See 'Joseph Lawrence becomes Embedded with Gilead' down-thread in the main Handmaid's Tale FanFiction collection. It's a more full, pre-Season 4, accounting for how he got mixed up with The Sons of Jacob, and how he rose to be a Commander-of-the-Faithful.
JUNE OSBORNE IS NOT BITING
"Stop saying that!" Joseph yelled into his satellite phone. His trademark snark now in shatters, he spat, "quit using Eleanor against me! That's NOT what she was about!"
June pursed her lips, fulfulling the urge to spit back, "fuck you, Joseph. I was there, remember!? She had a fucking gun to your head, she was saying that all of it, all of it was your fault! You thought you were abating the violent excesses of the Sons of Jacob… you enabled them, you fucker!"
"Enough!" he said. "Let's keep this simple. We have a dwelling in New Bethlehem with your name on it. Nick and Rose, they'll be on one side. Whoever the hell Agnes Mackenzie…."
"Her name is Hannah, you fucker…."
"…. ends up marrying, they'll be on the other side. Barbecues, gossip across the fence, PTA, bridge nights….." Joseph said recovering some of his style.
"Go fuck yourself," June spat back, ending the call right there.
TENURE
The first thing that Professor Lawrence thought as he alit from the transit bus, was that as soon as he got tenure, he was buying a car. Part of it was the blast of cold as the doors of the bus opened, only so that he could spill himself on to the snow-covered sidewalk for the three-block walk home.
Yet the cold blast in his face reminded him of the tenure-meeting he had had earlier in the day. Campus feminists had written a letter to the Economics Dean. Lawrence had thought the timing poor - tenure tracks had a horizon and he was nearing his. No tenure, then he'd be flipping burgers at McDonald's, glad for the paycheque.
'Damn fem-nazis,' he said to himself. "Forget the fertility crisis,' he thought, 'woke, callout culture at the university was going to bring down civilization. There's going to be no role for old, fat, white economics professors!'
He said to himself, 'for Pete's sake, if you cannot convince other economists that utilitarianism is the anti-dote to morality, all is lost!' His dean had called Lawrence's theories, 'Alert Speer-like'. Lawrence had countered that Hitler's builder had never had a systematic economic theory. The dean answered, 'well, he like you, mobilized labour outside of monetization, which meant, Joseph, slavery!'
The sidewalk up to the house had not been dug out - Eleanor sometimes handled that, she used to say that since leaving the gallery, she needed something physical. Shoveling snow had reminded her of her idyllic life growing up in rural Massachusetts. Besides, Lawrence admitted, the thought of him doing actual, physical labour himself was completely abhorrent.
Then again, Eleanor not getting on to the sidewalk, that was a sign that her meds were off.
Going inside and settling his winter clothes in the entryway, he called out her name to no avail. He checked the mail, there was nothing of interest - save for a Sons of Jacob pamphlet, which must have come from their annoying door-to-door campaign. Lawrence thought that the Sons of Jacob were even more annoying than the Jehovah's, because at least you could dick around with the Jehovah's.
The real reason why Lawrence despised the Sons of Jacob? Just this morning, his dean had denied the latest tenure application, because he'd accused Lawrence of being one of them!? First Albert Speer, then Sons of Jacob! It was then that Lawrence had really feared for humanity. When an Economics Dean at a major northeaster university confused Lawrence's utilitarian theories with the ideolog-laden Sons of Jacob…
Maybe he should, he thought, just quit now - there was a McDonald's within walking distance of his house….
That morning hadn't been all lost. He'd laughed at his dean at the suggestion, saying, 'those theonomic nutcases, they're idiot-logs! God help us all if they get anywhere near government or the courts!'
An hour later, Lawrence had managed dinner, and had helped Eleanor navigate from the bedroom to the table. Lawrence himself had not so much 'cooked' as he had 'heated', but he had got the knives and forks on the correct sides of the two person settings.
