the ruthless. (Isaiah 13:11)
"Well, that made my day," Joseph Lawrence said quietly as he and his black-suited companion left the restaurant patio. The three Guardians and two Eyes trailed behind the two commanders, giving them privacy. Not that it would matter if they overheard. Nick had hand-picked his most loyal men for this morning's mission to salvage Warren Putnam.
"Even more satisfying if you pull the trigger yourself," Nick replied, scrubbing his face and neck with a cotton handkerchief as he walked towards the cars. The day was drenched in sun, as if God was sending His approval of their version of justice. In the unexpected heat of the morning, sweat was mixing uncomfortably with the blood trickling down Nick's face, under his collar, down his chest towards his heart. He looked down at himself; blood and brains stained his shirt. At least his hands were clean…literally, if not figuratively. Except his wedding ring: he'd smeared blood on it when he'd wiped at his face. Great. She'll love that.
"You going home now?" Lawrence was asking him. "I can drop you off."
Nick considered the optics of walking into the Chancellery building with blood on his face. Would he look like a traitor or a badass? Someone to be hanged or feared? The latter, he decided. "Rose would drop dead if she saw me like this. I'll go to the Chancellery, change my shirt, get cleaned up. Besides, I've got some paperwork to do for the Eyes." Nick couldn't wait to wash himself off. He felt…unclean. At the same time, though, he was content. What he'd needed to do today was done—Rose had said those words after Waterford's death, and she was right. Or as June whispered to him when he delivered Waterford to her for particicution: thank you.
Rose sat as far away from the fire as she could. She didn't want to feel its heat; she was close enough to getting metaphorically burned alive by Gilead. She heard the door open as carefully as he always was. She didn't get up. She continued to pretend to placidly knit.
Nick stood in the doorjamb, watching her for a long moment while she steadfastly ignored him. She's mad. He knew why she was so worried. A restaurant-full of wives and commanders had witnessed the salvaging, and gossip travelled faster than Eyes could ever hope to convey information. He'd spent over an hour at the Chancellery; of course she'd gotten the scoop by now. Keeping his tone calm and concerned, Nick greeted her with, "You okay?"
"Not really." No 'blessed morning, husband' for me today. She's not even trying to fake it.
He studied her downturned face, realizing her cheeks were streaked with tears. "You gonna tell me what's going on?"
"You already know." Finally, she looked up at him. Accusingly.
Nick shook his head. He didn't know exactly why this act upset her, but he took an educated guess: she thought he'd be put under surveillance, maybe charged with murder. You can't just take a hit on a High Commander. Rose didn't know the High Criminal Court had already met on the matter, and sentenced him. Nick was just carrying out their orders. Legally. "You shouldn't be worrying about Lawrence or Putnam or any of that stuff."
"I can't stop. I'm worried about the kind of person this makes you."
"The kind of person this makes me," he muttered. This act didn't change me at all. She has no idea how much violence I've perpetrated. Maybe I should tell her what I was doing during the Second American Revolution. He crossed the room, sat down at the other end of the couch: he craved the fire's warmth. He considered her complaint. What sort of man am I? First and foremost, he thought, I'm a man who'll protect my family. "It makes me the kind of person who'll do whatever it takes to make Gilead a safer place for our child."
"Are you sure that's who you did this for?" Rose asked quietly.
Damn, am I really that easy to see through? He'd thought that only June had his number, only she could gauge his motives with one steady blue stare. Beth used to be able to do that, too, at least sometimes. Disturbingly, Rose seemed to be developing a similar bullshit-detector. Never underestimate a woman's perceptiveness.
Had Nick killed Putnam for the sake of children? Yes…just not for his future child with Rose. When Lawrence had asked him to come over and hear Putnam brag about his actions, Nick's thoughts had first gone to little Esther Keyes. He'd arrested her months earlier while looking for June and her posse of escaped handmaids. Esther appeared to be a fragile-looking child, just fourteen but already married for a year. Despite the round saucer eyes, the girl was tough, surly. When he'd questioned her about where the handmaids were hiding, Esther had spit in his face and glared. Nick had liked her immediately. The thought of her in Putnam's hands turned his stomach.
But Rose wasn't alluding to Esther. She believed her husband's entire motivation in life was June Osborne. Rose probably assumes I looked at Putnam and saw Waterford. But although it was true that Nick had a very, very soft spot for abused handmaids because of what his lover had been forced to endure, he wasn't actually thinking about June as he pulled that trigger. Rather, it was Esther and Hannah and Eden and every other adolescent girl he knew, all vulnerable to vultures like Putnam.
