Nick was in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of Rita's coffee when the announcement came in over his radio. A Handmaid. The Mackenzie's house. It was all he needed to know it was her. But he didn't feel anger or sadness at the revelation that she didn't make it out; the only feeling in his empty belly and tired eyes was bitter disappointment.

Rita entered shortly after, and when she saw Nick – doubled over the countertop with his head cradled in his hands – she knew, too. She sighed in resignation, rubbing reassuring circles across Nick's back.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled apologetically, but Rita wasn't having it. She shushed him.

"It's not your fault," she shook her head despondently, "we tried."

Nick had a feeling June might do this. He always did, even at the Globe when he promised her that he would find Hannah. June wasn't one to let someone else take care of what she believed she could do herself, and because of that she was never able to trust him to bring her firstborn home. She was right to do so. It was an impossible task, as she learned in a difficult lesson tonight.

Rita patted his shoulder, drawing his attention. He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes, his weariness from the long night present in the dark circles around them.

"Go get her," she nodded her chin toward the front door.

So he pulled on his coat.

When the black van pulled up to the house and he saw her face in the window, that disappointment gave way to something else. Something heavier, like lead in his belly. A sinister dread.

June didn't look him in the eyes at first. She glanced away briefly, the guilt etched into the lines between her brows. But he never took his off of her— even through the reflective glass he read every emotion, took note of every twitch and shift, the resigned affection as she saw him and the obstinance in the slight upturn of her chin. They would be in for a fight, but not now. Not yet.

For now, they could both only wordlessly accept a simple truth: that on this night June's fate in Gilead had been irrevocably sealed.

How could you let her go?

In the claustrophobic hallway of the Waterford house, Nick leaned against the wall, his head tilted back. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Because I have another daughter.

Those words were heavy like rocks in his pockets. Like strong hands grasping his clothes, dragging him down, down, down into the abyss where the pressure compressed every square inch of his body and he could see nothing but pitch black.

Holly wasn't only June's to give away; Nick loved her too, with all the unbridled devotion of a new father. He barely even knew her, but he wanted so badly to hold her now, to keep her safe and warm. But she was gone, and June made that choice for the both of them. His fists clenched tightly.

The walls were closing in on him, trapping him. Nick tuned out all the sobs and the shouts. He didn't want to hear it anymore. Serena Joy's crocodile tears meant nothing. They were something so small, so insignificant to the looming cloud of desperation settling over his soul. He kept the voices at such a distance that he didn't notice the argument had ended until he felt the brush of someone storming past him.

Nick opened his eyes. He watched the red silhouette make a beeline for the stairs, and he followed her without thinking, his feet moving on their own accord.

"Why are you still here?" his words echoed all around her in the stairwell.

June ignored him as she climbed each step, her boots landing heavily against the old wood in her ire. Nick continued to trail her, so insistent on getting answers that the dire consequences of stepping out of line with the Handmaid were lost to him. It didn't matter anymore. He couldn't think about anything else right now.

"Do you know how many people risked their lives to get you out?"

June turned a corner and followed the curved stairway to the third floor. He caught up to her in the long, stretching hall to her bedroom and stopped her with fingers grasping her arm – gentle, yet firm – as he wheeled her around to face him.

"June. Look at me," Nick fumed, but she kept her eyes stubbornly on the dull white plaster of the wall beside her. "You think you're ever going to get another chance?"

Her silence spoke volumes. She knew that he was right.

Nick scoffed, letting her go to run his fingers through his hair instead. His impatience was growing, but she stood her ground. She didn't turn away from him. She had no reason to.

"Do you know where she is?"

This finally broke through June's impenetrable silence.

"She's gone."

And Nick exploded.

"Gone? Gone? What— you can't tell me if our daughter is safe? Or if you even trust the person you gave her to? She's just fucking gone?" he bellowed without any reservations. He wasn't one to raise his voice easily. But his usual cool and collected mask was long gone, eavesdroppers be damned. There wasn't room for discretion, not tonight— it was time for all the little secrets in this house to come bubbling to the surface.

June set her jaw, her chin quivered. He could see the tears welling in the corners of her eyes, and feel the rage burning in the furnace of her heart.

