Author's note: I feel like this chapter needs a disclaimer because things are going to get bad for Nick and June before they get better. Now, this is definitely a Nick and June fic, so I promise to fix all the messes I'm making for them. Just trust me. The next chapter will clarify some things that definitely need clarity. :)
Also, this whole fic is born from a 1 second flash I had when I watched Nick put that ring back on his finger...and then shaped by my love for soapy, angsty drama.
Chapter 3 - One Step Closer
There are so many people around and the task list is so extensive that June doesn't get the chance to stop and chat with Bonnie or the other Marthas until the guests have already started pouring in.
"It's showtime, ladies," the head Martha tells them all stiffly, an edge to her voice that betrays her nerves. The entrance hall picks up the hum of voices and the soft chords of a piano signal the start to the festivities.
The Marthas tasked with serving guests have been provided simple white dresses and the change of uniform is enough to make the women feel a little less out of place amongst the bon ton. For a moment, if June doesn't think too hard, she can almost forget that this is Gilead and that most of these women are captives of some kind or another. She wonders who's responsible for this tiny reprieve from servitude, the mistress or commander of the home, and if it's a conscious act or driven from a controlling desire to throw the perfect party. Knowing the type, June would put her money on the latter.
June's shoulder-length hair has been smoothed into a neat twist at the nape of her neck using bobbie pins provided earlier by the Martha in charge, but whisps of blonde hair keep escaping to frame her face.
Two months of travelling through Gilead with little resources have taken their toll on June's body and her white dress sits a little loosely on her petite frame; still, she can't help but feel pretty in the simple dress. The soft fabric accentuates the curves of her figure and makes her feel like more of a guest than a Martha. She laughs to herself softly as she surmises that, mostly, she's just happy that it isn't red.
June follows the other women out to the great hall where the main event is being held, a tray of hor d'oeuvres in hand. It comes almost instinctively to scan the room, her eyes searching for Nick's familiar face.
God, she hopes Bonnie's right and he just shows up here. Not only would it simplify her search, it would finally set her mind at ease. At the very least, running into him would mean that he's alive and well and two months of imagining the worst could be put behind her.
"Look. There she is...Ms. Miracle herself," Bonnie whispers in her ear, pointing out a petite, blonde woman in a flowing turquoise dress. The fabric pleats across her full breasts, cinched together right under their swell by criss-crossing straps that wrap around her small frame. The sleeves of the dress stop above her elbows and bunch fashionably where her blonde curls fall elegantly around her shoulders and back. The outward slope of her stomach is further accentuated by the protective hand she keeps firmly below her belly-button.
June remembers the instinct to put her hand on her own belly during both of her pregnancies, sheltering the fetus growing inside as if a mother's hand is enough to keep all harm at bay; she feels a momentary pang of regret in her heart for having left Nichole behind.
Sighing, she steels herself against the rush of emotions that thinking of Nicole usually brings. She'll find Nick and then Hannah and then they can finally find a place where they can be a family together.
"She's pretty," she says dismissively to Bonnie. With another glance towards the woman, June leans in to whisper, "Who's hosting?"
"It's her house, apparently, but those three women right there are supposed to be 'the friends.'"
"Why do you say it like that?" June asks curiously, a smile playing at her lips. One thing she's already learned about her newfound friend is her appreciation for drama.
"Because look at them," Bonnie nods her head in the direction of a huddle of wives standing a few feet away from the delicate blonde. June follows her gaze.
Three women wearing more modest turquoise dresses were watching the mistress of the house's every move with a sneer on each of their faces. Every few seconds, one of them would lean in, whisper something to the others and the three women would giggle to each other before turning their attention back to the blonde.
June had forgotten how vicious these women could be without any real purpose in their lives. She figures they must hate being shown-up by the younger woman. June almost feels sorry for the oblivious hostess, but another glimpse of the offending turquoise chases the sympathy away.
