Chapter 1- The Beginning of the End
The telephone in Nick's office shatters the silence of the room with its shrill ring. One ring. June. It's the signal Tuello and the Americans have set up for contact with her and, since meeting in the St. Mary Magdalene Academy, she's used it exactly twice. On her own. Once to let him know the Americans are cutting a deal with Fred Waterford and the other to ask him to help her slay the beast.
When June had made it to Canada, Nick had assumed that things were over between them. Not that they had ever put voice to any kind of agreement to part—they'd been too focused on reaffirming their love for one another in those brief moments they had together—but in the dozens of good-byes they'd been forced to say, he'd always assumed that Canada would be the final cut. She wouldn't need him anymore from there. It felt good to know he'd been wrong about that.
Nick's heartbeat picks up a faster tempo, excitement and adoration coming together to make his fingers fumble as he takes out the burner phone Tuello had left him at a drop-off point after his first contact and dials her cell number.
Gilead had confidently stripped the nation of their devices, cutting them off from the world outside, but had left the towers intact for their own military use. Naturally, the punishment for having a non-state-issued device, an automatic act of treason, is death, even for a rising military Commander. It was worth the risk, though…she was worth the risk. She always had been.
Nick was too invested in June's well-being to find it embarrassing, but like a lovesick teenager, he'd sat in his office in Chicago all day, secretly hoping he'd hear from June again soon. This was a big day for them—the end of a painful chapter.
Now, as the sun is making its descent from the sky, she's finally reaching out. He lets relief wash over him.
Even though Nick had seen her just the night before, he had to admit that he misses her already. The place in his heart where his love for June resides has started to flutter again ever since his meeting with her and Holly at the border safe house and even more so after her kiss in front of Fred—as if it's testing out new wings and readying itself to soar again.
He'd grounded it, covered it up and chained it down in the darkest corner of his consciousness when Lawrence had told him she'd made it out. That was that, he'd thought. They had reached the end of the proverbial road and his love for June would need to stay behind the Gilead blockades with him, where he could keep it from fettering her down in her newfound freedom. She deserved to rebuild her life without anything holding her back, and that included him.
He would content himself with simply her existence now; just knowing she was out there, happy and loved and free would bring him peace every day he stayed in Gilead to serve out his self-determined sentence.
After last night, though, a new bond has seemed to be growing between them, reviving his hope that maybe, just maybe, they could be something—still be something that is. As he listens to the line ring against his ear, he feels the excitement build, like some kind of new opportunity awaits on the other side of this call.
Nick can't wait to hear her voice. He wants to hear June describe the fear in Fred's eyes as he realized his end had come, to hear the satisfaction in her voice that she had put it there. He wants to know what it felt like to watch the life drain out of their tormentor, to watch him take his last, pathetic breath. He's pictured it so many times, he almost regrets not asking June to join her in the hunt. Almost.
It felt right to let June be the one to end his life; afterall, it was her body that Fred had preyed on and violated. She should be the one to inflict that same kind of pain—worse, preferably—on him now.
He wants to hear June say that she feels better today, that eliminating Fred is everything she'd hoped it would be and then some...that she can sleep easier knowing that evil has lost one more earthly pawn.
He's already anticipating her smooth and breathy "hello," so when he hears the line pick up, he says her name with all of the reverence he feels for her. "June. Hey."
"It's Luke," comes the stiff reply and Nick sucks in a silent breath. A pang of jealousy creeps up unbidden at the other man's voice. Luke is answering June's phone. Wait, why is Luke answering June's phone? Is he the one who'd called? Nick can't help feeling disappointed.
He finds himself straightening up from where he'd been leaning his hip against his desk, as if actually squaring up in front of the other man.
He's never admitted it to anyone, but Nick has thought of Luke a hundred times since he'd first met him in that bar in Canada, and with each thought he has found himself further sculpting his rival into a statue of wholesomeness and ideality. Luke, who is June's David, the model of perfection, is on the other end of this call.
Still, he's caught off guard to be speaking to him directly. He has nothing prepared for this moment.
Truth be told, a part of him hates Luke with everything he has—or, at least, he can't help but resent the idea of him. A devoted husband, loving father—hands clean and guilt-free—waiting for June to fall back into place by his perfect side in his perfect life. How is that fair?