"I can't tell you if she's safe or not," she stubbornly wiped at her eyes with her red sleeve, "I don't fucking know that myself!"

"Then you shouldn't have made the choice! I could have—"

"What? What can you do, Nick?" June interrupted, stepping closer, the anger overcoming her guilt and allowing her to meet his eyes directly now. "Can you bring Hannah home?"

He didn't respond to that. They both knew the answer. This time June turned her back to him and paced inside her bedroom, her sharp words resounding through the third floor.

"It hurts, doesn't it? Watching your child disappear from your life. That's what this place does, Nick. You've been here since the beginning. Get used to it already."

"You're not the only fucking person who's lost family, June."

She stopped, the weight of his words a slap to the face. She knew about Nick's father, about Joshua, the booze and the pills and the disappearances. Everyone that Gilead took from him. She knew enough about Nick that she had no excuse for the things she lashed out over in her helpless fury.

And now she took his daughter from him, too.

In place of anger, a regretful emptiness began to fill the void, and June tried to steady herself as the melancholy hit her with force. In the moment, everything she did was motivated by an unequivocal love for her children. Now, in the face of reality and the consequences thereof, her choices stung. Deeply.

Nick's footsteps sounded hollow as he stepped into the threshold of her room and stopped, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off of him. June took a deep, shaky breath. She closed her eyes, letting the tears stream freely down her cheeks now, and when she opened them again she saw that Nick was crying, too. June reached up to cup his face between her hands, her fingers still cold against his hot, wet skin, as she brushed his tears away with her thumbs.

"Listen to me," she swallowed, struggling to form the words she knew he needed to hear her say. "Emily is my friend. I trust her. I trust her with our baby girl more than anyone else," her voice broke with those last words, "and she is tough. You know this. If anyone can get Holly out of here, it's her."

Nick's shoulders slumped in defeat, his jaw clenching. That revelation didn't take away his pain, barely even mitigated it. Still, he shut his eyes, teardrops clinging to his thick lashes. June wiped those away, too.

"It was supposed to be you," he groaned.

She sucked in a breath, a sob caught in her throat. It choked her. Her voice rasped as she tried to form words around it. "I know," she pulled him close, cradled his head against her shoulder. In this place there was no such thing as comfort, so it was all she could do to help carry some of the burden. "I know."

Nick's arms wound around her waist as he held onto her tightly. Grounded himself within her presence. His shoulders shook as they grieved together— for the unknown fate of their daughter. For themselves. For all the things they said and did but could never take back. And by the time the tears dried up, they were laying side by side in June's creaky little twin-size bed, wrapped up in the tangle of limbs and each other. No more yelling, or talking. All there was between them was slow, even breaths as they held onto each other, legs around legs and foreheads touching. Counting down the minutes until the sun would rise and they have to let each other go again.

But for now, nothing else existed. Only this fleeting respite.

Time heals all wounds, they say. But that's bullshit. Weeks had passed and June's were still fresh.

Take care.

Should anyone ask, she'd say she does not keep track of time anymore— because what's the point? But secretly, she had counted the days since that inadequate goodbye in front of the burned shell of the Waterford house. Each one had become a little bit easier to get through without thinking about him, until today.

June – now playing the role of the ever-obedient Ofjoseph – was nursing her foul mood in the dining room as she helped light candles for this farce of a meeting, when a dark figure appeared in her peripheral. Her senses picked up on him before she saw him; the hair on her arms stood on end, her skin tingling. When she looked up, Nick was standing there in the doorway, looking exactly as he did the day she last saw him.

Well, almost.

Sharply dressed in his tailored Commander uniform, he shifted from one foot to the other, his body language visibly uncomfortable. She could see the shame written all over his face. But it wasn't his new role that made her heart stop— simply the sight of him was enough for that. It was a single gulp of fresh air as she was drowning.

"Hi," June gasped out, her throat suddenly dry.

"Hey."

"So you're one of them now."

Nick instinctively dodged her gaze, directing his eyes to the floor, "I couldn't say no."

"No. You never can."

They gazed at each other across the dining table, the candles between them flickering in the draft. So much to be said, so many words unspoken. June could tell in the way Nick's fingers twitched that he ached to breach the distance and hold her.

