Chapter 11: Finally

"Better never means better for everyone. It always means worse, for some."

June knocked gently on Hannah's door. She couldn't let her daughter go to bed angry at her. She was somewhat surprised that Hannah let her in right away, offering her the armchair. Hannah sat cross-legged on her bed's fluffy gray comforter.

"Hey, sweetie. So, now that you're here, in freedom, you get to make some decisions for yourself. Like your identity: would you like us to call you Hannah or Agnes?"

"Father keeps calling me Hannah. That's what he wants, isn't it?"

"Your dad and I want you to choose whatever name you prefer."

She tilted her head, a mannerism similar to her mother. Choice was not something known to her. "Well, I'd prefer Hannah. Agnes is my Gilead name. It seems wrong to use it here."

"Okay, then, Hannah. You know, this transition is gonna be hard. For us all. It's going to take a long time to get back to normal, but…you used to love us very much. Then you adapted really well to life in Gilead. I know you're a strong person. You can do this. It's not gonna be the same as it was when you were little, but we'll love you no matter who you turn out to be. No matter who you are now. I got to Canada last year, and it was pretty hard. It wasn't that different for me, since I'm a grown-up who remembers how things used to be in America, but it still took me a long time to transition to life here. So we're just gonna be really patient with each other and take our time. This will all work out, okay?"

"By His hand. Right now I just want to say my prayers and go to sleep." She didn't want to talk about transitioning to Canada. Or the Nick situation. Or the state of her mother's immortal soul.

"Yeah, you've had a really long day, haven't you, travelling since this morning. We love you. I love you, Hannah. Sleep well."

When June returned to the suite's other room, Luke was alone. Wearing only sweatpants, brushing his teeth. Nick had apparently won the Battle For Nichole. As with Hannah, June sat in the room's armchair, studiously avoiding the bed, and waited until he was ready to talk.

Luke chose the edge of the bed, facing her. "Is she mad?"

"No. She'll be okay. But uh, you know, she's not the same person she used to be."

"She's not six anymore," he agreed.

"I mean, her personality, her values have been changed. She's figured out my relationship with Nick, and I'm pretty sure she finds it an offense against God. There's a lot she's gonna find unholy in Canada."

"Yeah." He ran a hand along his beard. He'd known, intellectually, that this would be a problem, that she thought like a Gilead girl. "How long d'you think it's gonna take before she, like, bounces back?"

June shook her head. "She's never going to be the person she used to be. It's as if we had this beautiful piece of paper, and Gilead crumbled it up. We can try to smooth it out, but it's never gonna be flat again. Just like I'm never going to be the same person you used to know," she added pointedly.

"Well, that's all right," he answered breezily. Almost dismissing the idea. "You're different, yeah, but you're still you. And we're a family now. We're back, all back together."

"We can't just put our family back together, Luke, any more than we can fix shattered glass. We're not the same anymore."

"Yes, we are. And I'm gonna love you no matter what. That's my line, and I'm sticking to it."

No matter what I want? she mused. "What if…I want something else?"

"Something or someone?" Luke knew what she meant. When June first saw him here, out of jail, she gave him a hug. Same hug she would've given Moira, probably. But when she saw Nick, it was…something else.

"Someone else," she answered.

"You can't. I mean, look, Hannah's here. She's actually here! And that is all we've wanted for years now. So I think you should give family life a try. Goddammit, June, this is the best day of my life. I'm out of jail, I'm in this gorgeous place with Hannah and you, in a fancy hotel suite. You can't break my heart like this."

"Whatever I do tonight, I'm gonna break somebody's heart." Stop with the guilt trip, Luke.

"But I love you," he tried. He could hear the desperation in his voice.

"I love you too, but…I love you two. The two of you. And Nick loves me as much as you do."

He snorted. "I doubt it. He didn't exactly look overjoyed to see you. He was a little stiff. Awkward."

