Chapter 15 - Author's note: Sorry, sorry, sorry, a thousand times sorry for the abject, appalling lateness of this update. To make up for it, I have tried to make this chapter very long! Thank you so much for your patience and for all your encouragement - all of you are such lovely people!

Nightingale, two days later, and on the morning they were set to embark, was sitting in the team's office at HQ, completely fucking miserable.

This was, of course, because Nightingale had said goodbye to Robin and Colm that morning with her teeth clenched firmly together. When Colm had asked her why she was making that expression - one that made it look like she'd just swallowed a cup of lemon juice, which Colm had once done on a dare from one of his friends - she knelt down to him and told him the truth.

"I'm trying not to cry, love," she said, stroking his face with one of her white-knuckled hands.

At that, Colm had burst into tears and thrown himself around her neck. That had not made it any easier for Nightingale to leave him, but it certainly had helped her not weep. To see weakness helped her be strong. Sorcha, who had arrived in the early hours of the morning, was standing behind them and looking pointedly away. She was dressed in her full Nightingale regalia, sporting a wig and fully made up in an eerie mimicry of Nightingale's own looks.

"No, no, shh," she told him. "It's all right. It's all right. I love you. I love you, little dove."

"I don't want you to go," said Colm. Nightingale could feel how he pushed his face against her neck, hiding himself in the curtain of her long hair. "Please don't go."

"I have to go. Listen, little dove, do you love your Auntie Sparkle?" asked Nightingale. She pried Colm's astonishingly strong grip from around her neck and held him half and arm's length away from her.

He nodded, his face wet with tears. Nightingale could hardly breathe with how much she loved him and how much she did not want to leave him. His eyes, half angry, half sorrowful, refused to hold hers in the way children did when they were upset. He, of course, had not been told what it was she had gone to do, but he could sense his parents' anxiety and distress, and, though not understanding it, felt it just as keenly.

Nightingale waited until he looked up at her, until his eyes - her eyes, that reminder that he was hers - met her own. Then she stroked his face and spoke. "And your Auntie Glitter? And all my sisters?"

He nodded again.

"Well, I love them, too. Nearly as much as I love you," she added, and she chucked him under the chin, both of them smiling in wry, watery humour. "And I have to do this for them."

"Are they in trouble?" he asked, his tears momentarily forgotten. Nightingale was instantly fiercely proud of him for that. His concern for those he loved outweighed his own sadness. "Are they in trouble, Mummy?"

"No, no. Not them. But others like them are. And I can do something to help," she explained. In the corners of her vision, Nightingale could see that Robin was watching her, with one hand at his mouth. He looked as though he was trying very hard not to cry. "And I'll be back soon, I promise. Besides, you'll have your father, and you'll have Agent Brennan. They'll keep you safe, little dove."

Colm threw himself upon her again, mumbling something about how he didn't care about that, didn't care if he was safe, only wanted her with him. Nightingale embraced him tightly, sinking her fingers into his wild black hair. Then, after soothing him with humming and little snippets of endearment, she pried him off her and pushed him to his father. Colm gripped Robin very hard about the legs, hiding his face in Robin's jacket.

She stood and, continuing to ignore Sorcha, stared him straight in the face.

"Je t'aime," she told Robin, because Sorcha did not speak French. "Je t'aime plus que ma vie. Tu es plus proche de moi que ma propre âme. Tu sais ça, non?"

Robin said nothing. He put one hand on his heart and bowed his head. He did not kiss her mouth. Instead, he lifted one of her hands in his and kissed it.

Nightingale couldn't breathe. It took all her strength not to gather her family up in her arms, take them back into the house, and stay with them forever.

Nightingale turned to Sorcha. "Take care of them. They mean so much to me," she said.

Sorcha smiled, not a mimicry of Nightingale's slow, sensuous smile, but one of her own, one that was mostly shy and very sweet. "Of course," she promised. "Don't forget, Nightingale, that I'm more than just a chameleon. I'm also a government agent."