Every once in a while, when the demons forever howling at the corners of his consciousness escape their shackles, he allows himself to indulge in the dark fantasy of pounding Luke's face in for slinking back into June's life like he's always been there—like Nick has never existed. In those dark moments, Nick hates Luke for being the one to comfort June. For touching her, for kissing her, for making love to her. He hates Luke, who gets to be a father to Holly. In his rawest moments, Nick hates Luke so goddamn much for getting to live the life he can never have and for having a future with June that he's never even been allowed to dream of.
Another part of him, though—the part that's more mature, less petty, and so desperately in love with June that absolutely anything that makes her happy is sustenance for him—is grateful to the man. He's grateful for the Luke who faithfully waited for his wife for seven years, the Luke who loves June and will never stop; the Luke who will treasure her and throw himself into the task of making her happy everyday.
It's comforting to know June has someone like Luke to care for her now that Nick no longer can. She deserves that. He's also grateful to the man for being the father he hasn't been—and probably will never get to be—to his precious little girl.
"Luke." Nick greets him evenly, grasping onto cool indifference and holding on with all his might. His grip on the phone turns his knuckles white.
"We need to talk." Luke answers coldly.
Fear grips him at the steely grimness he hears in Luke's tone. "Is June alright?" He asks, unable to mask his worry. Has she been arrested or, worse, hurt somehow?
Luke hesitates a bit and Nick's anxiety blooms inside his chest. He's about to ask about Nichole, in case his daughter is the one he should be worrying about, when Luke answers, "June is with Nichole right now, giving her a bath." Relief floods through him. They're okay.
"Can you meet me at the safe house in two hours? The same one Tuello coordinated," Luke asks stiffly, leaving no room for rejection in his tone.
"I—" It would be a challenge to plan a trip like this under the radar. Risky. But he finds himself unable or unwilling to say no. A part of him is craving whatever confrontation is certainly coming. It feels like an opportunity for closure, for facing a reality he's been avoiding—a reason to finally let June go. "I'll be there."
Last night with June had felt like a new beginning of sorts, like ending Fred's reign of terror in their lives had forged a brand new, stronger chain link between them.
Luke's phone call feels like an ending.
The winter chill is even more biting without the warmth of knowing June will be there to heat up the blood in his veins. It's dusk now and the last streaks of light give the night sky a purple and navy glow.
He steps inside the familiar building and his hand finds his gun out of force of habit. He drops his hand consciously as he walks through the entrance hall in darkness, giving his eyes a chance to adjust.
Luke is already there, standing in the trophy hall, staring absently at some photos inside the glass case. He's holding a camping lantern in one hand and the soft light it emanates covers the room in ominous shadows.
He looks homey to Nick in a straw-coloured sweater, puffy, green parka and dark jeans. Luke's outfit reeks of freedom and comfort in contrast to Nick's starched white collar, strangling black tie and overly formal peacoat. It's another reminder of something else Luke has that he is sorely lacking: freedom.
It's awkward as hell to be standing in the same room with June's husband, with her present, as it only serves to solidify Nick's own place in her past. Last time, it was Nick who had June to return home to and it makes him feel unbalanced knowing that, this time, it's Luke who has this privilege.
Nick's not sure what he's meant to say. How does one go about greeting his own downfall and the beacon of light in June's life all at the same time?
"We meet again." Luke starts and Nick can hear the judgement in his voice. He senses the accusation in Luke's tone.
Nick nods, remembering their last conversation too, the one in which he had downplayed his own role in June's life—a friend, he'd said, to keep the focus of his meeting with Luke strictly on June.
"What happened to being 'just a driver?'" Luke gestures at Nick's clothing questioningly, "That's quite the promotion they gave you."
He's not sure where this is going, but Nick says dismissively, "It was my due."
"Due for what?" Luke's eyes pin him in place a few feet away.
Nick doesn't answer. Nothing he says will paint him in a good light and they both know it.
Luke nods in acknowledgment of everything being said with Nick's silence. "Fine. That's fine. You can rot in that hell hole for all I care. I asked you to come here so I could look you in the eyes and tell you to stay away from June." Luke's face is set in determination.
Nick is a bit taken aback at Luke's venom, if not his request. He'd assumed a certain level of understanding between them, a truce born out of Nick's role in returning June to him. The sting of the words makes Nick look away. It hurts to know he's "the other guy," the interloper, the one with no real claim on June.
