Chapter Text
The gentle breeze made the curtain flutter slightly, letting the moonlight cast shadows on the wall. Her eyes drifted back to the alarm clock on the nightstand. 3:46 a.m. Six minutes had passed since she last looked at it.
Becka hadn’t moved, though, her back pressed against the cold wall, her hands clenched tightly around the pillow and the comforter, respectively. Only her eyes moved, shifting from the alarm clock to the window, to the wall, to the door, and finally to Daisy. On the other side of the room, her head tucked under the comforter, Daisy was fast asleep, the white cord of her headphones sticking out from under the comforter and connected to her phone, from which a faint light was emanating. Another thing that her gaze lingered on.
Her gaze returned to the door, which was closed. In Gilead, her door was never really closed, always left ajar by one of the Marthas. Always open enough for him to peek into her room. To watch.
A creak echoed through the house, making her hold her breath and press a hand to her tightening chest. “Old house”, Daisy had reassured her the first time she heard it. Her house in Gilead was much quieter, after all the floor hadn’t even creaked when she’d gone up the stairs to the bathroom.
Becka pressed her back a little closer to the wall, pulling the comforter a little tighter around herself. As her eyes settled back into their usual routine, Becka prayed that the night wouldn't last much longer.
—*—*—
The sound of the spatula scraping against the pan and the smell of coffee filled the kitchen, just like every morning now. Agnes and Daisy stood side by side in front of the stove, preparing breakfast according to the chore chart pinned to the fridge. Daisy had come up with the idea before realizing she had to be part of it too. At that moment, the two of them presented completely different visions. Agnes, dressed in a nightgown, was carefully preparing tea, while Daisy, wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and barely visible shorts, was vigorously stirring what she assumed were scrambled eggs, probably burned now. Becka had also given up on long nightgowns, resorting to borrowing clothes from the younger girl with her strange canadian accent.
“Who’s coming to see us today?” Agnes’s soft voice broke the silence.
“Rita told me she’d stop by for lunch,” Daisy mumbled, frowning as she stared at the frying pan.
"Looks like we won't be eating burnt pasta today, praise be," Shunammite smiled into her cup.
"Oh fuck you, it was one time!" Daisy protested, pointing her spatula at the girl at the end of the table. "And Agnes was supposed to be watching!"
"I was already trying to save your chicken," the girl in question protested.
Becka sighed silently, here they go again. Cooking was a sensitive subject after all, if June or Rita, in her rare moments of presence, weren’t there, the kitchen turned into a veritable bloodbath, enough to make any housewife of Gilead turn pale. From what she had gathered from what Daisy had told her, Rita was the one who had “trained” her and had been part of Mayday for a few years now. She used to be a Martha, and now she ran the kitchen like a well-oiled machine every time she came around, but at least they always left with enough in their bellies to last them two days.
"...it, Becka?" Daisy's voice startled her out of her daze.
The three girls looked at her, a mixture of confusion and concern on their faces.
"Are you okay, Becka?" Agnes, ever the caring one, the gentle, asked, a hint of pity in her voice.
Becka hated that tone, the one the girls had been using with her constantly ever since they’d left Gilead, ever since what had happened.
She fiddled with a thread on her sweater, finding it far less oppressive than holding their gaze. “Um, yeah, I was just lost in my own thoughts.”
Shunammite opened her mouth to ask what was surely another equally... perfectly normal question, when Daisy cut her off, "So, how do you want your toast?"
Becka gave her a faint smile, "Barely toasted. Please."
The former Pearl girl turned to the brunette standing beside her and stuck out her tongue, “See, I told you she liked them that way!”
—*—*—
2:56 a.m. The window wasn’t open this night, so the curtain was one less thing to look at. Just as she had watched every night from her bed, Daisy had closed the door as she had entered the room, yawning so wide her jaw almost fell off. The last to go to bed, but the first to fall asleep somehow.
Her throat was dry, and in the silence of the room she stopped herself from clearing her throat yet again. She needed a drink. Becka hesitated for a moment. Her bare feet touching the cold wooden floor reminded her of the one at the house. Her mother had always forbidden her from walking around the house like that, her chest squeezed at the memory.
She got up anyway, the cold hardwood floor beneath her bare feet like a memory. She crossed the room silently, reaching the door, which she opened with a creak. Daisy didn’t even stir, the music drowning out all outside noise. Becka continued on her way, passing June’s room and finally reaching the stairs. The wood creaked beneath her feet, and her hand gripped the banister, using the natural light from outside as her only guide.
The kitchen was lit by the soft glow of the oven, and the hum of the fridge echoed faintly within. She grabbed a glass and walked over to the faucet to fill it. As the water ran, Becka looked up to gaze through the window, the sky over Ottawa was clear, displaying a handful of stars. It was July, the seventh month of the year and part of summer. She now knew the answer to the question "When?", which she had been asking herself for most of her life. Daisy had told her that the stars in the sky might change depending on the time of year, so the younger girl had started writing down the most visible constellations on the calendar attached to the back of their door. Becka hadn’t checked which ones were visible right now before coming downstairs.