"Because you were there. And we're very, very good at hiding our feelings. It's a Gilead thing."

"A Gilead fling, you mean."

"No. A relationship there is ten times more powerful because it's so dangerous. Every time Nick and I were together, we were literally risking our lives. We risked our lives for each other."

"Don't be dramatic. He was a fuck buddy."

"No," she insisted, losing her patience a little. "God, you always say things like that. It was not that. You weren't there, okay, you don't know."

"I know your family is here. I am here. Your daughter is right here."

"I have two daughters."

"Yeah, we'll get Nichole back. We'll just have to figure out the custody issue…"

"No, that's not what I meant. Jesus." She shook her head.

"Look, if you want to go across the hall and say goodnight to Nichole, of course, you can do that. I told Nick she gets only three books per night, but I'm not sure he was listening to me." Or maybe he was ignoring me; he didn't look like he wanted me explaining what to do with "his" daughter.

"Luke, I'm not asking you for permission to go across the hall. I'm informing you that I'm going across the hall."

He looked away. "All night?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Every night from now on?"

"Yes."

"Just because he got Hannah out? You don't owe him."

She squinted. "Are you suggesting I'm going over there to prostitute myself as payment for my child?"

"No, that's not what I meant," he muttered, unsure what he'd actually meant by that. "But you're choosing today—of all days—to blow up our marriage?"

June had been in Canada for months, always avoiding this conversation. She even avoided thinking about the question of whom she would choose if both men were here. Since arriving in Toronto, she'd suspected her marriage was dead. That suspicion was confirmed when she'd met Nick at the border, at that school. Dead of winter, but her insides warmed up as soon as he'd said her name. Her whole body as well as her spirit relaxed when she was near him. And the suspicion was confirmed again just a few minutes ago, when she'd laid eyes on Nick. His arms just felt…right. They felt like home. Like safety, and desire, and peace.

She loved Luke as a friend. He and Moira were the only ones who knew the person she used to be and could remind her of that part of her soul. She'd hoped against hope that being free would somehow magically regress her back to that earlier, happier, more naïve state, so that she could forget Gilead and just heal. It hadn't worked, of course. Emily had left Sylvia for the same reason. No survivor that June knew, in fact, had returned to their pre-Gilead partner. They were all too damaged. Nick had changed too, but they'd been together for a lot of their trauma. They'd changed together, and kept each other sane. That was why she hadn't even told Luke about her plan to kill Waterford, but she'd wanted Nick at her side, participating. He understood her, knew how she thought and what she needed, in ways Luke couldn't get. And he didn't want to learn.

June spoke gently. "I didn't blow up our marriage, Luke. Gilead did that, seven years ago. The commanders who owned me did. Aunt Lydia did. Time and space did. It's not your fault or mine."

"Maybe Nick's." He was still avoiding her eyes.

"Not Nick's fault either. All he did was take care of me when I needed it."

"Well, you don't need to be taken care of anymore. You're not a handmaid. You're free."

"Exactly. I'm free. So let me choose." She stood, picked up her rucksack. "I'm sorry, Luke."

I am such an asshole, she thought while leaving. Selfish, cruel, lustful, the worst kind of wife, an adulteress who abandons her husband… She gasped when she realized she was hearing her thoughts in Aunt Lydia's voice. Such a selfish girl. June did this. June ran away. Not Offred. Offred's a good girl.

Stop!

She stepped into the hallway, shutting out the voices in her head, smiling politely at the Americans stationed there. They looked tough enough to fight off bad guys. "Which one is Nick Blaine's room?" she asked. The guards pointed.

She knocked three times in rapid succession on his door: their old code from the Waterfords'.

Fuck off, Aunt Lydia. This is my life.

"Hey," Nick greeted. The men posted outside his door were all staring at him, trying not to look too curious. He closed the door, locked it without comment.

"Hi," June breathed. She held his gaze. She felt her face relax into a smile.