"That's her decision, don't you think?" He answers quietly because there's just enough resistance left in him from the reminder of June's kiss right beyond this room to put up a fight for her.
"No, I don't think," Luke retorts angrily. "June's been through a lot. She's working through all of this mess. It's making her act very irrational, very unstable. She's not herself." He falters. "And while I appreciate the intel on Hannah's location, June doesn't need you lurking in the shadows, being her cheerleader for this bloodlust she's developed."
He knows then—about Waterford, Nick thinks. Is that what this is about? He doesn't approve?
"This isn't bloodlust." Nick is irritated with the oversimplification. It's retribution. That should be clear. It's the correction of a bitter anomaly in the happy life they both want for June. "And it's not up to you—or even me—to tell June how to deal with any of this. June needs to pave her own path towards recovery," Nick reminds him, disappointed that he has to.
"Through revenge?" Luke asks incredulously.
"Through justice," Nick says forcefully.
"She needs to heal," Luke spits out like he has it all figured out. "She needs to leave this nightmare behind her."
Nick wants to scoff at Luke's naivety. You don't leave behind what has woven itself into the fabric of your being...you try to remove it one stitch at a time. Fred Waterford was merely the tightest, most painful stitch June needed to cut out of her.
He keeps his expression as unaffected as he can manage, used to sheltering his emotions. "Healing is the destination, not the journey," Nick insists. He can't help the slight shake of his head. This man doesn't understand June at all if he thinks she's going to stand back and let things happen to her ever again. June gave up complicity ages ago. "June is a fighter. She heals in doing—in creating the world she wants to live in. She needs to be a part of bringing down the people who hurt her, in taking back her life...even if that makes you uncomfortable."
Luke looks at Nick then like he's suddenly more than just a third wheel, like he's unsettled by Nick's insight. "You think you know June? What, because you slept with my wife, you think you have a handle on her?"
It hurts to have his relationship with June reduced to sex and to have the word 'wife' repeatedly thrown into his face and he thinks Luke must know it.
Nick looks away. June is everything to him, even if he never gets to lay a finger on her again. He doesn't blame Luke for resenting another man's love for his wife; he just wishes he could reach beyond his own insecurities to do what's best for June, the same way Nick is determined to do.
He isn't trying to hurt Luke, necessarily, with his reply, so much as he feels the need to defend his connection to June. "I think I know exactly what she went through for four years because I was there." He doesn't need to add 'you weren't.' Luke can read between the lines.
Nick's attempt at reinstating his position with June is like a spark to dry kindling. Luke recoils from the challenge, showing a raw nerve. This is clearly a sore spot for him. "Look at you gloating, you smug asshole; you weren't there for her, you're one of them." He's suddenly seething.
There is a visible shift now in Luke, from the defensive to offensive. Any resolve the man may have had to be civil in his talk with Nick seems to have left him. Luke takes an intimidating step forward, using his slight height advantage to try to make Nick feel small and insecure. Nick braces himself for a punch, certain it's coming next, but doesn't make any move to retreat. The years in Gilead have left him somewhat immune to intimidation and threats of violence.
"I'm not." Nick defends instead, self-consciously aware of the hypocrisy in the words when he's wearing the uniform of Gilead's most privileged. "I did everything I could to get June out. Repeatedly. Her and Nichole." He loves them, doesn't Luke see that? He would die for either one of them.
"Are you under some kind of delusion about which side you're fighting on?" Luke questions, his voice incredulous.
"No." Nick bristles, narrowing his eyes at Luke. "I know what I'm doing."
The other man scoffs. "You think you're such a hero…" Luke seethes, moving close enough to invade his competitor's personal space now. Nick stands his ground, growing angry as well at this unnecessary attack. Luke has already won; can't he just be satisfied with his victory and leave Nick the fuck alone to lick his wounds? Has the man just called him out here for this condescending show of righteousness?
Luke puts a finger to Nick's chest. "You're no hero! You told me you were June's friend—said you'd look out for her—but you stood by and let them hurt her. Repeatedly. You might have June fooled into thinking you're some kind of selfless saviour, but you don't fool me. I know what they did to her. I heard her testimony. Where were you when Waterford was doing all that, Mr. Driver?" Luke's finger digs into Nick's chest painfully as Nick follows his words in wounded silence.