June serves a few commanders and their haughty wives smoked salmon and cream cheese canapes, keeping her face downcast and half-shielded with her tray in case anyone here is familiar with the infamous runaway rebel handmaid from Boston.
No one gives her so much as a second glance, fortunately. They're all too self-absorbed to bother looking at a Martha serving them canapes, even if she is better dressed than they're used to.
The room is crowded and people move around continuously as they try to network with as many people as they can.
Through the parting of a group of couples, June catches sight of a slim, black-haired man standing alone at the far window, removed from the crowd as he seems to stare out at an unseen point in the black stillness beyond the glass. His black suit is tailored to fit his broad shoulders and taper around his trim waist.
June's heart starts to pick up a familiar tempo because she thinks she would know those soft, dark curls and that long, shapely neck anywhere. She gravitates towards him as a few people reach for the hor d'oeuvres on her tray. She has no choice but to stop and serve them lest she draw unnecessary attention to herself, but her teeth set in annoyance for the hindrance.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Bonnie finds her way back to June's side, her voice breaking through the steady hum of blood rushing more quickly through June's body.
"I think I have," June breathes out. She tells herself not to get too excited, because the odds are slim that her search could be over so quickly. She tells herself that the crash of disappointment will be all the worse if she gets carried away before she's certain that it's him. None of it stops her heart from pumping wildly inside her chest.
Bonnie gasps, "What? He's here? Where?" The Martha darts her eyes around, trying to maintain a discrete steadiness to her head. She, too, knows the dangers of drawing undue attention.
June doesn't answer, but Bonnie's already followed her eyes to where the dark haired man is still standing alone and preoccupied.
He turns away suddenly as someone calls his name, "Commander Blaine!" Though she still can't see his face, June's heart skips a beat at the sudden confirmation, her body tingling.
It's him. Nick. He's really here!
She drinks in the sight of him, giving into the girlish impulse to momentarily admire him from a distance. He's always been a handsome man, but there's something striking about seeing him after these prolonged absences. Like she'd forgotten just how attractive he is and how effortlessly he can set her heart aflutter.
Every time they meet again after some time apart, June feels the same jolt of electricity she did that first day she'd met the Waterford Guardian with the sweet brown eyes and the kissable lips. She's been drawn to him from day one, there's no denying that, and even five years on, she feels an instant magnetism in his presence.
Her brain intercedes with the more rational thought that, evidently, Nick Blaine is very much alive and in one piece—thank God for that—and some of the tension automatically leaves her body.
Now, she can rip him apart herself for disappearing like he did, she muses. She just has to get him alone first.
As Nick makes his way towards the source of the voice who had called out to him, one of the three women that Bonnie had pointed out earlier continues, "Please, Commander. It's time for a toast."
June bites her bottom lip to stop herself from calling out to him as he walks further away, following the turquoise-clad woman. Instead she tries to weave in and out of the crowd, following Nick as he makes his way towards the center of the room. Bonnie follows her urgently.
"June," Bonnie hisses, clearly distressed, "Are you sure?"
June doesn't answer, the wheels in her head slowly creaking back into motion now that the initial shock and excitement of finding her lost lover has faded. A niggling doubt has started to creep into her brain as someone hands Nick a flute of champagne and ushers him towards the pretty woman. Where exactly are they taking him?
Nick stops briefly to greet a suit-clad commander with a handshake and then continues past the huddle of wives to stand stoically next to the woman of honour.
June watches in confusion as the beautiful blonde with the swelling baby bump takes Nick's free hand casually and leans into him. She looks up into his handsome face and whispers something by his chin so only he can hear. He softens his stance slightly.
He smiles down at the woman and realization steals June's breath away before the once-sneering friend with the now too-wide smile begins her toast.
Slowly, horror begins to squeeze June's lungs from within, tightening her muscles and clenching at her stomach. Her heart beats like a drum against her ribcage, slow and booming and far too hard.
Holy fuck.