"Um," he said, unexpectedly unsure of himself, "she's still awake."

She turned on her mommy voice and broke her stare. "Still awake, munchkin?" Nichole looked ridiculously small in the center of a king-sized bed, surrounded by board books and stuffed animals. June lay down next to her, kissed her forehead. "How many books did Daddy read to you?"

"Three," she said earnestly, holding up three fingers.

Nick lay down on her other side. He smirked. "Really? Three?"

"Two," the child amended. "One more, daddy."

"Eight," Nick countered. "We've read all eight of these books."

"No, two."

June laughed. "Okay, I think I see the problem. Baby, we read three books before bed. That's all. Eight is more than three. So it's time to go to sleep now." It certainly hadn't taken Nichole very long to figure out how to tug on her father's heartstrings. June was impressed; it had taken her months to accomplish that same goal.

"One more, daddy, please." Nichole ignored her mother and tried to make her eyes as round as possible. She held up one finger. "One more?"

"Okay, just one more," Nick surrendered. He was thoroughly enjoying being called daddy for the first time in his life, like he enjoyed reading stories to a complimentary audience. And those eyes of hers…well, who could possibly resist those eyes?

"No," June said seriously despite the smile, "no more stories. It's time for bed. Daddy's very tired, you're tired," she kissed her daughter again, brushed the hair away from her eyes, "so nighty night." She collected the books and got off the bed as an example for Nick.

"Oh, but daddy," Nichole began.

June looked at him sternly.

He conceded defeat…to the older Osborne girl. "Good night, sweetheart, I love you, sleep well." After a kiss, he tucked her teddy bears around her.

"And Dolly," Nichole reminded him. That was the doll he'd given her, the one with the pink dress. Dolly slept next to Flopsy the Bunny, not Spot the Giraffe. He was putting the animals in the wrong places. Panda needed to be closer to Spot. There was a specific order in her zoo, which daddy would have to learn…later, she decided sleepily. Tomorrow. Her eyes closed.

Nick got off the bed gingerly, expecting the child to be instantly awake again at any moment.

"Good job," June congratulated him in a whisper. "For a first try, that was great."

He put a finger on his lips, shushed her.

"She's asleep, Nick."

"You can't be sure of that."

"She's asleep."

He regarded the little girl's face. Mouth slightly open, body completely relaxed. "Nobody in Gilead sleeps like this."

"Yeah, because she feels completely safe. Unlike in Gilead." She tugged on his hand. "Come on, bedtime." He let her pull him into the other bedroom of the suite, shutting the door almost all the way. As soon as they were alone, she cupped his face in her hands, drawing his mouth to hers to give him a proper hello. His touch, his closeness provided the healing she'd been needing so badly. There is a balm in Gilead, as the old song went.

Nick kissed her greedily, all the pent-up longing for his love finally allowed to express itself. Just one kiss, he told himself, just until his breath ran out. Then he pulled away from her. June's cheeks matched the red of her lips. She had never seemed as beautiful as she did at that moment, yet…"Your husband is right across the hall," he managed. As if she was unaware of that inconvenient truth.

"He's not my husband." She reached for him again.

He intercepted her hands, held them in front of him. "Yes, he is." He stroked her knuckles.

"I kinda…left him. Told him I was choosing you." She furrowed her brow. "You do, um, want this? Want to be with me?"

She wouldn't have asked the question if she didn't know the answer, he thought. "In my perfect world, June, it'd be you, me, and Holly." He only used that name—their daughter's secret, true name—when they were alone. "But Luke is…."

She interrupted him with a kiss, then another. 'You, me, and Holly' was all she needed to hear.

Once they started, they were insatiable.

Even after a year and a half intermission, they knew how to connect with each other. She stripped him, then herself, always leading their dance. He stopped her, though, as soon as her t-shirt came off.

"Whoa." He was staring at her bra. Dusty-pink, matching her flushed cheeks.

