Chapter 2: Love delights not in evil, but rejoices in the truth

Fred Waterford only managed to wash his face and brush his teeth before his wife entered his bedroom to ambush him. "You slept late today," she said without preamble.

"Blessed morning, Serena," he countered. "A little politeness is always nice first thing in the morning."

She was not in the mood to be patronized. "It's after eight," she bit out.

"Really."

"You were at Jezebel's with Commander Scott." A statement, not a question. "I saw his car bring you home last night." She smoothed her teal dress. "You told me once you only…consorted…with whores to see if you could impregnate a woman. And that you'd stop if we ever had a baby."

Fred shrugged. He was tired, hung over: not in the mood to placate his bitchy wife. "Well, I lied. Men have certain needs. A God-given instinct, you might say."

Her blue eyes glared, too angry to speak.

"But given that big round handmaid downstairs," he went on, "it's clear that I am fertile, praise be. There's nothing wrong with my health." He stopped before adding: you're the defective one, not me.

She heard the implication anyway, and snickered. "Are you really stupid enough to believe that?"

He narrowed his eyes. Her lack of respect was getting out of hand. Other men, Fred reflected, would beat their wives for such insolence. Being more evolved than that, though, he calmly reminded her, "Our handmaid—Offred—is six months pregnant. That's a fact, not a belief."

"She might as well be called Ofnick," Serena shot back. "It'd be more accurate."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he said before he could edit himself. "Nick…Blaine?"

She laughed at his befuddlement. "Of course Nick Blaine. Your trusted, oh-so-pious little manservant has been carrying on with the handmaid for months and months now, right under your nose." She tilted her head. "You've never heard the little pitter-patter of Offred's feet scampering down the stairs at night, running out the back door to him? I caught them together just this morning. His whole apartment stank of sex."

"What," Fred gasped. He was honestly shocked at the betrayal. For years now, Blaine had been so reliable, so good at keeping Fred's secrets and looking out for the household's interests. Why would Nick touch his master's property? Especially since he knew Fred was fond of this particular handmaid—he'd confided as much to his driver. How could Nick deceive him like this? Moreover, the driver may have stolen the uterus that rightfully belonged to Fred—it was his legal right to impregnate that girl, nobody else's. On the other hand, he thought, the baby might still be mine. I fucked her often enough.

I just didn't realize I was sharing her with my driver.

"I could put him on the Wall for this," he muttered.

"We'd all be hanging right next to him. Nick's the one who helped Offred escape. It must've been him. But if we tell the Council we knew that he was a terrorist…well, our whole household would be salvaged." That had happened to plenty of other households. Gilead was a paranoid place.

"You're right, we can't do that. And he knows it." Fred scowled. He'd come up with something. Maybe ask Pryce to have Blaine promoted to Washington. Or California. The further away, the better. Or he could even get sent to the front lines; let the fucker get killed in Chicago or Florida.

"I've got to get back downstairs," Serena told him. "Aunt Lydia is still here, feeding Offred her breakfast like she's a damn infant, but they'll be done soon. Get dressed, Fred. Time to start the day." She glanced in his mirror, adjusting her tightly-constrained hair before exiting.

Nick walked out to the car parked in front of the Waterfords' home. He knew Matteo, the driver. He worked for the Aunts at the Red Center, a cushy job and well-placed. Matteo had been part of Mayday for years now. A gender traitor surrounded by middle-aged women: the perfect environment for him. No temptation there.

He waved at Matteo and sat in the passenger's seat so they could talk. "Hiya. I'm going to need to get a friend onto the Femaleroad," Nick confided. "Just one woman."

"The one who was supposed to be on that plane? The handmaid?"

"Yeah." The front door opened, and Aunt Lydia came out next to Commander Waterford. "Shit, I've gotta go. Just ask around, okay?"

"Sure."

Nick trotted up the stairs and took Lydia's suitcase out of Waterford's hands. "Let me get that, sir," he said politely. He turned but walked slowly, eavesdropping on their conversation.

"But I think it's going to be a fine boy, just like his father," Lydia was saying.

A boy, really? Nick imagined a blue-eyed, dark-haired ten year-old. (Nick liked to picture the child at different ages. Today he was ten.) Maybe his boy would like baseball; he added a navy blue Tigers cap to the image in his head. A t-shirt, maybe gray? Any color but Gilead powder blue. Jeans. Scuffed sneakers. June's wide smile.

"Did you know, your baby is the size of a papaya now," the Aunt continued cheerfully.

Nick glanced back up the stairs. Waterford was staring at him…and not in a friendly way. "A papaya, is that right," the Commander repeated flatly. He didn't sound like he gave a fuck about the baby's size.

Nick imagined a light green papaya with little legs, doing his daily workout, kicking his mommy's belly from the inside out.

"Top of the morning to you, Rita," Nick said with some cheer.

The Martha gave him the side eye. Surly as usual. "What're you so happy about?" she grumbled.

He took a mug out of the cabinet and poured himself some coffee, trying not to smile about last night. Final orgasm tally: June 4, Nick 2. An excellent score, as far as he was concerned.

"You still owe me two pounds of coffee, you know," Rita murmured.

Nick dragged his thoughts out of the gutter. "Yeah, I got a pound yesterday when I was out fetching Waterford his whiskey. It's in my room. I'm good for the rest, don't worry—it's not like you don't know where I live."

"She shouldn't be drinking caffeine, you know. Too much can lead to low birth weight, even miscarriage. It's bad for the baby."

