The weather has turned from spring to summer over the past few weeks, bringing with it a heat that is impossible to escape. Gilead's new green initiative has done way with AC in most public buildings and homes. Only high-ranking Commanders have cooling units in their bedrooms and the home office. The only public buildings with it are the Council building and Jezabel's. For the rest of us, we're lucky if we are issued a fan.

This afternoon Mrs. Waterford has me re-rocking the flagstone patio out behind the kitchen, a project I feel like she waited till the hottest part of the day assigned. She's a sadist, only finding happiness in the misery of others. For example, she had the gravel delivery dumped in the driveway instead of up by the patio it's to be spread over, as a result, I now must physically shove it, bag it, and haul it up the stone stairs before dumping again and spreading in between the larger flat stones.

I've been at the task for over an hour. Sweat is running down my back, soaking my dark shirt and dripping into my eyes. In the before I might have done a job like this shirtless and with a cold Mexican Beer in tow, but Gilead requires us to look our part, so here I am shoveling rocks in a dress shirt and fucking tie.

Feet on the stairs, and I look up, hoping to see Rita with a glass of water but instead find Offred, eyes cast down as usual. Over the past several weeks, Mrs. Waterford has loosed her restrictions slightly, allowing her out of her room for fresh air and has even permitted her to take dinner in the kitchen. She eats alone, but still, it's progress.

Dressed head to toe, wings, cape and all, she stands on the bottom step unable to pass due to my project. Must be shopping time.

"Sorry," I offer, dropping my shovel to move the bags and wheelbarrow out of her way. "Going shopping?" I ask like a moron. Since the night in the kitchen nearly two months ago, I've not shared a single word with this woman, good thing too because I shouldn't be trusted with small talk apparently.

Her eyes glance around before she responds. "Yes."

I have to do better, redeem myself at least a little. "If you're going to All Flesh, you should avoid the chicken, I read they have crazy levels of dioxin." Yes, I'm talking poultry. And reading. Great… rebound Nick.

I move my wheelbarrow back into place and take up my shovel. She pauses and turns back towards me. "I'm going to Loaves and Fishes," She counters.

She's engaging in this stupid conversation? Then again, she must be desperate for human connection after spending most of her time in her mistresses-imposed solitude. I turn towards her, attempting to catch her eye. "Oh, then you should definitely avoid the tuna," I declare.

She still won't look at me but asks, "Mercury?"

I feel a strange jolt at getting this much out of her, even if it is a stupid conversation. "No, I just don't like tuna very much," I return light-heartedly. This earns me eye contact. It's a win and I'll take it. I control the smile that wants to creep onto my face and I turn back to my shoveling to hide it. She stands in place for just a moment, before ending our brief encounter with, "Peace be with you."

I focus on my shoveling until I hear the gate latch, and though I know I shouldn't, I can't help but look up. She locks eyes with me. It's not long, just a moment really, but I see that flash of something that I saw in the kitchen weeks ago. It's wary and intrigued, worried and desperate all at once. It makes me sad. I pull back from it and stare at the shovel in front of me as it picks up more pebbles. She has no one, not a single friend. The only option for her is one I wouldn't recommend, her walking partner Ofglen. There are rumblings about Ofglen amongst the Eye's, nothing concrete, but since when does that matter here?

We are all lonely in Gilead, every one of us, but if you're lucky you might have a couple of people who make occasional circles through your orbit. I've got Rita, with her snarky remarks and eyes full of words she never says. We aren't close, but we share the space in this house and that is something. I also have my connections, black market Martha's, and drivers who help me get the things that keep me in the Commander's good graces. I'm closer with some, more than others. Beth, a Martha at Jeszabel's, is one of the few. I can share my frustration and treasonous words with her when they've built up to the point that I feel like I'm going to explode. She's there to listen to the rants, then to tell me to "man up and to get my shit straight" before pulling me into the cooler to release other forms of pent energy. What we have is mutual; we both get what we need without entanglements. The perfect Gileadean relationship.

Scrapping the last of the gravel into the barrow, I lean against my shovel to catch my breath. I think about that look in Offred's eyes and decided to warn her about Ofglen. It's not my place, and I know saying anything might raise suspicions for her, but it's the least I can do to try and keep her safe. I can't stop the Ceremonies or make Mrs. Waterford treat her like a human being, or even offer her reading suggestions, but maybe I can keep the Eyes for noticing her.

Despite the heat that permeates every corner of the world today, this room, the Commander's office, is cool; dare I even say cold, due to the AC being pumped in. I've just lit a fire in the ornamental fireplace, and am standing at attention awating his next instructions.

Fred Waterford walks over to the fireplace and holds out his hands to the flickering flames. "There is nothing like the sound of a fire burning merrily in the hearth of home to clear one's head," he states pleased with his ridiculous request. He's such a hypocrite. The man spends his days fighting for emissions reductions and a return to a simpler life, but here at home, he has his AC cranked down to 62 with a fire going in July and demands to be driving around in a gas-guzzling Benz despite only being 3 blocks from the Council building.