Am I sure I did it for a child's sake? "I'm sure," Nick whispered.
They sat silently on opposite ends of the couch, facing away from their spouse, each with their own thoughts. Nick smoothed his tie, as was his habit nowadays whenever he craved a cigarette. He picked invisible lint off of his jacket. Rose went back to her knitting. When the doorbell rang, it was a welcome distraction. Nick leapt up even before the Martha could get to the door.
Joseph Lawrence made himself at home in their living room, sitting in his favorite armchair across from Nick and Rose. "So, I just got a strange call from some Canadians. Did you know there are honest-to-God Gilead sympathizers there? Hundreds of them."
"Yeah," Nick said casually as their Martha appeared with tea, "the men are anti-immigrant activists, funded by some millionaire in Toronto. They walk around the Quebec-Vermont border with their machine guns, small men with small dicks trying to feel like real soldiers in camo, capturing everyone they find. The legal Canadian residents get a car-ride home, the Gilead runaways get taken back across the border."
"Sounds about right. They told me have some kind of transit stations where they round up all the people trying to cross the border, then return them to their country of origin, to save Canadian taxpayers the four hundred bucks each Gilead refugee gets."
Nick knitted his brow. "Why'd they call you?"
"Because they've just picked up a woman in Canadian dress who has an ear tag identifying her as my handmaid."
"Oh." Nick's heart sank. "Which handmaid?" He already knew which one.
"Ofjoseph." Cheeky, as usual.
"Yeah, Joseph, very funny. Which one?"
"Isn't your heart-light going off or something? Like E.T.?"
Nick sighed. Rolled his eyes, a habit he'd picked up from June. What the fuck is she doing at the border? Didn't I beg her-like last week-to take care of herself and Nichole? Not that she's ever listened to me. After a second, though, his frustration turned to anxiety, then quiet panic, when he realized the anti-immigrant crew might bring her south. Back to Gilead.
"So which handmaid is it, Joseph?" Rose asked.
"My last one. June Osborne."
"Oh," she breathed, looking at Nick with concern. She knew where his mind was.
"Anyway," Lawrence continued, "the Canadian crazies wanted to know if I wanted her salvaged on the spot, or brought back to Boston by them. I told them she was probably part of the resistance nowadays, so I was sending my trusted colleague Commander Blaine of the Eyes of God to pick her up and personally drive her to an interrogation center before bringing her back to my godly service. So, that's that. You up for a little road trip?"
"Of course." Nick couldn't decide whether to be excited to see her, or full of dread. The border was a dangerous place for a Gilead commander. But…it was June. Any excuse to be with her would do. And if she was in trouble, he'd always come to rescue her. Always.
It's going to be a very long day.
"So I guess I'm gonna miss lunch," he told Rose. "And dinner."
Rose pressed her lips together, thinking. "Well, I'll tell the Martha to cancel the roast beef, then. Because I'm coming with you."
"No, you're not."
"I'd love a road trip. We drove up to Boston from DC together; that was great fun. Radio Free America, the open road, lots of time to talk…."
"No way. Sorry, you're not going along this time."
She lifted her chin. "Yes, I am."
He knew she wasn't the type of woman to submit meekly to her husband. Nor did he want her to. So he explained, "Rose, it's way too dangerous. There are lots of rebels in No Man's Land who'd love to blow up a commander's car and ask questions later, along with those Canadian crazies, and squadrons of our Guardians too, who'll wonder what the hell I'm doing there. I'll be driving June right into Canada."
She looked at him with strained patience. "I know that, Nick. I want to go. You told me you'd get me out before the baby's born. So let me go north with June."
"No. Not this way. It's too dangerous a trip, too many variables." Nick glanced at Lawrence for approval. The elder man nodded. He scooted towards her on the couch, took her hand in his. "I will get you out, Rose, I promise. I'll get us all out. But not today, not this way." He stared at her earnestly. "Trust me, please."
She stared right back at him. "All right," she finally said. "I'm going to make you a thermos of coffee. It's a long drive to Vermont and back. And some sandwiches. And I'll get a medical kit for June, just in case she's injured." She glanced at Joseph. "Is she injured?"
"I told the Canadians that she's my property and I expect her back undamaged. They said they'd stop what they were doing." He looked apologetically at Nick. "She might be a little banged up."