Nightingale smiled tersely at her husband and son and then she turned away. She could not look back. If she looked back she knew she would return to them. She tried not to hear Colm crying, and tried to ignore Robin's sweet voice soothing him.

In measured steps she went out onto the helipad, got into the hovercraft in which Sorcha had arrived, and took off. She had no sooner taken off that her comm began to buzz with a call from Rose, which she ignored, and then from Magenta, and Sparkle and Glitter, and Fox, and Aphrodite, and Lace. All her sisters seemed to know that she needed comfort - though none had been told exactly what for, since it would compromise the mission - and called. She ignored all of them.

What she could not ignore, however, was the message that came swimming onto the screen projected on the windshield, above the dashboard.

We love you very much.

That was all it said, but initialled after it were those of all her sisters: Lace, Sparkle, Glitter, Magenta, Rose, Emerald, Ruby, Mermaid, Cocoa, Silk, Peppermint, Fox, Caramel, Aphrodite, and Diamond.

That was the strength Nightingale had needed. They were what she fought for, what she had survived for. She set her jaw and, as she had once told Rose to do a lifetime ago, repeated their names. She used no abstract literature to calm her, no - she repeated each one of her sisters' names again and again and again until she could almost see them before her.

So she had arrived at the team's offices completely fucking miserable, and she had stayed that way. She had arrived very early, and the sun was only beginning to rise, and she was alone. She wasn't sure that was a bad thing - there was no one other than those she had left behind that could comfort her in this sort of despondency.

She half-expected David to be there when she got in, and when he wasn't in the office, she wasn't sure if she was upset by that or relieved. She pulled up a personnel log on a tablet and found that he was the only one of the team to have checked in already, but he was down at the shooting range.

She gave a sigh, sat down, and pulled up the case file. She read it once again, though she nearly had it memorized. She flicked again and again through the faces of the triumvirate, and was staring hard into Victor Trevor's projected gaze, when the door opened.

She looked up and, through the blue, shimmering hologram of Trevor's face, saw someone she had not expected to see.

"Steel?" she asked. He looked over at her, and smiled.

"Hello, Agent Brightley," he said.

"The fuck you doing here?" she asked, trying to make it sound friendly. She flicked at the tablet and the hologram vanished. "How did you get in?"

"Robin gets in, doesn't he?" said Steel. He ambled into the room and stood across from Nightingale. He anchored his hands on the chair across from her and looked hard at her. With the exception of the colour of his eyes, he looked nearly identical to David when he did it.

"Robin has clearance. You don't," said Nightingale.

"Maybe I stole my father's I.D. badge," said Steel. He gave her a sidelong gaze and instantly the eerie resemblance to David was diminished. David would never look at anyone in that sly and flirtatious way.

"You know clearance is by handprint, not I.D.," said Nightingale. She raised her eyebrows and challenged him to tell her the truth. "How did you get in? No, wait - don't tell me. One of the guards, right?"

"A very pretty blonde woman who I may or may not have flirted with let me in to-" began Steel, with a grin.

"We're going to have to have a conversation with security about letting people in just because they think they happen to be very handsome and extremely-" said Nightingale, but she stopped as Steel cut her off with a laugh.

It was exactly what she needed to hear - a pure and unrestrained sound of pleasure. Giving a little smile, she went on. "So. What are you doing here? Here to see David? He's in. Caroline isn't."

"Yes. Is there any way-" Steel started but Nightingale, knowing what it is he wanted, waved her hand, rose to her feet, and gave a sigh.

"Yes, I'll take you down to him. Because I know even you can't flirt your way past a locked door," she told him.

Steel chuckled. "You've never seen me try," he boasted, always with that little edge of sadness. He, like Nightingale, was extraordinary in his powers of seduction and persuasion, something in which he had a perverse pride. The origin of those powers, however, was not something in which he had pride.

