Chapter Text
Five weeks.
It’s been five weeks since DC.
June was ok the first month. She ignored the anxiety. Blocked it out. Repressed it.
But as the fifth week dragged on with no contact from Nick, she really started to worry.
He said he’d write. Why hasn’t he written? Did he forget me? Forget his promise? He promised he’d write.
June shakes her head to try and clear it. He didn’t forget. That’s not him. He’s trying. I know he’s trying.
Maybe he’s in trouble. Maybe someone intercepted the letter. Maybe he was captured before he could send it.
She can’t stand that thought. She blinks it away. He’s ok. He’s fine.
She doesn’t let the next thoughts surface. The images of him in pain. Or worse.... She can’t. He’s FINE. HE’S OK. She repeats these words to herself but they only make it worse.
And then she’s angry.
For some reason, anger is easier to handle than sadness or fear. So she lets herself be mad. Mad at Gilead for separating them. Mad at Nick for not writing sooner. Mad at herself for having these stupid thoughts.
Normally, when she felt this lost, she’d go to Nick.
Her worries evaporated in his presence like vampires at daybreak. She’d wait until dark. 10:30 pm, when the last guardian went home for the night.
She’d sneak across the lawn, up the garage stairs to Nick’s apartment. He always let her in, no questions asked. She’d crawl into his bed. He’d climb in with her, pull up his covers, wrap her in his arms and hold her. His steady heartbeat a metronome beneath her cheek, grounding her. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lulling her to sleep.
Her eyes flutter closed as she remembers one night in particular.
She couldn’t stop her thoughts. None of the breathing exercises or mantras worked. There was a hurricane in her head. Before Gilead she would have taken a xanax or had a drink. But there was nothing like that now. Just complete certainty that she was going to die here. Her chest was tight, her breaths shallow. Too shallow. The walls were closing in. She was going to scream or throw something or lose her mind.
She didn’t realize she was heading to Nick’s apartment until she was on his doorstep, concern etched on his face as he opened the door. Asking her what was wrong, telling her to take a deep breath, that she needed to breathe. She couldn’t put words together to explain. And it wasn’t one or two things it was everything. Everything swallowing her, crushing her.
She broke apart. Sobbing into her hands. He pulled her into his arms, and she cried into his chest and he walked her to his window seat and scooped her onto his lap. He rocked her and told her that he was there. That he’d protect her. That she could let it all out. That she was safe.
And she believed him. It helped. Having someone witness her suffering, love her even when she was lost and broken.
Nick never said it was ok. He knew better than that.
But when they were together, everything was ok. As long as he was ok, she was ok. They had become each other’s home. Each other’s escape. They were all they had, but it was enough.
When she calmed and quieted she pulled back and laughed. His shirt was soaked with her tears and snot and she could practically see an imprint of her face in the soft fabric of his brown cotton shirt. Nick didn’t look down at himself- he just smiled, happy with the improvement in her mood. He made her some tea and they laid on his bed - her back to his chest.
And then they did something completely normal - they talked about movies. Nick liked rom-coms more than she did. Said he once got asked to leave a movie theater for crying too loudly at Sleepless in Seattle. Said his favorite movie ever was The Notebook. Somehow, neither of those facts surprised her. They fell asleep in each other’s arms.
That memory is painful now. Because he’s gone. She doesn’t know if he’s ok. She wants to believe that he’s safe. But she has no evidence. He could be dead. He could be in pain. All she knows for sure is that he’s gone. There’s nothing. No xanax. No Nick. No hope. No escape.
“Something wrong with your food?”
June’s eyes snap open.
Beth is watching her with concern from across Lawrence’s kitchen.
June shakes her head rapidly, apologizing, trying to deflect. “No. Sorry. It’s good.”
Beth’s eyes narrow, sensing bullshit. “You haven’t touched it.”
Beth crosses to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Reading June’s face. She softens her voice, and a hint of her native French accent slips through. “What’s wrong?”
June shakes her head. She stares at the table, using her fork to push peas around on her plate. Not only does she have no interest in connecting, but she fucking hates peas too. She wishes she could leave. Be alone.
Beth sighs. Recognizing the symptoms, clear as day. The last time she saw someone this lovesick was the industrial kitchen at Jezebel’s. Nick never turned down free food. He loved her cooking. That’s how she knew he was a goner for June.
Her heart softens, watching the other half of this starcrossed couple suffer in his absence. It’s… romantic. Beautiful. Sacred. Something you just don’t see in Gilead. It’s also incredibly dangerous. Stupid even. Better you than me . She thinks. Better to avoid attachments.