"I have to go polish the silver," June turned abruptly to leave before she ran out of oxygen.

"June," his voice was so soft it was barely a whisper, but she heard it and stopped. When she turned around, Nick was stepping closer to her, and then she to him – drawn to each other like magnets – until they were nearly toe-to-toe, close enough to fill the space between them. Nick reached out and tentatively touched the back of June's hand with his fingertips. It was enough to send a shock of electricity through both of them. Her breath hitched.

The voices of the Commanders in the parlor faded away and the whole world came down to this cluttered little dining room, like Nick and June were the only souls left.

Nick proceeded to take her hands in his, and against her better judgement, she let him. His fingers curled around hers and he closed his eyes, like touching her soothed him. She let him pull her into this familiar spell, moved even closer until their bodies were touching. Inches away from his sweet mouth, which opened and closed as he tried to find the words. His jaw clenched. Flustered. Looking nothing like the imposing Commander he was supposed to be. June was never more tempted to kiss him.

She loved him this way.

"Are you okay?" he finally settled on, and she could feel his breathy words against her lips. It was a question he always asked, and the answer was always the same. There was something more pressing that she had to tell him.

"She made it. Holly got out," June whispered urgently, with the flicker of a smile that made him smile too.

"I know. I found out in a meeting—"

A door opened. Reality snapped back. They stepped away from each other on instinct, Nick reluctantly letting go of June's hands just before Sienna turned the corner— a pitcher of wine in hand, oblivious to the thick tension that had filled the room moments ago.

"You're needed in the kitchen," the young Martha stammered out, looking on the verge of tears as usual.

Nick looked at June. She could see in his eyes that he was begging her not to go, even though they both knew that she had to. And still, he nodded goodbye.

She turned and left without another word, knowing this wouldn't be the last time she saw him today.

Hours later that encounter with Nick would feel like a faraway memory to June as she sat upright in her bed, staring at the folders of condemned Marthas in her lap. There was a queasy feeling in her gut as she considered the burdensome choice Lawrence was forcing her to make. A choice that she didn't want to make.

She clenched the paper in her fists and considered throwing it all into the fireplace beside her bed. She felt her anger coming to a boil once again. As much as she tried to remind herself that she was capable of this, there was a voice in the back of her mind telling her to just burn it all down instead. Fuck Lawrence. Fuck the Commanders. Fuck everyone.

A faint knock on her door pulled June out of her bitter thoughts. Her heart stopped as she recognized whose it was.

The door opened and then closed quietly as Commander Blaine stepped inside, hesitance written all over his soft features. Immediately she could tell something was wrong. It was in the way he looked at the wall behind her instead of meeting her eyes. The reflexive loosening of his tie. That familiar clench of his jaw.

And instead of being happy to see him, all she could be was irritated.

"I'm leaving."

June tossed her folders on the floor beside her bed, rolling her eyes. "Another district? Let me guess: big house, pretty little wife. Maybe you'll even get your own Hand—"

"I'm being deployed to front. Chicago."

She felt the earth open up from under her and the ensuing freefall. It wasn't the first hard punch to the gut she'd experienced this night. June sucked in a breath as she shook her head, but Nick pressed on, his need to tell her what had to be said being the only force that kept him from buckling.

"I'm leaving in the morning."

For a long moment June didn't say anything. She simply stared at him, mouth hanging open, giving the slightest shake of her head in disbelief.

"You're going to die."

"I came to say goodbye."

"Well, you shouldn't have," she croaked.

Nick chewed his bottom lip, nodding in resignation. Understanding what she was feeling, what she meant behind those cold words. So he left. And she let him.

After the door clicked shut, June closed her eyes and took a few moments to gain her composure. Her heart was racing so fast she felt physically ill, dizzy with so many emotions at once. Shock. Hatred. Most of all pain. This was wrong, none of it made sense— he couldn't disappear for good like this. She needed to know that even if they couldn't be together, he was okay. And he wouldn't be okay at war.

"Nick."

Willing her wobbly legs to move, June stumbled out of bed and reached for the door. She opened it just enough to peek into the hallway and see what she already knew was going to be there.