He set the mug back on the counter to give Rita his full attention. She was getting pretty brazen. She knew he'd been stealing food from her kitchen, so she could reasonably assume he was giving it to the handmaid while she was in hiding. But Rita hadn't come out and said as much until now. And why was she suddenly assuming Nick cared at all about the baby?

In any case, he thought, caffeine was not the main problem for June. "Well, you know what else is bad for a baby? Stress. Torture. Beatings. Basically, everything in Gilead. So I think a cup of joe each morning isn't gonna hurt anything. Besides," he added, "the Aunt said the baby's in perfect health. The size of a papaya."

"Really."

"Yeah." He thought for a moment. "How big's a papaya?"

Rita made an oval with her fingers. "Like that, I guess." He looked at her hands wistfully. A smile played on his lips. Rita suddenly felt like she'd been smacked in the face. He's the father, she thought. Of course. That's why he helped her escape.

"Where's Mrs. Waterford?" he asked, changing the subject.

"She's outside, gardening."

He reached for a banana from the fruit bowl on the countertop. He usually didn't eat much in the morning, but he was ravenous right now. Lots of calories burned last night. "Why'd you put air quotes around 'gardening'?"

"Serena goes outside for a smoke the moment the Aunt's gone. Can't say I blame her."

"Ah. And where's June?"

Rita threw him a look. "Who?"

Damn, I can't believe I just let that slip. "And where's the handmaid?" he asked in the exact same tone of voice, as if he hadn't said the previous statement.

She didn't comment on the name. June. Instead, she said, "As soon as Aunt Lydia leaves, she goes upstairs, probably to touch a cross, rub garlic all over herself and say the rosary."

"You really don't like that woman, do you, Rita?"

"Nope," she said succinctly.

Perhaps hearing their voices, June trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen. In response, Nick added milk and sugar to his coffee, then handed the mug to the handmaid. He stroked her hand with a finger as he did so, a surreptitious touch not lost on the Martha.

And he knows how she takes her coffee, Rita thought. He learned that while she was in hiding. "Blessed be the fruit." She was striving to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"Hi," June said, ignoring convention. "Thanks," she added in a whisper to Nick. She gulped the coffee down, then looked around for more. "Do you have any breakfast food besides that damn smoothie?"

Rita shook her head. "Aunt Lydia and Mrs. Waterford left me strict orders not to give you anything."

Nick passed his still-unopened banana to June. She put her hand over his in gratitude and glanced down at the fruit, considering. She stroked the banana's length a few times and circled its tip with a finger, sultry eyes glued on Nick the whole time, before finally peeling it and sliding it slowly into her mouth.

He couldn't keep the smirk off his face. He tried. And failed.

If there had been any doubt in Rita's mind about the nature of their relationship, it vanished now. She turned away, grabbed a dish cloth and began wiping off the kitchen table as vigorously as possible. "Okay, well, wow," was all she could muster.

Nick cocked his head to the side, indicating the sitting room. "I need to talk to you," he told June. She nodded, her expression turning somewhat less mischievous. She placed the banana peel in the compost pail before following him.

Once they were alone, Nick took a deep breath before confessing, "You were right. I made a mistake this morning by hitting Serena. She just threatened me."

June was concerned but unsurprised. "What'd she say?"

"She reminded me that the baby is hers and the Commander's, nobody else's, and that the whole household has to prioritize the baby's health and well-being above all else. Which means, I guess, we shouldn't be taking risks that might get us both killed."

"Like sleeping together?"

Nick shrugged. "She can't get rid of you until you've given birth, but she did remind me that I'm not essential to the household. She could get me transferred. So maybe we should stay away from each other for a while?" He posed it as a question, up for debate. He knew better than tell her what to do.

June averted her eyes, considered the issue briefly. "No. Fuck her. She doesn't know you're an Eye, with more power than she suspects. She can't touch you."

"She can, darling, and she will."

"But," June started, then paused to move closer to him. They were in the living room—no door, a public place, though shielded from the outside by the heavy drapes—but she was reasonably certain Fred and Serena were upstairs. She nuzzled his neck, kissed his jaw. "I need you. I need to be close to you."

He stepped away from her, just one step, taking her hand to soften the rejection. "Want isn't need," he told her gently. "You need to stay alive. You need to keep our baby alive. We need to stay in this house, stay together, so we can protect her until we get you two to Canada. That's what we need to do." He kissed the hand he was holding. "Everything else is just…extra."

"I get that, but—" She started to protest, then changed her mind. "Okay, we'll be more careful. No more sleepovers. Just quick, y'know, visits."

"Okay."

June brought his fingers up to her lips, as he had just done. After a kiss, she let the hand drop and stepped away. "And no more punching the Waterfords." He nodded in agreement. She patted his arm. "Okay, I'll see you at lunchtime, but I've got to go back upstairs. I'm supposed to take two baths a day now. Aunt Lydia says I smell 'musty.'"

Nick leaned back in, put his nose in her hair. "You smell great."

She smiled at his innocent compliment. "She didn't mean there." Her eyes dropped to her belly.

His brow furrowed. "You smell great there, too. 't the fuck is her problem? And what's she doing down there anyway?"

"She was measuring the baby, and she probably smelled…you."

Nick sighed. "Well, this is what I'm talking about, June. We're being careless. I accidentally told Rita your name this morning, like a fucking moron. And she saw that, uh, banana show of yours. This is how we're gonna get caught."

"Rita's trustworthy."

"We shouldn't trust anybody except each other."

"Okay. We'll be more careful from now on," June vowed. She kissed his lips, quickly. "See you later, alligator."

His answer was automatic, straight from second grade. "After a while, crocodile."