"Thank you all for being here today in celebration of this precious miracle. Commander and Mrs. Blaine, you might feel nervous or ill-prepared, but you have all you need in your hearts and in this room. They say it takes a village to raise a child and your village is here today to say that we will support you until the very end!" The woman raises her glass and turns to her audience, "A toast to the good health and safe arrival of Baby Sinclair-Blaine."
"To Baby Sinclair-Blaine," the crowd chants obediently.
A wave of nausea hits June, bringing her out of her shocked reverie with a gasping intake of breath. She shoves her tray at Bonnie, not caring that the metal clatters against the tray already in the poor Martha's hands.
She's never been known for reigning in her emotions and June already feels the scream building at her core. If she doesn't get out of this room this very second, June is certain that the scene she'll make will bring the entirety of Gilead's forces down on her in minutes.
The move towards the french doors leading out of the great hall is entirely unconscious and June feels as light as a breeze and as dead as a rock as she moves through them.
She'd imagined a million and one scenarios that would have explained why Nick disappeared without a word—for the finality with which he'd severed their connection—but not for a second had she considered that it might involve this. Another woman—another baby.
The truth is entirely crushing.
Nick's POV
Staring out at the darkness beyond the expansive, spotless glass, Nick pictures the great nothingness that nightfall casts on the outside world slowly moving in. He feels it pressing in on him like the dank, dark mouth of a hungry beast, threatening to swallow him in its empty embrace.
His suit may be tailored for the perfect fit, but his collar sits too tightly against his throat and his blazer feels as stifling as if he had worn a straight-jacket.
Nick has to remind himself that there are still so many loose ends he needs to tie up before he can allow himself to give in to this feeling—despair, he chides himself, is for the weak and the weak die for nothing. He's resolved himself to making sure his death at least counts for something.
"Commander Blaine!" He hears his name being called and, with a sigh, stiffens his muscles, readying himself to play the role he's compelled to play if he has any hope of achieving his end goal.
Nick follows the voice, recognizing Commander Bromwell's wife as the source, and takes his place standing at the center of a clearing in the crowd, seeing nothing more than a sea of colour: turquoise and black and spots of white.
He's gotten used to distancing himself from this world, reducing his presence to the mere act of sensory intake. He registers the sounds and smells and faces, automatically cataloguing them by importance and filing them away for easy retrieval. Even through the impossibility of it, he often still finds himself instinctively searching for a flash of red at the edge of the crowd. Old habits can die hard and he's always been a little prone to fantasy.
It is perhaps this practice of detaching his mind from any experience not directly connected to his senses that amplifies a quiet gasp amidst the toasting cheers against his ears. His attention zeroes in immediately on the unexpected sound, cataloguing it as out of place. His eyes dart towards the intruding sound, and for a second before she turns on her heel, he thinks he might be staring at a ghost.
June.
He blinks, rationalising the impossibility of June actually being here, standing in his house, in Jericho, in the heart of Gilead's military stronghold. There's no way…
Instead of disappearing like the apparition he's sure she is, he watches the retreating white form zigzag through the crowd, concreting herself into reality with every step. He'd recognize her back just as well as her front any day—he's memorized her from every angle over the years—and as she steps out of the hall, the certainty that she is no ghost hits him like a ton of bricks. His breath catches in his throat.
Fucking Hell, June.
June pushes her way through the crowd with as much restraint as she can manage, gasping for air as she makes her way blindly to the washroom where she'd taken off her Martha's uniform earlier. She fumbles to lock the door as her stomach heaves.
He'd disappeared two months ago. No good-bye, no explanation. Just a clean cut. And now it all makes sense.
He's married. He has a new family. A miracle baby he can finally openly claim as his own. God, she was so fucking pretty too, the wife.
June makes it to the toilet just in time to empty her stomach.
She feels like a fool for following him back into Hell when he clearly didn't want her to. She'd told herself and Luke repeatedly that she needed to go back for Hannah, but she'd be lying if she said that Nick still being here wasn't another motivating factor.