Nick stood just outside her door, back turned to her, his hands in his pockets. Giving her space to come to terms with what he had clearly been dreading to tell her. She knew how badly it hurt him to do that, but she also knew he was right to let her process. Because now she understood just how much she needed him.

So June made a decision: tonight would not be wasted on tears and fights.

She guided Nick back into her room by his hand, and he came willingly. There was a familiar scent about him – clean and mild, even through the hint of his chain-smoking – and it reminded her of simpler days in the Waterfords' vine-covered solarium. Were things really simpler back then? Or was it just easier to survive when Nick was around?

The door locked, shutting the rest of the house out.

June pressed her back against it and pulled Nick closer until she could feel his body all around her. He rested his forehead against hers and let out a sigh; closed his eyes, took pause to breathe her in. She smoothed her palms along his pressed, white button-down shirt, reacquainting herself with his body. He slid off his dress jacket. She undid his tie. Then he kissed her.

That first kiss in weeks. It ignited June. Filled her with a burning need to get to know this man all over again, should tonight be their last chance. He cupped her jaw between thumb and fingers and tilted her head, tasting her. She curled her fingers in his clothing and pulled him even closer, his growing readiness pressing against her. She needed him now.

Together they inched closer to the bed, hardly taking their hands and lips off of each other as June guided Nick to sit on the edge of it. She pulled her sweater over her head, then reached behind to unzip her dress. He gazed up at her, his eyes turning darker as she tugged the crimson fabric down her shoulders, her chest, her hips. He helped her, gentle fingers easing her clothing over her curves.

Before she could finish unclasping her bra, Nick was trailing gentle kisses up her stomach and chest. It dropped to the floor with a whisper. He wasted no time finding where she was most sensitive, kneading her breasts, taking her hard nipples into his mouth. June sighed his name and tilted her head back, fingers running through Nick's curls.

Like a moth to a flame, she found herself climbing into his lap, wrapping her knees and arms around him. There were still clothes between them – which would not do – so she unbuttoned his shirt and slid it down his lean shoulders. Nick helped her, breaking the intermittent kisses to pull his undershirt over his head, then he gathered her tightly in his arms. June gasped into his mouth as skin came against bare skin, their bodies hot and feverish.

Unexpectedly, Nick flipped June onto her back, the small bed creaking in protest as he did. He crawled atop her, fell into her. Together they worked off the remainder of each other's clothing – even her scratchy, knee-high socks – and once entirely naked, June's legs wrapped around him intuitively. Like clockwork. She pulled him as close as possible, enveloped herself in him. All her earlier anger completely burned away. She was a snake, and he was the charmer.

Nick watched the way her face changed as his hand came between her legs, his fingers stroking, teasing. Feeling how ready she was for him. He kissed her open mouth, taking her bottom lip between his. Then he took himself in his hand and eased inside her as he kissed her, from tip to base. Her eyes clenched shut and she moaned into his mouth. He began to fuck her slowly— his thrusts deep, deliberate. He was taking his time.

June felt his body move beneath her hands, dug her nails into his shoulders as she clung to him desperately, his hips grinding hers into the bed. She kissed his neck, his sensitive ears. Combed her fingers through his hair. Said his name like a mantra. It wasn't often that June let him be on top, but this was what she needed now— to surrender to him completely.

Taking one of her hands and pinning it to the bed beside her, their fingers laced, Nick's other hand smoothed down the back of June's thigh, giving her goosebumps. He grasped the back of her knee and bent it toward her chest so he could hit just there. June's back arched as a small moan escaped her in spite of all her attempts to be quiet.

Biding his time as the tension built within him until close to snapping, Nick used his body to bring June all the way to that edge, his thrusts and the angle unrelenting in the pleasure it brought her. He felt all her muscles stiffen as the final wave hit her, and she buried the involuntary sounds she made in his neck as he held her through it.

In a swift motion, Nick pulled out just as he came as well, squeezing his eyes shut as he grasped his cock and finished onto June's thigh. It wasn't ideal, but better than nothing.

