Fandomweekly Challenge 25 - Trial by fire

[m_findlow]

Title: Trial by fire
Fandom: The Handmaid's Tale
Author: m_findlow
Rating: MA (language, dub-con)
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 25 - One-track mind at fandomweekly
Summary: Ofjoseph and the Lawrences face the greatest test of their lives.

Commander Lawrence hugs his wife as she huddles by the window ledge. On any other night it would be a nice thing to see, a husband doting so lovingly over his wife. Tonight though, it's all he can do to keep her from screaming down the house and bringing a dozen Guardians in here to shoot us. We all know what we have to do, even if none of us are happy about it.

I sit on the edge of the bed, pulling myself onto it. I give the Commander my best resolved look as he comes to stand in front of me. He slowly unbuckles his belt and draws down his fly. I lie back so that I don't have to watch. I wait for what comes next. I've gotten good at this, just closing off any sense of my being a person. In this I'm just a vessel, waiting to be filled. Handmaids aren't people. Aunt Lydia tells us that we have a higher purpose in life. We're God's chalices on Earth. If we're of such a higher standing than everyone else, then why do they let us be raped like mongrel dogs?

When nothing happens I crane my neck forward. Lawrence is just standing there with his pants undone staring down at the floor. The Commander can't even get it up. To be fair, if my wife was in the corner, sobbing, I don't think I could get it up either. He has to, though. If he doesn't, we'll all end up on the Wall. It doesn't matter whose fault it is. The fact is that between the three of us, we've contravened the word of God. We have taken his most precious gift, the ability to create a child, and thrown it back in his face. Thanks, but no thanks, Mr G. We don't want your child. How the Wives would despise us.

How the Commanders would shudder that the man who lead them into power would be the one whose resolve would crumble so easily. We gave him too much leniency, they would say. He was always a strange one with his house full of antiques from the time before. All those books just lying around where any handmaid or Martha might read them. This is a test, for him to prove to them his loyalty to the cause.

I curl my hands around the bedding. It's nice. Not that fancy embroidered silk that the Waterfords had, but old fashioned cotton quilting - the kind of patchwork designs those Amish women might have sewn, putting all of their love into a practical work of art. It's better than having to hold the hands of a wife, knowing she's right there above us, watching over proceedings. Mrs Waterford's hands were always cold, and she squeezed mine as hard as she possibly could during the Ceremony. I always wondered, was it because she hated me, or because she wanted me to be reminded that I shouldn't enjoy it. As if I would.

How funny might it have been to open my eyes and stare up at her mid Ceremony and say "Don't worry Mrs Waterford. I don't want to fuck your husband any more than you do."

Fred was weak. He says the right things to the people he has to, but he doesn't have any real power. Even here in the bedroom, he was dictated to by us. Sure, he read the words of God, but this is women's business. Fred was just a tiny cog. Worse is that we both knew he's an impotent cog, just like so many of them. Funny how they're the ones running Gilead. The future rests on them shooting blanks. No wonder we're all fucked.

I wonder for a brief moment if Commander Lawrence is as impotent as the rest of them. If he thought he was, he might not be so reluctant to get this over with. I tell him to get himself to the edge on his own. At least that will shorten the humiliation for us both. Just a few short sharp thrusts to end it all, giving the doctor what he needs to satisfy himself that the Ceremony was completed.

He turns away from both of us but the way the muscles in his back jerk gives it all away. There's nothing subtle about it. I wonder if he's picturing Mrs Lawrence when they were twenty years younger, or maybe he's focusing on images from those dirty magazines they used to have. Commander Waterford had some in his library. Perhaps he should have brought them along to help get everyone in the mood. Less Bible studies and more naked centerfold girls. It probably wouldn't make a difference to the outcome. If it did, there'd be a lot more pregnant girls at Jezebels.

We must have waited at least twenty minutes. Five years ago I might have gotten impatient, gone over there and tried to help him get there quicker, but instead I just lie on the bed and wait. We're not meant to get personal about this. It's a transaction. All of us inside this room have one thing in common, one endgame we have to achieve. How long it takes is irrelevant. In fact, the longer the better. Just look how devout we are, taking all this time to perform the Ceremony.

There's a creak of floorboards and movement. Lawrence has gotten himself ready enough to do this. I pull up my skirts and spread my legs. Here we go again. Another dubiously consensual act, only this time the one whose consent is uncertain isn't mine. All our lives and those of Gilead's children depend on this. I close my eyes as flesh penetrates flesh. Mrs Lawrence sobs again.

'I'm sorry,' Commander Lawrence says as he thrusts, tearing my sensitive insides.

I try to stay focused. Sorry? Is he apologising to me or her? Perhaps it doesn't matter. Sorry is what we'll be if we fail.