Nightingale led him out of the office. Neither spoke as they went down the hall, into a turbolift, and down fifteen floors. Steel seemed somewhat nervous, though he was trying to hide it. Very few people could hide their feelings from Nightingale, and so she could practically taste the metallic tang of Steel's fear as they stood in silence.

"Something the matter, Steel?" she asked, as they were stepping out of the lift.

"This case," he began. He was twisting his hands now, trying not quite as hard to hide his anxiousness. "This case is a big one, right?"

"Yes," said Nightingale. "Why, are you worried about David and Caroline?"

"Of course," said Steel. He stopped for a moment and Nightingale followed. Chewing on his lip, and looking down, he looked very young despite his years. It was easy then to remember that Steel was David's and Caroline's child, their son, and as beloved of them as Colm was of Robin and Nightingale.

Nightingale laid one hand on his forearm. He looked up at her with such bare worry in his face that she laid one hand on his cheek and smiled at him.

"They're going to be fine, Steel. This is a big case, it's true. But this is what they do best. Besides, for most of the case neither one is going to be on the front lines," she said. What she left out at that moment was that it would be then that she and Amartya would be risking their lives. She did not need Steel to worry for her.

Steel nodded, as if not fully convinced. Nightingale could tell he was still anxious, and so she left a soft kiss on his cheek. Then, taking him by the hand, she led him down the hall. He went with her, meek and pliant as a child.

When they entered the shooting range, Nightingale released him. Both of them approached David quietly. Neither one disturbed him, since he was in the middle of shooting a round. Nightingale could not see his face, but she could imagine it; it would be set in hard, cold lines, as firmly and rigidly controlled as his entire posture.

"Hey, Dad," said Steel, when David lowered his gun. His voice was extremely casual, as if it was nothing for him to call David that. David spun about in a heartbeat, his expression softening from its cold composure to a more affectionate stoicism instantly.

"Steel," he said. Then his eyes flickered to Nightingale and he acknowledged her with a nod. "Nightingale."

"Do you want me to leave you two-" Nightingale began. She was looking between David and his son, noting as she always did the similarities between their faces. Steel was a handsomer print of his father, with a few modifications that rendered his beauty even more striking and far more conventional than David's.

Neither of them said anything.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said. She turned her back on them and she heard Steel begin to speak immediately. She tried not to listen in, desperately tried to give them their privacy, but she could not help but overhear.

"Whatever is going on, it seems serious," she heard Steel say. "You're not yourself. So I want to help."

"Steel," she heard David admonish, very gently. "It's not the-"

"Whatever the case is, I want to be able to help. Nightingale is in on this, so if she can be, why can't I-" Steel protested. Nightingale shook her head, trying to clear her head from the sound of Steel's voice.

"Nightingale is a trained government agent," she heard David counter. "Are you? No. Besides, the case isn't the-"

The doors closed behind Nightingale at that moment, and she was glad. She didn't want to intrude on any of David's personal conversations. What she had seen between him and Caroline had been enough. She shuddered at the idea of David watching her say goodbye to Colm - and so she was glad she did not have to witness David saying goodbye to Steel.

She went back up to the offices, and found that she was no longer the only one there. Pierce and Nicholas had arrived at some point, and were laughing loudly with Daniel. All three seemed perfectly at ease, and she envied that.

When she entered, they immediately hushed up and stared hard at her.

"The fuck you looking at?" she challenged, when the stares became intrusive.

"Nothing, nothing," said Pierce, in his easiest tone. Nicholas smiled reassuringly and Daniel - well, Daniel still seemed to be trying to get Nightingale to like him, which she knew wasn't going to happen very soon.

She settled down a little distance away from them, and pulled up a case hologram again. It was as she had left it - Victor Trevor's face stared out at her. Giving a flick of her fingers, she banished that face. She would have to see it again in the flesh soon enough.

Memories came back to her unbidden, the kind that usually surfaced in sleepless nights and left her sobbing silently until Robin's gentle hands stroked and soothed the pain out of her.