Sitting silently, he finally spoke up. "My love," he said in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "I'll be home at noon tomorrow, so that you can make the doctor's appointment. They really haven't got the pills right, that much is obvious."
Eleanor said weakly, "do whatever you want." Lawrence thought back to the upset for her when she had left the gallery. What was always unsaid at that table, was that the gallery itself had been a major step down from her own Master's studies in classical art, at the very same university that was now blocking Joseph's tenure.
Joseph pushed his chair back from the table, knowing that clean-up was his also. 'Eleanor must be sleeping 20 hours a day, these days,' he thought.
"You know, my love, I envision the day when you won't have to go to galleries. That galleries will come to you."
At that Eleanor smiled her lone smile of the day, she said, "Oh Joe, you know how to woo a girl." He had not actively even tried wooing her, not since those sweet mixtapes in boxes in the basement. She looked around their modest house and said, "can you imagine Monet's on these walls?"
"One day, Eleanor, one day."
She smiled, "so it's true, you, the economics professor, you know my price. It turns out, I can be bought."
Joseph thought, 'not so much bought, but distracted.' The love of his life was the most vulnerable and tender part of his otherwise arid-theoretical life.
He knew, though, that after the evening's kitchen duty, probably vacuuming so that the place avoids becoming a pigsty, that he would need his sleep tonight.
Tomorrow, he now only had the morning to rescue an academic career laying in tatters. It occurred to him, that if he lost the job in the department, there'd be no medical coverage for Eleanor. Which economic genius had devised a system like that!?
HIGH COMMANDER PRYCE
Tenure, it was overrated.
The Sons of Jacob, they were actually now in control. When the, then, sitting Vice-President had refused to certify in Congress the recent federal election, chaos ensued. Then, the university was purged. Lawrence had never wanted it, but his old adversaries, the fem-nazis, they had been executed in the main university square. For him, that was terrible over-reach.
Lawrence, himself, had then been forcibly separated from Eleanor. He'd spent a few weeks in a 'Thank Tank'. That was basically sensory deprivation. His real worry? That they eere they doing this to Eleanor.
He'd then been taken to Gillette Stadium at Foxborough, had witnessed the execution of people he had known from the faculty. Bon mots escaped him seeing that. Mostly, he had vomited.
It was quite the contrast to where he'd just been. Interviewed by no less than the Sons of Jacob, 'High Commander' Andrew Pryce. It had been with Pryce that Lawrence had first heard the term 'Gilead', the new name for the United States. Pryce had been very particular that 'Gilead' not be confused with 'New Gilead', which was now the new name for the District of Gilead which now encompassed the old northeast of the country. (Absent the No Mans Land, which Pryce failed to explain. No matter, Lawrence had not been in a position to ask.)
Lawrence was now being limo'ed back home from his meeting. Those 'wheels' were a major upgrade to the bus Lawrence had been used to taking. Pryce, he had perhaps been the only person in all of creation to have read, "Problematic Populism: Upheaval During the Infertility Crisis and Long-Term Effects on American Prosperity," "The Case for Relaunching the Mercantile Economy in Developing Nations," and "Women's Work and Coffee Spoons: The Empirical Model of Women's Work Hours."
'I mean,' Lawrence thought as the scenery sped by, 'who reads that stuff? Who besides a handful of misfit, labour-based economists even understand it?' From the limo, Lawrence also noted the bodies hanging gallows-like from street lights. Apparently, there were worse gigs than what Pryce had offered.
If Lawrence had heard Pryce right, Lawrence was being handed the keys for major Gilead projects - particularly how to stem the 'salvagings of women' (which was the strange turn of phrase by Pryce - after all murder was murder!). How to stem them and reorganize productive labour from that side of the gene-pool. Pryce had used the unfamiliar terms 'Handmaids' and 'Marthas', but Lawrence had coined 'un-women' as a way to justify mass transfer to 'The Colonies', another of Lawrence's inventions.