She flushes the toilet, swiping a shaky hand across her mouth. An imperceptible knock sounds against the door and June ignores it, splashing cold water on her face and into her mouth to clear away the acidic aftertaste of vomit. Shakily, she dries her hand and heads to the door.
She turns the lock, but before she's even fully turned the knob, a black-clad shoulder pushes through the opening in the doorway. She almost cries out at the forceful entry, but a soft finger presses against her lips, stifling any escaping sound.
"June. Shh—it's me." His voice is like velvet against bare skin, soft and comforting. June looks up into his familiar brown eyes and feels the pain of loss on a gasping breath, tears stinging at her eyes.
"Fuck, you're really here." Nick says like he'd half expected her to evaporate when he touched her. His hands seem to move impulsively up her arms to her shoulders, still checking for solidity.
Nick turns to lock the door quickly behind him, releasing his hold on her. When he turns back, he ushers June backwards and away from the door with his hands and body and she follows his lead unconsciously, shrinking backwards with the conflicting feelings his nearness brings. She wants nothing more than to finally step into the circle of his arms and to push away from him all at the same time. It's an arresting conflict.
Oblivious to June's inner battle, Nick runs a shaky hand through his hair before resting it against the base of his neck. His brown eyes are dark and stormy with his own tempest of emotions. In a seething whisper he finally says, "Jesus, June—are you absolutely insane?!" The words sting more sharply perhaps because it drives home the suspicion that Nick isn't exactly happy to see her. June sets her chin defensively, not answering.
His next words are more pained than angry though, "What are you doing here?" He runs his hands through his thick hair again in evident agitation. "You shouldn't be here."
"Well, sorry for the inconvenience, Commander Blaine," She spits out, angry that he seems so disturbed by her presence. "I hope I didn't make things too awkward for you."
He tilts his head in a slight shake, watching her expression morphing into one of increasing anger. Not for the first time, Nick feels the moment slipping away from him. "June, that's not what I mean…"
"The thing is, Commander Blaine—" June tries to say casually, but her mouth feels tight around the words. Her finger finds the center of Nick's chest, pressing against it.
"Stop…" he breathes as if the title hurts him coming from her lips.
"I'm all about a good party," the venom in her voice is hard to disguise.
Nick's own voice is tinged with desperation. "June, I wanted to tell you—"
"I guess it's a good thing I happened to be in the neighbourhood, because my invitation to your wife's baby shower must have gotten lost in the mail!" June's blue eyes spark with rage and the words wife and baby catch on her tongue so she has to spit them out like the bad aftertaste they've left in her mouth.
Nick lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes briefly. "I can explain…" he starts and June shakes her head in disbelief.
She scoffs. "Pretty self-explanatory, Commander…" she trails off.
"No." He grabs her shoulders between his hands with gentle force. His brown eyes are imploring, but they dart to the door repeatedly at seemingly phantom intruders. "Let me explain. Please let me explain. But not here, June. It's not safe."
June wants to deny him, to shut him out of her life the way she feels suddenly discarded from his, but the plea in his voice deflates her anger slightly.
Nick takes a beat before stating, "Find the garage—out the kitchen door and to the right. Go to the door on the side. It won't be locked. Meet me there in thirty minutes."
June starts to shake her head again, the gentle simmer of her anger flaring up, but Nick pushes against her shoulders softly with his palms, squeezing gently with a silent reminder of their connection.
"Thirty minutes, June," he repeats with more force. She nods her head a fraction and he lets out a sigh—of relief or of frustration, she isn't sure. "Stay out of sight until then." Another plea. Nick lifts a hand from her shoulder and caresses her cheek with his thumb. She presses her cheek against his hand in the familiar gesture as tears threaten to spill from her closed eyes. It's a painful reminder of just how much she's missed him.
June doesn't open her eyes when he pulls away nor even after she hears the soft click of the door closing behind him. Unseeing, she rests her palms against the counter, taking comfort in the feel of the cool porcelain of the sink against her heated skin.
It takes her a full moment before she has the courage to open her eyes and stare at her red-rimmed eyes in the mirror ahead.