"Having trouble sleeping?"
Becka jumped violently, knocking her nearly full glass into the sink with a loud clatter. She spun around, breathless, her hands clenched on the edge of the sink. June was standing there, a slight grimace on her face.
"Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you," the woman apologized, setting her heavy bag down on the floor.
"It’s okay, I didn’t hear you," Becka stammered, picking up the now-empty glass, her chest tight and her hands shaking.
“Why don’t you leave that there? I’ll make us something to drink,” June offered in a slow voice. “Wait for me on the porch, it won’t take long.”
Becka nodded, resisting the urge to mutter a usual faint “yes, ma’am,” and headed toward the door leading to the back yard. The house was pretty nice, located on the outskirts of Ottawa and near a small wooded area, so it was quiet. The back porch consisted only of an outdoor sofa and a sort of rocked cocoon, where Daisy curled up to read thick books while they practiced grammar or history with their personal tutor.
After what seemed like a short eternity of fiddling with the sleeve of her sweater, June reappeared with two cups and sat down beside her. The woman looked exhausted, after all, she had just returned from a four-day absence. It was quite common, and they had grown accustomed to seeing the blonde come and go on God-knows-what missions. Gilead had been severely shaken by the simultaneous attacks carried out by Mayday and Daisy from within.
"I hope you like it. I usually make this for myself on rough nights," June explained gently, placing one of the cups in her hands.
"Thanks," Becka murmured, catching the cup with both hands, letting the heat of the ceramic make her hands redden.
They stayed like that for a moment, drinking the beverage that was far too hot to be pleasant.
"Penny for your thoughts?" June finally broke the silence, her voice slow and a little hesitant.
Becka froze for a moment, setting the cup down on the low table. Her fingers instinctively reached for the worn part of the sleeve, she’d taken it from Daisy, who, judging by its condition, had surely snatched it from the former handmaid.
“I-” she hesitated for a moment before stopping. June knew, she had read the files, her file and obviously what she did to him. Why she did that and how her mother... The woman understood, she, too, had done things for her loved ones. “Does what happened eventually fade away? Is it possible to forget?”
“Is it possible to forget the image of your fucking father chocking on his own blood after you stabbed him without a second thought, only for your mother to sacrifice herself for you?” or "Is it possible to stop thinking about all the girls he touched and broke, just as he did to me?” were what she really wanted to ask as she bit her tongue.
The blonde didn’t answer right away, “Nothing is ever truly forgotten. There will always be something to remind you. All you can do is move on and get used to living with it,” June explained slowly. “There are people here to help you move on, to help you move forward.”
Becka nodded, biting her trembling lip and keeping her eyes open by fear of letting the tears fall down, “You’re back earlier than expected.”
If June noticed the obvious change of subject, she didn’t let on, “I wanted to go with you to your doctor’s appointment tomorrow. And I promised Hannah that I’d take her to see Hulda at the hospital.”
The girl held her breath for a second, her gaze falling on her cup. She’d come back early for them, to take her to her therapist. June wanted to be there for her. Someone wanted to be here and was not judging her.
Becka jumped to her feet, ignoring her heavy heart and her blurring vision, “Thanks for the tea. I think I’ll be able to fall asleep now.”
She had barely taken three steps when June’s voice rang out one last time, ”Sweetheart,” making her turn around, ”Remember, when you need someone, I’m here.”
Her thanks got stuck in her tight, dry throat, her legs deciding to run away for her instead. The stairs creaked again beneath her feet, and the door groaned once more as she opened it.
Daisy hadn’t moved, her head now peeking out from under the comforter. Becka paused for a moment to look at her. Daisy had never slept without her music since they’d moved in here.
"Everyone holds onto habits from bad times," an agent from Mayday had told her after seeing the condition of her fingers and her nails, which had been torn off at the root by her own teeth.
Slowly, Becka walked over to the sleeping girl and gently tapped her on the shoulder. Daisy startled slightly, lifting her head with narrowed eyes, and pulled on her cable to unplug an earbud.
"Are ya’ ‘kay?" she mumbled in a sleepy voice.
Becka hesitated for a moment before asking, "Can I sleep with you?"
Daisy didn’t answer, simply pushing the comforter aside and pulling her legs in to make room for her. Becka climbed into bed and lay down with her back against the wall. Neither of them spoke, and when Becka pressed her forehead against Daisy’s back, Daisy pretended not to notice the tears starting to soak her T-shirt. Close like that, they could both hear the music coming from the earbuds, and Becka finally managed to close her eyes, forgetting an instant the image of what she did.