"Lovely sweet girl," she could hear the ghost of Trevor's voice whispering. She could very nearly feel the heat of his breath on her neck. "So pretty. So good. Good girl."

She could hear his voice, hear the sordid snippets of endearments, feel his hands on her breasts and her thighs and her back and inside her and oh God-

She was vaguely aware of a crash, and of Pierce and Nicholas asking her if she was all right. She started and came back to the present. She was sitting rigidly in her chair, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails bit into her palms. Her tablet had shattered - she must have dropped it.

"Yeah. Yeah," she said, waving them off. She stood, feeling the sudden urge to flee, to get away, to run before someone attached an anklet to her and forced her down on a bed. "I'm fine. Fine. Just need some air."

She tried not to run as she got up and left the room. She made it ten steps down the hall before she could nearly feel Trevor's hands on her again, and she turned and anchored both palms on the wall. She shook and shuddered, trying not to faint, or vomit.

"Can't do it," she said. She could hardly breathe. "I can't. Oh, God, oh God, I can't, I can't-"

No recitation could help her, not as she gasped for air. She leaned her forehead against the wall.

"Pretty girl," she heard the voice whisper in her ear again.

Nightingale gagged, and beat her hands against the wall.

"Nightingale," she heard from down the hall. She did not need to turn her head to recognize the voice. David spoke again. "Nightingale."

"Leave me alone," she growled at him, the hate and fear she had for Trevor coughed up in an animal sound as she spoke to David. She whirled about, ready to fight, or to fly.

"For God's sake, let someone help you, Gale," said David. He sounded angry.

"How could you help me? You don't understand," she snarled at him. She watched his gaze soften as she said it. "How could you possibly understand? How could anyone?"

"You're right," he conceded. Even Nightingale could feel surprised at the humbleness of his tone. "I can't understand. Almost no one can. That doesn't mean we cannot help you."

Nightingale gave another growl and shoved herself away from the wall. "How can you help me, then?" she challenged.

David cocked his head. The hard fury of his eyes fixed itself upon her. She took several steps forward and Nightingale did not back away because she did not fear David as she had feared her clients. That anger was not for her.

"I betrayed you once," he told her. "I will never do that again. I will keep you safe as long as I live, Nightingale."

"I don't need you to keep me safe," she said, more than a little surprised by the way he said the words - they were a solemn vow, fierce and loyal.

"Don't be a fool," he returned. "Everyone needs someone to keep them safe. Several someones, usually."

"Even you?" she snapped.

David smiled. It was a small smile, but it was very warm. "I'll never admit this again, but yes."

Nightingale paused. "Well," she said, after a moment. "That was very nearly humble, detective."

The cool, severe, disapproving David had returned as he arched one eyebrow. "Something you would know nothing about, I imagine," he said.

Nightingale snorted as derisively as she could, though the panic was fading. She could no longer feel memories as acutely as if they were present. She was in that moment and that moment alone. Trevor was not with her. She was with David. "Come on, detective. Let's get back."

"After you," he said, and held out his hand.

The two went back to the office. They entered to find Nicholas cleaning up the remains of Nightingale's tablet.

"You know, Nick, our cases would be a whole lot easier if you didn't break so many things," said David as he settled into a chair. As Nightingale settled into one next to him, she opened her mouth to explain that it was her tablet, not Nicholas, and he was not to blame.

"Yeah, but a whole lot less fun," said Nicholas, with a meaningful look at Nightingale. His gaze was warm and his smile friendly. Covering for her.

"Several someones," she heard in her thoughts. She smiled at Nicholas, and then at Pierce when he gave her one of his bright grins.

"Good morning, everyone," came a new voice, and Rory entered, followed closely by Erica. It was so strange to see Rory without Sorcha. She was such a quiet shadow of him, always ghosting about him, that it was easy to assume that without him it would be her who was lost. Now, in her absence, Rory seemed just as bereft as she would have been without him.

