Chapter Text
There are days
I wake up and I pinch myself
You're with me, not someone else
And I am scared, yeah, I'm still scared
That it's all a dream
'Cause you still look perfect as days go by
Even the worst ones, you make me smile
I lie awake again.
But it’s a different kind of awake now.
For one, it’s morning. I generally have no problem falling asleep now, and sleep soundly through the night. I awake in the morning with white light streaming through Nick’s bedroom window. The sun is no longer an alarm, warning me of the urgent need to return to my bedroom at the Waterfords’ before both he and I get caught. It’s no longer an end to those precious nights of warmth, safety, and comfort in his arms. The sun is now a beginning — the bringer of a new day. One spent together. Never-ending warmth, safety, and comfort with him.
I lie awake now from contentment and gratitude for where I am and everything I have to look forward to in the day ahead. No longer awake with dread, fear, and grief around what I’ve lost and may never see again.
How did I get here? How is this possible? I’m awake but feel as though I must be dreaming. But if I am, I never want to wake up.
I roll over onto my left side and take in the sight of Nick, who is still sleeping peacefully beside me. I’m here because of him.
I reach my hand out to a stray curl on his pillow, slowly twirling my finger around it. His hair’s definitely longer now. Thick black curls, just perfect for my fingers to run through and grab onto. Which I do, every day...because I can now.
I wonder if he’s purposefully growing it out. Because he can now. No need to maintain the strict grooming and garb required of Gilead guardians. His long hair makes him seem more relaxed... probably because it’s so frequently disheveled unless we’re going out. And sometimes, even then. He just doesn’t seem to give a fuck about those things.
It makes me realize how burdened he was in Gilead...seeing how carefree he is now.
Carefree.
Free.
We’re all free.
I smile to myself, again marveling at how this is possible, and marveling at the person who made it possible. My finger moves from his hair to his lips, and I’ve barely touched them before they curl up into a smile. He’s awake. But he hasn’t opened his eyes yet...maybe wondering if he’s dreaming too.
I quietly laugh as I realize I can make him smile with just the slightest touch of my finger. That’s how easy it is now. No need for strategies and plans, like before, lying awake as I tried to come up with ways to make him smile.
When I laugh, he turns his head towards me, finally opening his eyes. They hold mine for a few seconds, before I hear a sigh escape his lips and he smiles again. Like he still can’t believe I’m here. Lying next to him.
He rolls over onto his side, so he’s facing me, and whispers, “Good morning,” his voice still groggy with sleep.
“Morning,” I answer, reaching my hand out to his hair again, above his ear, slowly running my fingers through. He closes his eyes, sighing again, with the softest of smiles on his lips. Then he turns his face into my hand, and kisses my palm. His hand clasps my own hand, pulling it away from his head and to his chest, where he clutches it tightly against this heart.
Somehow that tiny, simple gesture fills my own heart. How does he do it?
We lie side by side, facing one another, quietly taking each other in, before Nick releases a massive yawn, still shaking off his sleep.
“I’ll get you some coffee,” I say, with a chuckle, sitting up and scooting over to the edge of the bed. I glance over at Holly, still sleeping in her bassinet. It’s probably time we transition her into a crib, but Nick asked for at least one more week of having her sleep next to our bed, despite the fact that the crib is just right across the room.
As I stand up, I hear him whisper “wait,” and he leans his body across the bed, reaching for me. His hand lands on my forearm, and he gives the gentlest of squeezes before pulling me towards him. Back into bed, back into his arms, his legs intertwining with mine.
I laugh against his chest, saying, “I was just gonna get you some coffee. I would have come back.”
“I don’t need coffee. Just you,” he whispers, nuzzling his head into my shoulder.
I shake my head against his chest, but settle in. Because we have all the time in the world. For snuggles, and coffee, and for doing abso-fucking-lutely nothing.
****
Nick may not need coffee, but I certainly do.
We finally managed to get out of bed, when Holly woke up and forced us to get up — who needs an alarm clock when you’ve got a 5-month-old baby. We spent the morning getting Holly changed, fed, and ready for the day. By the time Moira arrived for her weekly Saturday morning visit with Holly (Saturday afternoons are spent with Hannah), I still had not yet had a cup of coffee. Which is just not acceptable.
So Nick and I stopped by the cafe downstairs before heading to the Toronto Music Garden, our only plan for the morning.
