Work Text:
there’s a love he cannot hide
though he waits in line to fight
so he looks up to welcome you, his child
little stranger girl, you are home tonight
Tonight’s the night.
Nick’s been planning for weeks, ever since the night of the fire, when the plan had been for June and Holly to go together. But the plan that night had been disrupted. In the aftermath of losing her finger, Serena wouldn’t leave Holly’s side. They couldn’t get to her. She’d have to stay behind.
So June left on her own. With one last stolen embrace and a promise that Nick would do whatever it took to get Holly to her, she disappeared into the night accompanied by two Marthas. He wouldn’t give up.
He promised.
The next day he’d gotten to work. He’d finished laying out his plan relatively quickly, and once he had finished, he just needed one last thing— an opportunity.
And then, one morning, six weeks after June left, they got the call. Serena’s mother had been diagnosed with the flu. She lost her strength and needed someone to help her as she recovered. And even though she’d been nearly inseparable from the baby since June left, Serena had no choice in the matter. She couldn’t bring the baby and risk exposing her to the flu. She’d left three days ago, by herself, leaving the baby in Rita’s care.
But tomorrow evening, she’s set to return. So tonight’s the night. He’d spent the first few days making last-minute arrangements— setting irregular schedules for the ground patrol guards, disabling the GPS tracker on the car, packing bags with supplies and stashing them in the garage.
He’d even managed to get his hands on an aged bottle of whiskey from the black market that he’d presented to Fred the day before. Nick had offered it as a consolation prize for not being able to go to Jezebel’s due to increased scrutiny in the wake of June’s escape and an attempt to patch things with Serena. With a wink and a clap on the back, Fred had thanked him, assuring Nick he’d enjoy his gift before Serena returned.
Nick could only hope he’d enjoy it so much he’d black out, giving him the privacy he needed to get out of the house without any trouble.
He waits until just before midnight. He smokes one last cigarette on the steps of the garage in an attempt to calm his nerves before slipping up through the garden and into the house through the kitchen. At the sink, Rita stands washing out baby bottles. He stops in his tracks as she looks up at him, her eyes tired but curious as she shuts the water off.
“It’s late. What are you doing?”
He clears his throat and deflects. “Where’s the Commander?”
Rita purses her lips and tilts her head to the side and Nick has to look away. She’s the only other person in this house that could see right through him, and he knows she knows he’s up to something.
“In his office,” Rita answers, staring a hole through Nick. “I went in to turn off the lights and he’s passed out at his desk.”
Nick’s head snaps back up as he bites back the urge to smile. It’s exactly what he wanted. Instead, he nods once and steps up into the kitchen, striding confidently past Rita. He wants to tell her to stay put because he’s planned for her to come too, but it’s too dangerous. He’ll find her after.
“Nick,” Rita calls out just before he steps into the hallway. He stops and looks back and Rita sighs, knowing she won’t be able to stop whatever’s about to happen. “Be careful,” she cautions and with another quick nod, he’s gone.
On his way to the nursery, he sneaks past Fred’s office, the stink of booze and cigar smoke heavy even in the hallway. He shakes his head as he pauses for a second in front of the door. So predictable.
Finally, he slips into the nursery. The room is still and dimly lit by a floor lamp in the corner. Quietly, he steps up to the crib, smiling as he peers down at Holly sleeping flat on her back with both fists curled up near her face, her little chin tucked into her chest. Still so delicate, so perfect, but at the same time so changed from the last time he’d really seen her— the night he first held her with June. She’s no longer a fragile newborn that he feels like he’ll break if he holds her the wrong way.
With shaking hands and no more time to waste, he leans over the railing of the crib and scoops her up gently, bringing her up to rest against his chest. Her head leaned on his shoulder, her weight supported against him by his left hand spanning the width of her back. As he settles her sleeping form against him, adjusting the blankets she’s wrapped in, he freezes.
The bright white of her clothes, of her blankets, are a stark contrast to his black Guardian clothes. Standing here, in the nursery, he feels like Holly’s practically glowing against him as the moonlight reflects off the white fabric through the windows. All he can see now is a target for patrolling Guardians with their automatic weapons to catch a glimpse of through the night, against his dark clothes, and the thought makes his blood run cold. He can’t risk it.
Quickly, he steps over to the chest of drawers where they keep the extra clothes and blankets and pulls it open with one hand, rifling through it, hoping to find something grey, something blue. Something that will help camouflage her, at least a little bit.
Instead, all he finds are pastel shades of yellow, pink, and green. And white. So much white. There’s nothing. Frustrated, he slams the drawer back closed.