Luke doesn't wait for Nick to answer. "You were right there! I was fucking stuck here, in a different country, across a warzone, completely unaware of where June even was...but you were right fucking there...and you let them do those things to her…repeatedly."
Every word feels like a knife slicing into Nick's gut. It's a sledgehammer to the very structure of Nick's self-worth; either Luke has thought this through and found the largest kink in Nick's armour or June's love and forgiveness over the past few years have deluded him into absolving himself of guilt he should be drowning in—choking on. It all comes flooding back at once now and Nick struggles against the onslaught in his mind. He can't breathe for a moment and he inhales sharply when he finally does.
Luke is right. He was there, less than a hundred feet away nearly the whole time, completely incapable of stopping any of it. Utterly useless.
"I—" He opens his mouth to respond and closes it again. Helplessness doesn't exactly feel like a noble excuse.
The broadcast of June's testimony in front of the council in Gilead had been a private form of torture for Nick too. With a high ranking Commander facing a foreign court, the Council had been sure to obtain access to all courtroom evidence. He'd watched her beautiful but tired face recount the trauma of the years spent living at the Waterford home with a dignified set to her spine and the strength he'd seen her draw up in the face of countless adversities.
He didn't even know about some of what she'd gone through. Finding out that Waterford had raped her again, just before she'd had Nichole, had been the hardest discovery. Nick had been stupid enough to think that she'd be safe from that much—that not even a vile and self-righteous prick like Waterford could be evil enough to rape a heavily pregnant woman.
He'd flashed back to that terrifying day as he deciphered June's carefully worded testimony. He recalled the look on her face when Waterford had tried to kiss her forehead the day he'd let her see Hannah, the day their daughter was born, as Nick watched the exchange in the rear view mirror. The way she'd shrivelled into herself…
He'd known Fred had done something terrible, hurt her in some way, but she'd refused to tell him how. Nick had begged her to, to talk to him and let him share in her pain, but she'd kept silent.
He knew now that she'd protected him from what the Waterfords had done to her because she must have sensed it would be the final straw. He would have killed Waterford with his bare hands that day if she'd told him—or he would have died trying.
The pictured violence of that particular offence against June had made his blood boil. It had taken everything in him not to grab a gun off of a nearby Guardian and try to wipe out the whole table of Commanders then and there. It was a fantasy to think he'd be able to even take one out before they gunned him down like a rabid dog.
None the wiser to his homicidal fantasy, the Council had simply congratulated him on his loyalty to his Commander when June had indicated he'd been coerced into impregnating her; a man who follows orders at all costs, especially at detriment to himself, is exactly what they need him to be.
June tearing Fred Waterford to pieces last night was for both of them, though he doesn't see the need to tell Luke about it.
"I—that's not how it works." Nick finally defends, more quietly this time and with far less conviction, his eyebrows drawn together. "I did what I could." He can't meet the other man's eyes anymore, though, and Luke takes it as acquiescence despite Nick's weak protest.
Luke scoffs again. "Right, Big Man," and the words succeed in making Nick feel small. "Your motives are always selfless. This whole get-up," he motions to Nick's uniform again, "isn't any kind of ego boost or power trip you're on; it's because June and Nichole need a big, bad Commander on their team, fighting a war they're safe from?" Luke's tone is questioning and condescending, but Nick can't help agreeing with the words if not the sentiment behind them. That is exactly what motivates him because, as long as Gilead exists, they are never truly safe. Luke is only proving his own naivety to think otherwise.
Nick finds Luke's optimism misplaced, but he talks himself out of correcting it. Let him try and build a semblance of normalcy for June, he thinks. Maybe, in time, she'll also believe it.
Luke steps away from him, losing some of his passion; he looks at Nick more analytically as he says, "You think you're in love with June, don't you? In your own dark and twisted way, you want to help her, right?"
Nick stares back at Luke. They both know the answer to that.
Luke continues. "So then back off. Go back to that hell hole and leave June the fuck alone. For good, this time." There's so much finality in the request.
"Are you confused?" Nick bites back, making his own advance this time as incredulity mixes with anger, because he can't let Luke belittle the sacrifice he's already made. "June is back at your house right now. In Canada. I left her alone the moment I received word that she was safe and back with you."