Nick stood abruptly. Warren Putnam wasn't going to be the only man he killed today, he vowed…because nobody messed with June and got away with it. "Okay, I need to take a few Eyes with me. It'll look more realistic for me to take a little squad along. So I'm gonna make a few phone calls." He looked at Rose in gratitude. "Thank you for understanding. And, uh, coffee and sandwiches would be great."
He brushed her shoulder with his fingers as he left, heading for his office to call up his favorite Eyes. A plan was taking shape in his mind.
Joseph Lawrence regarded Rose. "If he doesn't get June out of there today, they'll ship her back to Gilead, where she'll immediately be arrested and tortured about Fred Waterford's death. You understand what that'd mean, right? She would eventually talk."
Rose pierced him with a look. She had always disliked mansplainers. She considered informing him she'd graduated from Wellesley College summa cum laude, with a degree in political science. But women from the intelligentsia had mostly been executed when Gilead took over, and she didn't feel like explaining how her well-connected father had kept her breathing. "I understand that Nick and you would end up on the Wall. And that I would be reassigned to a new husband. I get it, Commander."
"You can call me Joseph," he said mildly. "You've earned it."
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
-E. E. Cummings
As Nick suspected, the Canadian pretend-soldiers were impressed by the trappings of a Commander: the crisp black suit, shiny shoes, suspenders, the sleek German cars, the three Eyes flanking him like professional killers. The Canadians took one look at Blaine and his men, then snapped to attention as if they worked for him. Okay, I can use that. "I'm Commander Nick Blaine, head of the Gilead Eastern District Eyes of God," he barked. "You captured a handmaid. Where is she?"
"She's secured in a pen, sir," one of the Canadians said. "Right this way." He led Nick and his entourage through the dirty building. A former jail, perhaps, or maybe a repurposed school, now with chain-link fences between the empty cells. It stank of sweat, urine, and some sort of disinfectant that Nick hadn't smelled in years. Lysol?
No matter. His quarry was right in front of him. Her face was bruised. Her casual hoodie and pants were muddy, as if she'd been trekking across the forest all day. But June's blue eyes were as bright as usual, and her light blue t-shirt matched them well. Despite her ragged appearance, his insides flipped over. Damn Lawrence and his teasing about Nick's heart-light; it was true, he did light up when she was near. So did she, though. She sat on the cement floor, head hung in mock defeat, biting her lip to stop herself from smiling at the sight of her love.
"Ofjoseph," he told her, managing not to wince at the appellation, "get up. You're coming home with me." In a manner of speaking.
She stood obediently, hands folded before her, eyes downcast. Nick was taken aback at how easily she fell back into the role of handmaid. By comparison, he'd almost forgotten his line. "Blessed be the fruit," he muttered.
"May the Lord open," she said serenely.
He gestured to the Canadians. "We have our own handcuffs. Please take these off." They were hard plastic, and looked like they were cutting into her wrists. The pale skin on her wrists is so delicate, he thought idly as the men scampered around, looking for scissors. She used to get bruises just from Serena's hands holding her down…stop. Stop that. Focus.
As the Canadian kook cut the bindings off, he leaned close to June. "This is the head of the Eyes. Here to take you to an interrogation center. You're about to get fucked, little missy." Still staring at the ground, she pursed her lips, trying hard not to smirk. One can hope.
Nick looked at his men. "Cuff her. Arms in front." They did so, wordlessly, gentler with her than the Canadians had been: they knew who June was, and what she meant to their boss. They led her politely right out the door to the waiting cars. Nick glanced over his shoulder, to make sure the Canadians were still inside. They were.
"Commander," his lieutenant murmured, "there's a security camera at the entrance pointed at us, and two inside as well."
"Okay, light it up." Nick couldn't afford to leave any loose ends. Nobody in Gilead could know about this little prison break, or that they'd even journeyed this far north.
"Yes, sir." Once June was secured in the back, the lieutenant removed three hand grenades from the seat next to her. Her expression was somewhere between confused and alarmed. He threw June a confident grin, then put the grenades in his jacket. He trotted back into the jail, then ran out at full speed, shouting "Frag out!" A moment later, the room seemed to explode in flames. No survivors. Praise be, she thought. This day is turning out better than expected.
With June's extraction accomplished, the group divided in two. Nick and June headed north, while the three Eyes took the other car, returning immediately to Boston with day-passes and direct orders from 'Commander Putnam.'