Chapter Text
J U N E
Children are such strange little beings. Like tiny sponges, they effortlessly soak up pieces of the people who raise them and the world around them. Their laughter, their words, their habits... so much of who they become is quietly learned. This is not strange.
What's strange is Nichole sleeping with her right foot slightly tucked behind her left knee, her right arm thrown beside her head while the other rests lazily across her stomach.
This isn't learned behavior.
Nor is it mere coincidence that her favorite way to sink into a deep, dreamless sleep is an almost perfect reflection of someone she has never known.
Someone who, to her, is a stranger.
Can blood really run so deep?
We never had to ask that question with Hannah. Growing up, she was surrounded by the people she shared her DNA with. If she slumped onto the sofa the way Luke did or wrinkled her nose like me, we never stopped to wonder whether it was inherited or learned. It was simply another little mystery of parenthood.
With Nichole, everything feels different.
She has inherited my stubbornness despite being raised by Luke and Moira. Every time I catch a glimpse of myself in her… something that shouldn't be there because I missed so much of her life… it fills me with an almost desperate kind of joy. It reminds me that our separation could never erase what we are to each other.
It gives me hope for Hannah.
Hope that somewhere beneath everything Gilead has taught her, there are still parts of the little girl I knew. Parts no Commander, no Wife, no Aunt can ever reach. Maybe blood remembers what the mind forgets. Maybe love leaves marks that survive even years of separation.
For a while, that's enough.
I let myself smile every time I catch another piece of myself in Nichole, pretending not to notice where my thoughts are inevitably headed.
Because once I admit that blood really does run that deep...
I have to accept that every part of him I discover in our daughter is another reminder that he isn't here to discover it with me.
"Has your mother stopped reminding you to come here?”
June lets out a quiet snort.
“No.”
"Is that frustrating?”
“A little,” June replies after a small sigh. “But I want to come here so I don’t mind her reminding me.”
“You mentioned before that you come here because you want to do better for your children.”
June nods.
“What about wanting to work on other relationships in your life?”
June keeps quiet.
"Have you spoken to Luke after our last session?”
“Yeah. We talked for a while yesterday.” June looks up at her therapist.
“Still only talking about Nichole and your time together with Hannah from before?”
“Mm-hmm.” June looks around the small room… shaking one leg anxiously before looking back at Dr. Carter. “We are still saying I love you when we hang up, so… that’s something.”
"You've mentioned a few things that have put a strain on your marriage to Luke. Is there anything else you've left out?"
June blinks. A quiet, "Only one," slips out before she can stop it.
Dr. Carter waits a moment before asking, "Is it something significant?"
June clasps her hands together. Her left thumb begins pressing slow circles into the center of her right palm before she realizes she's doing it. She stills her hand.
"You could say that."
"Would you like to talk about it?"
"No."
Dr. Carter nods.
"Okay."
Silence.
June keeps staring at her hands.
Another few seconds pass.
“How’s Nichole doing?”
June smiles. Her body relaxes instantaneously.
"She's discovered that throwing things is fun.”
Dr. Carter smiles. "A dangerous milestone?”
June laughs softly, "Apparently. She threw a spoon at my mother yesterday.”
"How did your mother take it?”
"She called it 'excellent aim'.”
The crunch of gravel beneath June's running shoes does more for her than the session with Dr. Carter earlier that morning. Cool air fills her lungs. Her heartbeat settles into a familiar rhythm. Her legs burn with effort, and for a few glorious moments, the constant noise in her head falls silent.
June has always loved being physically active. Before Gilead, she used to go running and attend yoga classes with Moira. A quick thought of her running inside a dark, abandoned building where she spent two months in hiding comes to her mind before she closes that thought.
She doesn't remember loving this activity quite this much before.
She's nowhere near as fit as she was before Gilead. Because the first time she tried running after arriving at the refugee settlement, she hadn't made it three minutes before stars danced behind her eyes.
She loved it though.
Loved the way it cleared her mind.
Since then, she's become a familiar sight on the settlement's gravel paths. She has a routine now
She sees Dr. Carter twice a week. Calls Luke and Moira every Wednesday and Saturday. Shares quiet breakfasts with Holly and Nichole before they step out of their trailer for the day. Holly heads to the medical center while June walks to the community garden, settling Nichole into the children's corner before getting to work.
She loves looking over to find Nichole happily playing with the other children while she weeds, plants, and waters. In the evenings, June goes for a run along the winding gravel path that circles the children's playground while Holly plays with her granddaughter. Later, after feeding and bathing Nichole, June reads The Little Red Hen again and again until Nichole finally drifts off to sleep.
Most of the time, it still feels unreal, how ordinary her life has become over the last two months.
But after everything she's survived, ordinary isn't boring.
It's extraordinary.
Every time she looks around the settlement, she's overcome with awe. All these people, each carrying wounds left by Gilead, have somehow built a place that feels safe… A place where she can finally begin to heal.
Sometimes she wishes her first stop after Gilead had been somewhere isolated like this. It was too much for her to be immediately thrown into the life Luke and Moira had built over the years in Toronto.
She loves Luke. He waited for her. He raised Nichole while she couldn’t be there for her. But she can’t help but resent the expectations Luke and Moira had imposed on her upon her arrival in Canada.
Luke wants her to be the wife she was before Gilead tore them apart.