It's true that he'd kissed her since then. Twice. But those were stolen moments he needed to sustain himself in her absence, not because he posed any real threat to Luke or to June's marriage.
June loves him, Nick knows that much—and it gives him great comfort to know that he has a place in her heart—but he has never doubted that it's Luke she's fought all this time to go back to.
"She said you helped her...kill Waterford." Luke retorts, clearly upset that he had been left out of this decision.
There's suspicion behind the statement too, as if Luke is asking for a confession on exactly how many times Nick has secretly met with June and what else has transpired between them that he's had no knowledge of. Nick wonders briefly if Luke is asking him what else they have planned, but he wouldn't offer any answers even if he knew the exact question, so he doesn't see the need to dwell.
Nick gives the older man a scathing look, setting his jaw to show him that he's done with this continued baiting and judgement. "And I'll help her kill whoever else she needs to in order to feel safe…"
Luke looks disgusted and like he's about to lecture Nick again about June's mental health and well-being. Nick doesn't want to hear it. He raises a hand to discourage the other man from trying. Luke can treat June like a fragile and broken child, but he's not going to convince Nick to do the same.
"What are you so afraid of?" Nick suddenly ventures, considering the older man between narrowed eyes, asking himself again why Luke went to the trouble of drawing him out here. "That I've got some kind of hold on June...or that you don't?" The thought helps Nick stand straighter, shoulders squared.
All of this time he's spent feeling jealous and insignificant in the face of June's "Great Love," is it possible Luke has been feeling the same way?
Luke has the decency to look defeated. With a tired swipe over his face he says quietly—desperately, "I love my wife. Please...just leave her alone. You can see your daughter. I'll bring her here any time you like, but just please back off from June."
The plea should be embarrassing, an admission of Luke's waning control over his relationship with June, but Nick thinks he would get down on his knees himself and beg if he ever thought it would bring June closer to him and so all he can do is look at the earnest look on Luke's face with pained compassion. Luke continues with the same tone of unwavering optimism as earlier. "We're really making things work, June and I. June is finding her old self again. She just needs time and anything holding her back in Gilead to disappear—and that includes you. Just go back to your life there and let her be happy now."
The picture Luke paints of June's new life is both compelling and devastating—everything Nick wants for her and nothing of what he wants for himself. Nick looks away to keep the ache in his chest from entering his eyes. Luke makes it sound so simple, like he isn't asking Nick to cut out his heart and set it aside.
He forces himself to nod. With all of the fight gone out of him, he says, "Despite what you may think of me, I will always act in June's best interest." Nick sighs, exhausted. "You don't have to worry about me. I'll keep my distance...unless June needs something." He allows himself the disclaimer because, towel thrown in or not, he won't stand by and let anything happen to her.
Luke looks satisfied, like some dark cloud has been lifted from over his head.
Nick reaches into his coat pocket and withdraws a small, compact, black cellphone—an early generation model without any bells or whistles. "Here." Despite his verbal offer, he continues to hold the object in his hand, staring down at it with haunted eyes, caressing his thumb over the keys. Finally, he forces his arm up, holding the phone out to Luke. "You can give this back to Tuello."
Luke takes the phone from him, tapping it against his palm. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks."
"I'll find a way to get in touch when I can come back to see Nichole," Nick says in the most even voice he can manage. Luke nods.
Nick turns to walk away then, but he falters in his second step. With his back turned to Luke, he says quietly over his shoulder, "Thank you. For taking care of them." He doesn't wait to hear Luke's reply.
As Nick walks back to his car, wind whipping against his face and reaching into every opening in his wool coat, turning his outsides as icy as he feels inside, he can't help but think that the wilderness has never looked more empty, dark or lonely than it does in that moment. Just a whole lot of nothing out there.
When Luke returns to the house, June is sitting in the rocking chair by Nichole's crib, staring at the sleeping baby with the same look of regret mixed with reverence that he'd seen when he'd first walked into the room at dawn. She has the same assured determination in the set of her mouth and chin as well and Luke chews his lip, worrying that nothing has changed since she'd requested him to allow her only five more minutes with Nichole.
He'd protested this morning, trying to think beyond the roaring of blood in his head and the dizzying, sweetly metallic scent of blood. All he knew is that if June walked out of the door today, she would be walking out of his life—and he couldn't let that happen.