In the hazy heat of the room, there was only the crackling of the fireplace and the sound of their breathing as they laid together. Then Nick untangled himself from June – begrudgingly, and with parting kisses wherever he could reach – and sought out a towel from her private bathroom. When he returned to bed she was sitting up, naked and cross-legged, gazing at him with a thoughtful expression as he wiped down her thighs and cleaned her up; admiring the thin sheen of sweat on his olive skin, his curls tousled by her hand. June was struck by the realization that this could be the last time she ever saw him like this.

"I love you," she sighed, and he said it back with a kiss.

"I have to choose five," June had explained to him hours ago after an uncounted round of lovemaking. The weight of her assignment balanced visibly on her shoulders as she retrieved the discarded stack of paper from the floor. "And the rest?" he had asked. June didn't say anything, but that was answer enough.

He didn't offer her his help. This was June's task— if she wanted assistance, she'd ask. He knew better than to patronize. He simply laid with her, listened to her, let her bounce her ideas off of him. Sometimes, he even coaxed her into taking a break so he could pleasure her with gentle, loving fingers— then once no longer breathless from his games, she'd swat him away and return to her work with a clearer mind and a smile she obstinately tried to conceal.

Sometimes she couldn't stand how good Nick was at doing all the right things.

They were both sprawled across her bed now, naked, wrapped up in sheets and each other. June was on her stomach, carefully reading each page in her binder as she became engrossed in her work. Nick was on his back beside her, watching her, a leg firmly hooked around hers as he absently brushed stray hair from her face, watching her eyes scan the words before her. It was the exemplification of normalcy.

After she had chosen four Marthas with painstaking thoroughness, she dropped the stack of folders on top of Nick's bare chest. He reflexively caught them before they slid onto the floor.

"Pick one."

Nick's brows knitted, "are you sure?"

June nodded her chin at the files, telling him with her eyes that she was genuine. She trusted him. She wanted his perspective. More often than not, it was vastly different from her own— and maybe that was precisely what she needed.

Nick rolled over onto his stomach to take a look, close enough to June for their shoulders to touch. He carefully thumbed through the pages. Lost in his contemplation, his foot absently played with hers. It could be like this all the time. She wished it was.

He closed a folder, slid it across the sheet to her. "This one."

June opened it and looked over the first page. "A thief?"

"It's a valuable skill," Nick smirked in a way that she could tell he knew plenty of thieves in his lifetime, "you'll want someone sneaky."

"Not when they've been caught," June gestured dismissively at the file, "then they're just a shitty thief."

"Well, now this one knows how to not get caught."

June rolled her eyes despite breaking into a compulsory smile that filled her whole face. It made Nick want to kiss her again, so he did. She pushed him onto his back, files and folders splayed out beneath them as she climbed atop his body one last time. His name a sigh on her lips, his skin a map to for her hands to traverse anywhere she wanted. Trying to memorize the feeling. Trying to never forget.

By the time they were sated of each other's bodies, the dark outside June's window had turned into the cobalt blue of breaking dawn. There was no sleep to be had between the two of them. The soft morning light washed over Nick as he slid his Commander uniform back on, adjusted his black tie, smoothed his hands through his disarrayed hair. June never took her eyes off of him, wanting to remember every single part of him while she still could.

Nick turned to her, looking as ready as he could ever be. His eyes turned downcast. Her heart sank at the realization that this was it.

June crawled out of bed, wrapping and tucking the sheet around her bare body as she came closer to him. She cupped his face in both hands, just as she had done weeks ago in the Waterford house before it turned to ash. Swiped her thumb over the wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes.

There was so much to say. And nothing to say, all at once.

Nick let out a shaky sigh against her lips.

"I'll find you—."

"Don't," she shook her head softly, whispering through the painful lump in her throat, "don't make promises."

Regardless, they shared a kiss; one full of tears and promises neither of them should be making. Nick gathered June in his arms so tightly that he was lifting her onto the tips of her toes, kissing her everywhere his lips could reach – her cheeks, her eyes, her hair – and when he finally pulled away they held onto each other's hands until the very last second. Then the door closed and she was alone again.

June watched from her high window as Nick climbed into his car. He gave her one last longing glance. Leaving nothing behind but the echo of his touches upon her skin, the heartache of his absence, and the indelible impression he made on her life— he left for war. And all she could do was keep his memory alive, in hopes that he'd find his way back to her one day.