"Yeah," she agreed easily, "in Canada you can buy underwear that actually fits. No more big white granny pants for me." Not that he had ever cared about her wardrobe, back in Gilead. But now he suddenly seemed very interested in intimate fashion.

"Well, praise be to Canadian lingerie." He dropped to his knees in front of her, looked up at her face. "Can I finish?" At her nod, he peeled her jeans off, slowly unwrapping her like a Christmas present. He lifted one foot, then the other, kissing her toes as he discarded the denim. Her satin panties matched the bra. They also fit well, and the material was silky-smooth on his lips. "Maybe we'll just leave those on for a while," he murmured to himself.

Still standing, June ran her fingers through his hair. It was longer than it had been the last time they'd seen each other; she liked it this way better. More curls to play with, less like a stern Commander. She tugged gently. "You coming back up here?"

"Eventually." He decided to cover her entire body, feet to forehead, with kisses. To worship her as she deserved. It's gonna be a long night.

Nick jerked awake, hands grasping at air. The room was too dark, too warm, too quiet. None of the familiar nighttime sounds—walkie-talkies, boots on pavement, sirens—were audible. He could only hear crickets and the slight creaking of the wooden gallows as children's bodies swayed in the wind. He sat straight up.

"Hey, it's okay," came a gentle voice behind him.

He whirled around. "June?" It sounded like her. Soft hands reaching out for him, caressing his arms, his face. June.

"Yeah. Everything's fine. You're safe now. We're in Canada, we're in a hotel."

"Where's Nichole?"

"She's asleep, she's fine, everything's fine." June sat up and shifted close to him. One arm wrapped securely around his shoulders. Her breath was warm in his ear. "You're okay. Just a bad dream."

"I need to find Nichole," he muttered. He stood up and crashed into the night table. "Fuck. I can't see a thing." No search lights sweeping outside, and the drapes were too heavy to let in any moonlight. He found his sweatpants, put them on backwards, stumbled to his baby's room. Her room, at least, had a nightlight, thoughtfully brought by her mother. Nichole was snoring gently, sprawled out diagonally in her big bed, stuffed animals still arrayed around her. Nick felt his shoulders lower, his muscles relax. She's asleep, she's fine. What are you doing?

He sheepishly returned to his bed. June came out of the bathroom, unself-consciously naked, hands smelling of lavender soap, breath minty. "Sorry to wake you," he said. The clock read 3:12.

"Hey, I slept with a hammer under my pillow for the first three weeks I was in Toronto. I get it." She lay down on top of him like a blanket. Like a shield. Like armor. Nick ran his fingertips up and down her body, trying to soothe himself. He couldn't even catch his breath.

"I…had a bad dream." He didn't like talking about that sort of thing, and she didn't push.

"It's okay," she whispered. He never had nightmares in Gilead, at least not while he was with her. But then again, they'd rarely spent the entire night together—too dangerous, too indulgent. "It's okay." She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him, concern etched in her face. Her hair tickled his chest.

Nick pulled her closer to him, buried his face in her breast. "I love you. I need you. I…can't do this without you."

"You've got me."

"I love you."

"I know you do."

He breathed her in deeply a few times, still smelling lavender. Then his addled brain processed her last statement, and he managed to laugh. "You're supposed to say you love me too."

"Yeah, I just wanted to see if you were paying attention." He looked up at her; she was smiling saucily. "I guess you are."

"You don't think I've paid you enough attention tonight?"

She pursed her lips, pretended to mull it over. "There's always room for improvement." She held her index finger up like Holly had earlier. In a toddler's voice, she pleaded, "One more? One more time?"

Nick rolled his eyes, a mannerism he'd learned from June. "I am an absolute sucker for the two of you. It's hopeless." He pushed her shoulders away until she was sitting up, straddling him. He sighed appreciatively. His hands moved down the sides of her body until they came to rest on her hips. "All right, let's see what I can do."