He wasn't ready to let her go again. He'd only just gotten her back.
"Hi," Luke whispers from the door frame and June startles and looks up at him.
She gets up slowly and moves towards him, whispering back, "Hi."
When June had mentioned that Nick had helped her to kill Waterford—and the look on her face when she'd said his name, like he was fucking Batman or something—he'd been certain that June and that two-faced asshole must have made plans to run away together.
It was the only reason he could think of why June was talking about leaving; she otherwise seemed certain that legal repercussions weren't looming over her head and she had everything she needed right here. They'd even made progress in finding Hannah.
He knows better now, because as much as he resents the man who took his place all of these years, the one who (he hates to admit) knows this June much better than he does, he could see the sincerity in Nick's promise to give her up and stay away. At least the guy has some integrity.
He moves out of the doorway in an invitation for June to join him in the living room. She follows his lead, walking quietly behind him and sitting next to him on the sofa.
He's made a decision on his drive back from the safe house and it's the only thing he thinks may actually work to hold onto June a little longer.
"Luke—" She starts at the same time that he says, "June—" They laugh softly at the overlap and June relents with, "Sorry, you go first…"
"June." He starts again, thinking back to his conversation with Nick, about what he thinks will convince her. "I think I understand now…at least, more than I did this morning."
He gathers his words and his courage. "I know that what happened last night had to happen for you to feel safe again. Waterford—he was evil. A monster. I'm glad you got to settle the score with him."
June looks at him, searching his eyes, a look of hope and gratitude in her tired blue eyes. Luke continues, encouraged. "I know you feel like you have to fight, to make the world right again. I know you need to be active in dealing with your trauma and I want you to know...I can help you do that."
June looks down at her lap. "Luke…" She starts, tilting her head to the side and something in her voice pushes him to barrel on.
"June, I can't bring these fuckers to you or put them behind bars, but I'll try to support you in whatever it is you need to do to be okay. I can help you find yourself again."
June looks at him sharply and smiles at him in a way that doesn't reach her eyes. "Luke, thank you. For being so patient with me...for trying so hard. I know how hard all of this has been for you...and I'm sorry."
"Hey, no—it's okay, you don't need to apologize." He assures her, waving her apology away.
June meets his gaze, a soft and tender look in her eyes that makes him feel warm inside. He wants to live in that look forever.
"The entire time in Gilead, I thought of you," she says lovingly, "You were the light at the end of the tunnel. I wanted so badly to find you again, to make sure you were okay, and to undo everything that happened to me after the moment we got separated in the woods."
She looks terribly sad at the memory and at what must have felt like a hopeless dream to hold onto. "Luke, I think I was so focused on getting back to you that I didn't even notice that I wasn't even that girl anymore—the June who was taken from you."
Luke shakes his head, imploring her with his eyes. "It doesn't matter which June you are—"
She cuts him off. "It does! It matters. Because, I can't be her anymore, the June you used to know."
Tears spring up in front of her blue eyes, clouding them. "She's a phantom now, that June. She doesn't exist as an entity here...she's just the shadow of a person."
He thinks of what it feels like to remember your childhood, how you know you were that person, that small and inexperienced child, but you've grown and changed so much that it feels removed at the same time. Like it could have just as easily happened to someone else.
Tears start to form in his eyes, giving them a watery rim. "June, don't let that place destroy who you were—the old June, she's still in there somewhere and she was wonderful...we had a life, June, a happy one. Focus on that. In time, we can find that part of you again. We can be happy."
June gives him a pained look as his words plead with her.
"No, Luke, you aren't listening." June's eyes are wet, shadows deepening beneath them, her voice quiet but firm.
He's not even sure when she started crying, but he feels bad to have brought the tears there in any case.
June keeps going. "The puzzle piece that fit into this life with you, the old June, she's gone. There's nothing left of her to find. I don't fit here—I don't—I can't pretend to be someone else forever, Luke. I need to be the June I am right now, at this moment in time."
He looks away in disappointment, but nods his understanding. "Of course. I know that. I understand."
Luke's eyes well up again. He can feel himself slowly losing her and, desperately, he changes tactics. "I want to meet this new June then. Will you let me get to know her?"
June hangs her head under the heaviness of the request. "Someday, Luke, I'll introduce you to her; maybe after I get properly acquainted with her myself."