Moira acts like moving forward is the only option and wants June to do the same.
Here, in this place, there are no expectations on her.
Every time Luke tells her the court still hasn't set a hearing date, she feels a tiny spark of relief.
It means he can't come here yet.
The thought makes her stomach twist.
She hates herself for it.
She feels like she is stalling. She doesn’t have the time to spend months healing in a refugee camp while Hannah’s still in Gilead. She should want Luke to be here. They need to regroup and make plans to get Hannah out.
But June feels exhausted.
All of her attempts to rescue Hannah from her captors have resulted in disasters. June pushes herself to run faster as guilt threatens to swallow her whole. Every failed attempt to save Hannah has left a trail of blood behind it. Faces she can't forget. Lives she still wonders if she sacrificed chasing the impossible.
She tells herself she just needs a little more time.
She tried.
God, she tried.
“Why didn’t you try harder?”
Hannah’s words haunt her.
June blinks back tears. She can’t afford to be reckless anymore. She has already caused enough trouble. Enough innocent blood staining her hands to haunt her forever.
And she has another daughter to think about. Nichole deserves a mother who is present. June rounds the bend in the path, slowing to a jog as she reaches the sandbox Nichole’s playing in.
"Mama!"
Everything else is forgotten.
Nichole abandons the bucket she'd been filling and runs toward June, sand flying behind her tiny shoes. June barely has time to stop before Nichole collides with her knees.
"Hey, sweetie."
Nichole lifts both arms… The universal toddler demand to be picked up.
June laughs.
"Already tired of Grandma?"
Holly snorts from the edge of the sandbox.
"She fired me about thirty seconds ago."
June lifts Nichole onto her hip. Warm. Slightly sweaty. Hair sticking to her forehead. Sand somehow everywhere.
"So I see."
Nichole immediately points back toward the sandbox.
"Cake!"
June follows the tiny finger.
Several plastic buckets have been turned upside down. One has collapsed into an amorphous mound while another is still standing proudly.
"Oh," June says with exaggerated admiration. "You made cake?"
Nichole nods enthusiastically.
"Cake!"
"Is it chocolate?"
"No."
"Vanilla?"
"No."
Nichole thinks for a moment.
"Sand."
June laughs.
"Of course it is."
Holly studies the lopsided mound with great seriousness.
"Looks delicious. Should Grandma have a slice?"
Nichole's eyes go wide.
"No!"
Holly gasps. "No?"
Nichole shakes her head so vigorously that curls bounce around her face.
"Sand."
"Oh..."
Nichole wrinkles her nose.
"Yucky. Don’t eat."
June freezes. The memory arrives before June can stop it.
“She’ll try to eat the sand.”
“She won’t. She’s too smart. Like her mom.”
June swallows hard.
Not now.
Not here.
The ache blooms anyway. She gathers Nichole against her, kissing every inch of her little face.
“My smart, brilliant girl.”
June laughs through the tears threatening to spill. She buries her face against Nichole's hair, breathing in the warm, sweet baby smell of her.
Nichole wiggles in her arms. She wants to be put down. She has had enough of her mother’s kisses and squeezy hugs, it seems. She runs off to play in the sand the minute June puts her down.
June wipes quickly beneath one eye.
Too late.
Holly is already looking at her.
“Sorry.”
She hates letting her mother see this.
The cracks.
The parts of herself she still can't keep together. Hates looking like she still isn't strong enough.
They keep quiet for a while. Watching Nichole dig in the sand with a stick.
“How are things with Dr. Carter?”
June smiles at Holly.
“She is good. Lets me keep my own peace. Doesn’t push.”
“Maybe you need a little pushing.”
June sharply turns toward Holly. A frown on her face.
“You sound like Luke.”
Holly's expression hardens. She hates being compared to Luke.
She doesn't answer.
“I don’t need pushing. I need…”
June closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath.
“Would you watch her for another few minutes? I need one more lap around the playground.”
June doesn’t wait for a reply before taking off.
She doesn't get far before everything she's been trying to hold down starts pushing back. She fights to keep the lid on, but she's still too raw from the memory that ambushed her earlier.
A tear slides down her cheek. She doesn't bother to wipe it away. The dam has broken. She might as well let it.
She starts thinking about what she needs. Not sympathy. Not judgement. But understanding.
There’s only ever been one person who’s given it to her. And she has lost him. To Gilead.
She has never really thought that they could have a future together. You don't let yourself dream about a future with someone the rest of the world would put on trial.
But she didn’t know how much she had secretly wanted it until Tuello told her about the immunity deal. She hadn't realized she'd been starving herself of hope until someone offered her a little.
For a few hours, she had let herself loose in the fantasy. Him being free. Him getting to raise their daughter. The possibility of them being together without hiding from the world.
She was so convinced that she would get him on board that she didn’t even consider the possibility of failure.
She hadn't cared that he was married. She'd told herself the marriage wasn't real. That Gilead had chosen Rose, not him.
If he'd loved June through all those years...
Surely he couldn't love Rose.
She didn’t consider that something far more complex than his marital status would come between them.
A child.
Rose is pregnant. The daughter of a High Commander. Happy in Gilead.
Their child would belong to that world.
So would Nick.
She keeps running.
The gravel keeps crunching beneath her shoes.