He claps his hand together and moves over to the small bar on the opposite wall. "Drink?" he offers.

I check out the bottle in his hand, it's the new batch of vintage Kentucky Bourbon I managed to procure for him a few days ago. He rarely allows me to take part in my spoils, so I'm not going to pass the opportunity up. I nod, "Thank you, sir." He pours a stingy finger of the stuff into a glass and hands it to me before gesturing toward one of the leather-clad study chairs by the fire. I take a small sip of the bourbon before settling into the chair. It's amazing - smoky but smooth.

Commander Waterford drops down into his chair opposite me and puts his feet up on the small table between us. "That was fine work you did on the patio, son," he states, taking a sip of his drink.

I nod, "Glad to be of service to this blessed household," I return.

Waterford nods. "Yes. yes. You know Nick, Mrs. Waterford and I are very grateful for your loyalty over the years," he says.

I feel my jaw tighten and the liquor burns my stomach. I've been here long enough to know that nothing good comes after kinds of statements.

"Mrs. Waterford said she notice that you and our new handmaid are getting along quite well," he states, trying to sound casual but the comment is anything but.

I check my mask to make sure it's firmly in place before responding. "I wouldn't say that sir. I've not spoken to her before today," I lie, "And only then to make a shopping request," I deflect.

He narrows his eyes at me but seems to buy the excuse. "Do you think she's adjusting well here?" he asks.

This feels like a trap. I clear my throat. "I'm not sure I understand, sir."

He blows a long breath out through his nose, "Does she seem…stable, happy?" he clarifies. I'm not getting out of this by feigning ignorance.

Let's see, does she seem stable, happy? No, why the fuck would she be happy? This place is hell on earth for her I would imagine. But I can't say that. "I think it would help for her to eat her meals with Rita, not alone every day," I suggest evenly.

He seems to mull this over and to my shock, nods in agreement. "Yes, too much isolation isn't good for the soul, even for a woman's."

"No, sir," I mutter, wanting to grind my teeth. Since when is the effect of solitary confinement only stressful for men?

He sighs and stands up, downing the rest of his drink in one go. This is a sign that the meeting is nearly over. I finish my small mouthful and stand as well. "So, I got you off garden duty tomorrow, at least for part of the day," he says as if it's a huge gift. "I need a ride into the city tomorrow for a morning meeting."

I nod, "Yes, sir. What time, sir?"

"Nine o'clock, but me see before, I want to take some tokens of my appreciation to my Comrades," he says gesturing towards the boxes of bourbon as he sets his glass down on a serving tray.

I bow a bit in understanding and retrieve the tray to take to the kitchen. "Under his Eye," I state heading out the door.

"Yes, Under his Eye."

The next morning, I retrieve the boxes of liquor, my most recent acquisition, to be distributed to the Commander to whomever he sees fit. As I put the last box in the hall to be loaded, he stops me. "Please arrange for some more oranges. I would like to give them as a gift to Commander Winslow's wife when we visit on Friday. I know they don't get coupons for them," he directs.

"Of course, sir."

I make my way into the kitchen, but pull up short at the sight of her, standing at the counter, her hands clasped on the surface. Wow, that was fast, I think. I try to wipe the surprise off my face.

"Good morning," I stammer at her and Rita, my eyes glued to her profile.

"Good Morning to you," Rita says with her signature disinterest.

"Praise be," Offer states, nodding a bit by way of greeting

The surprise of seeing here has me dumbfounded and it takes a second to remember my errand. "Uh, the Commander wants you to get more oranges, if they still have any," I finally manage.

Rita's retort is snarky per usual, "Yes, sir. My pleasure."

I feel a strange frog growing in my throat, is this tension? I cough into my hand and shift uncomfortably from one foot to another. i What the hell is this?/i

"Any other special requests?" she asks.

I go to shake my head to decline, but to everyone's surprise, Offered speaks up. "They had tuna at Loaves and Fishes yesterday," she says, stammering a bit, "It looked good, you should…you should get some," she ends softly.

Rita looks at her suspiciously and it takes everything I have in me not to laugh out loud.

"Oranges and Tuna. Sounds delicious." Rita says with almost a smirk. Tossing the towel in her hands onto the island, she makes her way for the door. "Under his Eye," she states.

June dips her head respectfully and returns with her own "Under his Eye."

I lead back against the door frame taking this woman in. Slowly, hesitantly, she turns her face towards me until we make eye contact. I can't keep the grin at bay any longer, so I let it out, just a little. Aren't you a surprise? I think. She doesn't exactly return the gesture, but she does look pleased with herself, a gift all of its own.

The bell calling her to Red Square rings out, breaking whatever is happening between us. I reach over for a handful of almonds from a bowl on the counter and send her off with, "Go in grace," before turning back to the hallway and loading the car.