She looks at him apologetically and he understands that this was the look of determination she'd come back from the woods with. She had already made her decision last night.
"You're leaving, then. You're giving up on us." It's a statement. An acknowledgement of the futility of his argument.
June flinches, whispering, "I'm sorry." She doesn't correct him.
"What about Nichole?" Luke asks thickly, fighting to keep his own emotions in check.
Tonight, after June leaves, he will allow himself to grieve. He's denied himself that right for seven years, always hopeful, always waiting; but tonight—tonight he will finally mourn the June Osborne who died seven years ago in the woods and, once again, the shell of her that died last night. He knows now, with bitter finality, that she's lost to him forever.
"I want to stay and be her mother..." She's struggling for words, guilt obviously etched into every line in her face. "But I don't know what that means right now...I'll come back for her when I'm ready."
Luke nods his understanding. "Are you going to him?" He asks gingerly, not entirely sure he wants to know the answer. He watches her expression.
"No—maybe…" June looks distant, uncertain, then shakes her head. "I'm not sure where I'm going. But I think you should know—"
"I know." Luke cuts her off, because he knows—he tried to pretend he didn't see the emotion in her face when he suggested she meet with her former lover or in the way her eyes looked peaceful, losing their earlier turbulence, after she came back—but he can't bear to hear it from her mouth at this exact moment. He sniffs. He needs time to steel himself against this second loss as well.
"I'm so sorry, Luke," she says sincerely.
"I know." Luke acknowledges again. "Me too."
June holds the brown manilla folder in her hand like it's a lifeline. She opens it, drinking in the information as she has dozens of times already. She outlines Hannah's face in a photograph with tender affection in her fingertip.
With renewed confidence, she picks up her cell phone and finds the familiar contact. She smiles as the line rings, feeling her resolve steadying itself. When it finally connects, she gets right to the point, forgetting any formalities.
"Tuello," she says, "I'm going to need a list of your contacts in the resistance between here and Colorado."
"Hello June." Tuello sighs. He considers objecting, thinking of a million confidentiality laws he'd be breaking and the tiring clearances he's going to need to even access the information June Osbourne is asking him for, but with another sigh he says instead, "When are you leaving?"
"Two hours," June answers easily.
"I need at least three," he counters.
"Fine." June closes her eyes. "And Tuello?"
"Yes?" The man sounds tired.
"I'm going to need the address for Commander Nick Blaine." She bites her lip nervously.
Tuello pauses for a beat. "Anything else?" There's a hint of sarcasm to the question.
"No, that's it. Thanks." June ends the call and tucks the phone into the side pocket of her packed backpack.
She carefully folds away the folder from Nick and tucks it into its place in her bag before putting her hands back on the steering wheel of the beat-up station wagon. She's already parked in front of the US embassy, having driven straight here after a tearful good-bye with Luke, Moira, and her little saving grace.
With nowhere to go for the next three hours, she places her forehead on the wheel and focuses on simply breathing. Excitement and dread fight for equal attention in her chest and she doesn't want to give into either; neither seem like the right emotion for what she's about to do.
June dials the familiar number again, listening to it ring incessantly. When the first few single rings had gone unanswered and her phone screen remained offensively blank, she'd gotten bold and held the line.
No answer.
An hour later, she'd called again. Still, no answer. What could have happened to him?
Now, on the third try, she can't help feeling discouraged.
Maybe he isn't even in his office, she rationalizes. She can't be sure of his schedule; maybe she'd only gotten lucky with the last two calls she'd made.
She bites her lip as she considers breaking with the procedure and just calling the burner phone Tuello had provided Nick. It's a big risk though. If he's in public, in the company of anyone who might report a military Commander with an illegal device, she might put him into serious trouble.
When the analog clock on her dashboard declares the hour as past midnight, June reassures herself that a short text should be safe: Call me.
She checks the device every few minutes after that for the next hour, hopeful each time that the tiny notification showing that her message had been read would appear and that it would only be a matter of time after that before she heard from Nick.
She briefly wonders if he had sensed that she'd been considering returning to Gilead in their last conversation; the one where she had expressed to him how unsettled life in Canada felt because of the American and Canadian governments' leniency towards the Waterfords, and is avoiding answering her calls in fear he might encourage her. She feels mild annoyance at the assumption. Nick should know better than to try and change her mind once it's made up.