There were murmured greetings as Caroline, followed closely by Amartya, slipped in after Rory and Erica. Caroline immediately went to David and settled into the chair on his other side. That left Amartya looking somewhat lonely, and so Nightingale waved him over to come sit with her.

"Got Sorcha all settled in, then?" asked Amartya as he sat down.

"Yes," said Nightingale. She tried not to be jealous - at that moment, Sorcha was exactly where she wanted to be, with the people she loved most. But no, no, she could not think like that - her team, they were people she loved, too. Her several someones to keep her safe.

"Worried?" he asked.

"Of course," she conceded.

Amartya smiled, his dark eyes glowing. "Then that makes two of us. Shall we be worried together?"

Nightingale wanted to snap that his worry was undoubtedly different from hers. Instead, she smiled in return. "If you'd like, Agent Rasal."

He inclined his head and then, raising his eyes to her, gave her a dazzling smile.

With the whole team assembled, David called everyone to attention to go over the plan once more. There were no protests, despite the fact that they had been over this plan enough times to make Nightingale's head spin. As they gathered around the table, Nightingale found Amartya hanging close to her.

David pulled up a hologram that hovered over the table, blue and shimmering. For now, it was merely the coat of arms of the Western Union, next to the Britannic Federation's. As it grew in brightness, the light in the room dimmed and curtains came down over the windows to obscure the sunlight streaming in.

"Once we arrive, Amartya will, posing as Arun Tijare, take Nightingale to a meeting with the triumvirate," he said. Nightingale looked away as the faces of the triumvirate were projected above the table. She did not need to see Trevor's face again before it was time. "Some time after this, they will no doubt want to purchase her. Nightingale, you will, this whole time, be wearing a device of Pierce's invention, one that is disguised as an Inamorata's anklet, but is a broadcast interference device, instead."

David turned to Nightingale for a moment. She nodded, though she was swallowing hard against the bile that threatened to choke her at the idea of wearing an anklet again.

"The moment they buy you, Nightingale, you'll be transferred to the holding location of all the other Inamoratas," David went on. He flicked his hand and now a map of the facility - provided by Amartya's source Renatus - appeared in blue. "Turn on the device, which will scramble any signals from a remote to the Inamoratas' anklets."

Now David touched the hologram, and one glowing point appeared in red, labelled "Brightley". "You'll be here," he said to Nightingale. He touched the hologram again and a blue point appeared, unlabelled. "There's one guard who stands outside the holding cells. Distract him, disarm him, do whatever you need to do to incapacitate him. Then, there's a guard's station through a set of double doors behind him. We need those guards dispersed and out of the station when we come in, so radio in with the disarmed guard's comm something to get them out of there."

David waved his hand and then glowing points burst to life all over the hologram, most unlabelled blue of the guards. "Pierce, who will be hacked into their frequency, will hear when we do this. He will then shut down all comm signals to and from the holding facility, so the guards will not be able to radio in to the triumvirate any sort of distress call. Instead, he will send a message disguised as one of the guards that Nightingale's transfer went through without a hitch."

Pierce nodded, his gaze trained on the hologram. David went on.

"Rory and Amartya will enter from these doors here, and take out those four guards," said David. Two red points, "Rasal" and "McCrae", went speeding along a corridor on the projected image. At the same time, four other red points began to move. "Their entrance should also create a distraction, and lure the guards out from cover. Caroline and I will enter through this vent here, and engage the dispersed guards. At the same time, Nicholas and Daniel will come up through this vent here, and engage them from the other side. There are ten guards in total, but we will have taken them by surprise and we can pick them off one by one."

David waved his hand at the hologram once more, and the blue points vanished, replaced only by glowing red. In the image, Nightingale could see how "Brightley" and "Beckett" hovered close by one another.

"Once the facility is secured, Rory, Daniel, and Caroline will remain to hold it," said David. He looked up at the three of them and Nightingale noted how Caroline's jaw was set in displeasure. She had never liked this part of the plan. "Erica and Pierce will remain on reconnaissance. Nightingale, Nicholas, Amartya, and I will return to the triumvirate's last location. Using his undercover identity, Amartya will gain access. We will then arrest the triumvirate."