As we walk in, I’m immediately flooded by the smells, sounds, and sight of coffee. All the coffee we could ever want. Flowing abundantly once more. Not rationed and regulated like it had been in Gilead.
The store is filled to capacity with men and women talking, reading, or on their phones. All ordinary acts that are strictly forbidden just right across the border.
I think of Aunt Lydia and what she used to say: “Ordinary is what you are used to. This may not seem ordinary to you now, but after a time it will.”
No, Lydia, only normal is fucking normal. Fucked up is just fucked up.
The line is quick and we order our drinks. Regular black coffee for Nick, and a caramel macchiato for me.
While I wait for my coffee at the counter, I watch as he grabs the last empty table, sitting down and opening up the newspaper someone left behind. A young mother with a stroller struggles to squeeze by, and he scoots in his chair so she has more room. Her head moves back and forth, scanning the room for her own table. I don’t know why I’m surprised when Nick stands up, offering her the table he just secured. She thanks him profusely and, of course, he brushes it off, just smiling down at the 3-month-old baby sleeping peacefully in her carseat.
I learned a long time ago that this man is pure softness, which he was forced to hide behind a hard, stoic face all those years. As I watch him practically melt over the baby, I manage to snap a quick picture of him with my phone. He finds his way back to me at the counter and is still smiling when he reaches me, so I snap another picture.
“What?” he asks, sheepishly.
“Nothing...just wanted to catch Smile #169.”
He laughs quietly and I take another picture. “Smile #170.”
He laughs again, then gazes back at me with a look of pure awe. Like he’s mesmerized. It’s a look I’ve seen so many times from him, even in Gilead, but it still stops me cold every time, enchanting me in return.
He leans closer to me, as if he’s pulled helplessly towards me too, but then he hesitates and chuckles to himself.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s just...I just realized...I can kiss you now. Whenever I want. I don’t have to stop myself...It still feels weird.”
I smile and nod in response, wondering about all those other times when he wanted to kiss me and stopped himself. I wished he’d counted those moments too. Were they in the hundreds? Thousands even? So many missed opportunities...but never again.
“You better kiss me,” I say, grabbing his hand, pulling him closer to me, until he’s no more than a few inches away. His head leans down, closing the gap even further, and my heart rate spikes in anticipation—
“—Caramel macchiato for June!” the barista calls out.
Fuck.
Nick leans back, his eyes still smoldering. I couldn’t care less about the coffee that I so desperately needed only a few minutes ago.
With a sigh, I turn away from him to pick up my drink, and we start walking towards the exit, hand in hand.
We’re barely outside before he drops my hand to take my drink, resting both of our drinks on the window sill.
“What are you doin—”
I’m interrupted when he takes my face into his hands, pushes me against the glass window, and kisses me so deeply that I don’t where I end and he begins. It touches every part of me, setting me on fire, and I can hardly breathe but I just don’t give a fuck. I’d rather pass out than stop kissing him.
But just as abruptly as he started, he suddenly stops, pulling away, leaving me gasping for more of him.
“You wanted me to kiss you,” he says, slyly.
I bite my lip, and shake my head, still trying to steady my breathing and settle down every other part of me.
“Fucker,” I whisper, in between deep breaths.
He laughs, then reaches down to grab our coffees, before handing mine back to me.
I take it reluctantly. It’s the last thing I want to enjoy at the moment. Who needs caffeine to wake up your nervous system when you’ve got Nick Blaine.
And I do...have him. I’ve always had him. And I’ll always have him.
I take another deep breathe, to contain my emotions this time, as gratitude and love flood in for this man.
He smiles softly at the look on my face, before tilting his head slightly in the direction of downtown, asking, “Ready to go?”
I chuckle and respond, “Give a girl a moment. I’m still waiting for feeling in my legs.”
He laughs again, clearly enjoying his effect on me.
“So, uh, this Music Garden,” I start, pushing myself off of the window and adjusting my clothes and hair, “how, uh, public is it?” I peek a look at him at we start walking, just in time to catch his smirk.
“We may not be in Gilead anymore but there are still laws, you know,” he says, taking my hand into his own.
I drop his hand and wrap my arm around his waist instead, needing to be closer to him.
“Damn,” I whisper, tucking my head into his side. He laughs and wraps his arm around my waist too.
“You make me smile,” he says, sweetly, giving me a soft squeeze.
I smile to myself in return. Damn right I do.