As if to prove her point, she makes the impulsive decision to hit the call button, dialing. The line rings cheerily and June holds her breath in anticipation of hearing his voice at the other end. The ringing continues before cutting off with a disappointing double beep.
She tries again. Same result. Again. Ring…Beep Beep. She frowns at the bright square illuminated against the surrounding darkness, trying to figure out why it won't connect. Where is the glitch?
This isn't right. It can't be that he isn't picking up. She knows Nick; the only reason he would ignore her calls is if something had happened to him or if he somehow thought that he was saving her from some terrible fate. He could be annoyingly noble sometimes.
The second option doesn't make a lot of sense to her though, so fear and anxiety settle a little more firmly into June's mind with every ring. Is this about delivering Fred Waterford to her? He'd been reassuring that he was within his jurisdiction to take custody of Fred and "make him disappear" without recourse. Had he been overconfident or bluffing just to be able to give her what she'd asked for? It wouldn't surprise her actually.
Last night had been a huge moment for them—the cathartic finale to their years-long horror drama. Thanks to Nick.
She'd been certain he would want to hear about it, to know that it had been worth the risk to take matters into their own hands and that he'd done something for her that she could never repay.
She'd wanted to tell him how much more she loves him for supporting her in what everyone else had judged her for—for trusting her to know what she needed to fix things in her own head. Disappearing without a word isn't like him at all.
Something's wrong. She can feel it.
Holding the brown envelope from Tuello against the steering wheel, she reaches up to turn on the small light above the gear stick and picks up the small square of paper from the top of the pile of maps, contact lists, and fake documents that Tuello had managed to secure for her. She reads it again:
Commander Nick Blaine
13445 Palmyra Drive
Sheba City, Jericho
71680
In a handwritten note, Tuello has scribbled down beneath the address: formerly the Westwood neighbourhood in Kansas City.
Nick is in Kansas.
June takes out the new map of Gilead, comparing it to the one Tuello had provided of the old United States, and makes a decision she can't be entirely sure she hadn't already made. She needs to get to Hannah...but first, she needs to find out what's happened to Nick.
The phone buzzes in Luke's coat pocket again as he sits on the porch swing outside his house in the dark, taking masochistic pleasure in the bite of the cold wind on his reddening skin.
He considers ignoring the obnoxious reminder of his failed attempt at salvaging his marriage like he has the numerous ones before, but a morbid feeling of curiosity makes him finally reach into his fleece lined pocket and draw out the small offending object.
He looks down at the screen as it vibrates in his hand.
Call from: Vida, it reads. Vida. Life. He knows immediately who it is on the other end of this call. June…Vida. The dark Commander's life—or his purpose for it or whatever other sappy metaphor Lover Boy had been thinking of when he'd plugged it into his phone.
He remembers when June had been his own life-source—his own guiding light—and now another man has the gall to save her contact in this endearing and intimate way. Like she belongs with him now, in his world, his life.
It hurts more that the other man clearly isn't wrong. June's only been gone a few hours, after saying she hadn't actually decided where she was going…obviously placating Luke. Sparing him some kind of added insult. As if he could feel any worse…
It seems it didn't take her all that long to make up her mind. She's going back to him, then, that much is clear. To Nick. Her lover. The father of the child she got to keep. The one she calls for in her sleep.
Well, maybe it is worse than simply losing his wife that she's immediately going to another man. His eyes well up with renewed hurt now that he doesn't have the reassurance of June being here with him to soothe his wounded pride.
He knows what the right thing to do is…
He knows he should answer the call, explain everything to June. Confess. He knows he should tell her why he has the phone that had been given to her soulful Commander by the American government—what he'd asked of her precious, new love and the other man had agreed to.
She'd probably swoon at the asshole's presumed sacrifice though. As if the douchebag had some moral leg to stand on or some kind of claim on her that he was relinquishing.
Nah. If that piece-of-shit-pawn-of-the-devil wants June, he can work for it—like he'd made Luke do after first destroying her beyond recognition. Luke is done with both of them.
He swings the arm holding the vibrating phone back and then forward with all of his might, sending the object disappearing towards the tree-line in the distance.
It feels good to be rid of it; like he's finally done something for himself.