But then he looks down at the long sleeve of his work shirt and he gets an idea. Before he loses any more time he steps back over to the crib and gently lays Holly back down before quickly loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He strips it off, leaving him in nothing but his muddy brown undershirt, tossing the black shirt over the railing of the crib.
He slips his hands under Holly again, more confidently this time, and settles her sleeping form against him once more before draping his shirt over top of the white blanket’s she’s wrapped in. He smiles as he tilts his head to survey his work. Good enough.
He’s busy adjusting and tucking the shirt around her to secure it when the floor creaks behind him. Every hair on the back of his neck stands on end.
“Nick.”
Slowly, he pivots. Standing in the doorway, one hand on the frame supporting himself is Fred. He blinks heavily, his eyes bloodshot, shirt untucked. Drunk. Nick says nothing but slowly moves his free hand to his side to unlatch the strap holding his gun in place on his hip.
“What are you doing here?”
Nick swallows hard. “Go back to your office, sir.”
Fred doesn’t listen. He takes a step into the room towards Nick, and instinctively Nick shifts his weight, positioning himself so Holly is as far away from Fred as she can be, his body between them. The adjustment seems to spark a new awareness in Fred. His eyes narrow as he notices the bundle Nick holds against him.
“Is that Nichole?”
Nick doesn’t respond. He places his hand on the gun and holds his breath as he watches Fred process the scene in front of him. It awakens something else in him, like finally seeing Nick holding the baby only confirmed what he knew deep down was true all along. Fred’s eyes darken as he looks at Nick now like he’s nothing more than a thief, stealing his most valuable possession. Fred lurches forward again, furious now.
“Get your hands off MY CHILD ,” he roars and in one second, Nick’s gun is out of the holster, pointed directly at Fred’s chest. Fred stops in the middle of the room with a drunken wobble.
Nick clenches his jaw, his voice steady and unwavering. “Stay back.”
Fred’s lip snarls as he yells back over his shoulder. “Rita! Call the Eyes!”
Nick doesn’t flinch or lower the gun. Fred blinks heavily as he begins drunkenly rambling, his eyes locked on Nick.
“You know, son, I thought you were smarter than this. I thought you were different.”
Nick bristles slightly. He glances at Holly, still sleeping soundly against him by some miracle. He holds her tighter and then adjusts his grip on his gun, turning his attention back to Fred.
“You’ll be on the wall before the sun comes up,” Fred slurs. It doesn’t phase Nick. He’s not concerned about his fate. He hasn’t been since the day June told him she was pregnant. Unlike Fred, he’s not doing this for himself.
“Get out,” Nick warns, giving Fred one last chance to leave with his life.
“You think I’ll let you go that easily? You really are a fucking idiot.”
Nick’s finger brushes over the trigger. He doesn’t want to fire with the gun so close to Holly, but he feels the room getting smaller and smaller, his options growing even more limited with each minute that passes. He might not have a choice.
Fred continues on in front of Nick, trying to get a rise out of him. He cuts his eyes over to the baby. He licks his lips. “She’ll be a good Handmaid someday, don’t you think? Just like her mother.”
And with that, Nick’s vision goes black at the edges as he squeezes the trigger twice in rapid succession, firing into Fred’s torso, two sharp cracks breaking the tension in the room. He feels Holly’s small body jump against him, and she wakes suddenly at the gunshots, scared and crying.
Nick doesn’t pay attention to Fred’s body as it slumps lifeless onto the floor. He immediately holsters his gun now that the threat is removed and turns his attention to Holly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to her, bouncing her against him. He rubs her small back and sways on his feet. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, shh. It’s okay, it’s over.”
He’s mostly calmed her back down when Rita appears in the doorway. She gasps in shock, one hand covering her mouth as she looks at Fred’s lifeless form on the floor, at Nick holding the baby. “Oh my God. Nick, what did you…”
“Let’s go,” he commands, stepping over Fred’s body. They’re not spending another second longer in this house, in this prison, then they have to. “We’re leaving. Now. All of us. Get your shoes.”
Her mouth falls open again as she nods, hurrying away to get her shoes. Nick locks the door behind him as he leaves the nursery. It’s not much, but he hopes it’ll delay someone finding Fred even a few minutes. They’ll need all the time they can get.
Outside the door he pauses, looking down at Holly, now awake but quiet in his arms. She blinks her wide blue eyes at him and he smiles down at her, brushing a finger across her cheek. He drops a quick kiss to the top of her head as he adjusts his jacket around her one last time.
“I’m gonna get us out of here,” he promises. “And I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Tonight’s the night.
They’ll join June again. They’ll be free.