Beth nods, looking down. Searching for the right words. “He’s a good one.”
June finds Beth’s eyes.
“He really likes you.” Beth continues, smiling kindly, nodding. “Don’t worry. He’s ok.” She says casually, finishing the awkward one sided girl talk with a knowing nod. Like she knew something June didn’t. Like she’d checked his Instagram that morning and found pictures of nickblaine12 sipping on a piña colada in Cancun.
June sits motionless. He’s ok ?
Beth’s last sentence races around in her brain and she can feel the anger bubbling up inside her again. June knows she was only trying to connect, to make her feel better, but it’s the worst thing she could have said. Hitting right at the heart of her despair.
Beth stands, takes June’s plate, wraps it. “It’ll be in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
June ignores her. Pursing her lips and pushing her chair back with so much force it nearly topples over.
HE’S OK ? You don’t fucking know that. I’m not a child and this isn’t a fucking Disney movie. He’s in Chicago at the warfront. Where unmarried officers are sent to die. They never come back. And he hasn’t written and he’s probably dead. Fuck you, Beth.
June shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest as she stands and walks quickly out of the kitchen. Refusing to cry. Refusing to break until she’s alone.
At the foot of the stairs Commander Lawrence steps in front of June abruptly, blocking her way. Looking at her with amusement, like he’s in on some secret joke. Like he’d been waiting for her.
It takes all of June’s strength not to roll her eyes. This is the last thing she needs right now. His bullshit on top of everything else.
“Your boyfriend is a real pain in the ass, you know that?”
June shakes her head, glaring at him. What the fuck is this, talk about Nick day?
Her anger quickly devolves into panic. Oh God they know something I don’t. He’s hurt. Or worse. I don’t want to know. Please don’t be hurt.
Lawrence continues, oblivious to her distress. “He’s persistent. Like you. Good trait in a Lieutenant.”
June finally snaps, her tone sharp. “What are you talking about?” She’s in no mood for this.
He carries on, letting her outburst slide. “I don’t make a lot of promises. But your Lieutenant Blaine has done a hell of a good job at the front. Keeping me removed from the politics out there, which is the way it should be. And he doesn’t take shit from anyone. I like it. I like him. Good kid.”
June shifts her weight. Staring daggers in to Lawrence’s eyes. Both eyebrows up, silently asking him to shut up or get to the point.
Lawrence pauses long enough to adjust his glasses before he continues his droning. “Anyway, since I do like him, I promised I’d deliver this by hand ,” he says, emphasizing the last two words as he pulls an envelope out from under his vest. June feels her stomach drop to her feet as he offers it to her, her breath catching in her chest. “And I always keep a promise. So here, Madame Osborne, is your letter.”
June’s heart stops. She snatches the letter and hurries up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“You’re welcome!” She hears Lawrence call out after her, but she doesn’t respond.
She rushes into her room, closing and locking her door, sliding down against it. It’s only then that she realizes she hasn’t taken a breath since Lawrence produced the letter from his pocket.
She closes her eyes and forces a slow breath. Then another.
She looks at the envelope in her shaking hands. It’s water stained. Badly crinkled, as though it’d been hidden, crumpled, jammed in various bags on it’s journey. It’s a miracle it made it here.
She opens it, unfolding the sheet of paper within, irritated when she sees only a few lines of writing.
Why is it so short? Something’s wrong. The fear spiral starts up but she blows out a slow breath, forcing her mind to quiet. Focusing in on the letter itself. Using it to anchor herself in the present, to get out of her head.
It’s ok. HE’S OK. This is from him. It’s finally happening. He got a letter to me. Nick doesn’t talk much. Of course it’s short.
Then she feels a flutter in her heart. Something coming alive after weeks of lying dormant.
Hope.
She’s calm for the first time since DC. The voices in her mind are silent. Like they were whenever she was in his arms. It’s like he’s here. In a way he is here. This is from him.
She takes in every detail she can. She runs her finger down the page, feeling where the ink has been scratched into the paper. He made these marks. His hand was here.
She’s never seen Nick’s handwriting before, but somehow, she sees him in the letters on the page. His script is small and cramped, neater than most, but still boy’s handwriting. It’s him.
Hey,
Sorry it took so long. It’s me. I want to make sure this finds you.
I’m safe. I miss you.
What about you, you okay? Write back and we’ll see if this works. I hope it does.
Stay safe,
N