David flicked his fingers, and the hologram vanished. The lights came back on and most of the team was left blinking in the brightness. Nightingale's eyes adjusted faster, fast enough for her to see how David's gaze was trained challengingly on the both teams.

"Any questions?" he asked.

No one spoke.

"Well, good," said Rory. He nodded tersely. "Good, good. Anything else before we get going? The hovercraft has just landed, apparently."

No one spoke.

"Well, then. Good luck. Let's get this thing done, everyone," said Rory. His attempt at brusque encouragement fell somewhat flat.

The mood remained flat the rest of the day. And that was a very long day. Nine adults crammed themselves into one hovercraft for a transatlantic flight of seven hours from York to the Britannic Federation.

All were flying in a special, private hovercraft, one that was large enough to accommodate nine people, but small enough to avoid detection. They were not flying on the faster, more public hovercrafts, since this was a mission that, to anyone with below Level Two clearance, did not exist.

Nightingale tried to keep herself occupied, but after several hours, could not. With both the length of the journey and the time difference, many of the team members fell asleep, stretched out on the cots crammed side-by-side in the hovercraft's main cabin.

Nightingale could not sleep. She could not sleep in a bed, not even the cot. She lay awake on her side, staring at Caroline's rigid form in the cot next to her. Caroline had not moved in several hours. Nightingale assumed she was asleep. Then again, Nightingale had not moved for several hours, and she was not asleep. Nor had David who, an hour or so ago, had risen from his cot and gone into the cockpit.

Sitting up with a silent sigh, Nightingale ghosted her way past her sleeping colleagues. She resisted the urge to brush a kiss onto Pierce's forehead - he looked so young and so angelic when he slept, just like Colm - and to tuck a stray wisp of blond hair behind Nicholas's ear as she passed.

She slipped noiselessly into the cockpit, and found David sitting in the pilot's chair, though the hovercraft was on autopilot. By the dim light of the console, David was holding his gun.

Nightingale sat down next to him. She pulled her knees up to her chin and settled into the copilot's chair with a sigh. David looked over at her.

"You should be asleep," he said. He was loading his gun over and over again. Nightingale wanted to put out her hands and stop the flurry of his fingers, but she did not.

"So should you," she countered. "You haven't slept at all."

"How do you know that?" he retorted. He paused and looked up at her. He loaded the clip with a little snap, the barrel of the gun pointing towards Nightingale. It did not worry her as it might have done once - not only was the safety still on, but David was too good a shot for Nightingale to be worried he might accidentally let loose on her.

"Please," scoffed Nightingale, rolling her eyes. "You forget I've seen you sleep quite a few times. I can tell when you're asleep and when you're just lying there with your eyes closed."

David quirked a tiny little smile. "Worried for my well-being now, are you?" he said.

"Always," Nightingale replied.

Both of them sat there in silence. David had put the gun aside and was looking down at his hands. After a moment, he spoke.

"Did you have a question for me, or-" he began, his voice already hostile.

"I couldn't sleep. I didn't come here because I enjoy your conversational skills," Nightingale retorted, all sarcasm. "I'm here because sleep isn't easy for me at the best of times and it sure as fuck isn't ideal right now."

"You think depriving yourself of sleep before a big case is a good idea?" David asked, looking up at her. His expression was mostly scornful, with a little bit of pity showing through.

"Trust me, I can act the whore well enough with no sleep. I would've been dead a long time ago if I couldn't," she said, trying to conceal with heavy, sarcastic bravado the pangs of terrified pain that had leapt up at memories. Memories of sleepless nights in the bordello, of lying prone and quivering on the floor as the hours of the night passed, terrified of what tomorrow would bring; or, worse, lying awake next to a client.

David nodded soundlessly, a sharp jerk of his chin.