Lawrence has also meant for 'econo-women' to refer to women's value to the economy, but eventually even he had to concede that Gilead had messed with the meaning.
Pryce had been clear, Lawrence would be accorded the rank of Commander. But he would not attend the 'Commanders of the Faithful' meetings, which in New Gilead was at Beacon Hill, the site of the old statehouse of the former Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
Pryce had been clear, "barring disaster, Lawrence, I want you in the basement at the Chancery, but nowhere near the other Commanders. To be blunt, Lawrence, you never were Sons of Jacob."
The limo pulled into the Lawrence's new digs. Eleanor was already inside, she'd wanted to be there when the priceless masters had arrived from the old Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Despite the upgrade in floorspace from their last place, this mansion simply did not have enough wallspace to accommodate the priceless treasures which arrived.
Upon entering, one of the stevedores approached Lawrence. "Commander, I don't want to abuse my place," the man said, "but The Missus, she seems to be in some difficulty. She's upstairs."
Lawrence climbed the stairs, guessing that Eleanor would be behind the only closed door up there. Opening it, Eleanor was in a fetal position on the bed.
Sitting beside her, he put his hand gently on her hip. "My love, this is what you wanted!"
She lay silent for the longest time. She then said, "I've heard what you're doing at Beacon Hill, Joe. When I look at those priceless treasures, I see blood. There's pain there." She paused turned her head to weakly peer at him, "how can we live like this, Joseph? We're monsters."
JUNE OSBORNE - THE RHETORICAL PATH
There were only so many words in the English language, Lawrence thought. There must be the right combination of them, the right rhetorical path to get bloody June Osborne to relocate to New Bethlehem!
Despite neutralizing Putnam, Lawrence knew that New Bethlehem was hanging by a thread. Despite personally delivering promises to Little America in Toronto, face-to-face promises - ex-pat Americans there had the jitters. Indeed, those were the ones who had experienced first hand Gilead's 'excesses' as he had put it to them. Calling them 'excesses', may not have belonged in that new lexicon he was searching for, the right sequence of words that would create a flight back home. His concessions convinced few.
Osborne, was key, if Kyle Mackenzie did not have her killed first. Indeed, with Nick Blaine now privy to Kyle's 'thinking' about her, would Blaine not just tip her off, freezing her in Canada forever?
Her last words to Lawrence, had been, "fuck you." Okay, Lawrence thought, he'd not used the right rhetorical path that time.
What was it that was stalling him now? He'd talked his way around bigger fish than June Osborne. With both Blaine's as well as Lydia's help, he'd talked his way off of the Wall following Angel's Flight. Despite the now deceased Andrew Pryce's wishes about him, Lawrence was now a full fledged Commander of the Faithful, spending tens of millions on major Gilead upgrades - Magdalene Colonies, New Bethlehem being only two such inititatives.
Yet what were the words rolling around his head, right there, right now? They were words June had used.
"She hated you, Joseph. She despised you! Eleanor knew you were a war criminal, that you should be punished, and that you would deserve it. She had called you 'Albert Speer', Joseph!" Those were the words that June had used to construct her own word-path.
He had lost it, by yelling, "DO NOT PRESUME TO LECTURE ME ABOUT MY WIFE!"
"I was there when she died, Joseph. I let it happen," was the other string of words now stuck inside him. "I even ruined the mixtapes you'd once woo'ed her with. I gave all of your stolen prizes to Billy at Jezebels. All of Eleanor's priceless art - went to a fucking human smuggler, now living in Ecuador."
"That's her legacy, the one you left her with. She hated you, Joseph. Suck on that."
HIGH COMMANDER WHARTON
While still fuming at Osborne, but also fighting back tears which would have surprised many, his phone rang.
God help me, he thought, 'don't let it be Osborne'.
It wasn't. It was D.C. High Commander Wharton. "Lawrence," he announced, "we need to talk. About Mackenzie. I can only protect you so much."