Author's note - ugh, this chapter was a serious *ahem* pain in the ass to write. But here we meet some new characters, which should be fun, yeah? Yeah. Also: PLEASE vote and comment. The encouragement really means a lot to me!

The next day was somewhat brighter, both in the cast of the sky and in Nightingale's mood. She awoke early in the morning tucked into bed between her son and her husband. Colm, who had a nightmare in the small hours of the night, had climbed in next to her and allowed her to soothe him back to sleep.

It had done her good to soothe someone else's suffering, for it had spared her focusing on her own. As she stroked his hair she had asked him what he had dreamed about. He refused to tell her. She allowed him that secret. To force him would have seemed hypocritical, since she had concealed both the secret of their immortality and the impending case from Colm.

As she lay between Colm and Robin, both of whom lay still sleeping in the dim light, Nightingale realized she was not going to tell either one of her immortality, or of the possibility of Robin living as long as his wife and son. She would tell him eventually, she knew, if only for the reason that she wanted to secure his immortality as soon as possible.

After a moment or two to think about what Michael had said she had found the good in it. She had no desire to live forever, but the thought of Colm never growing old or sick was comforting beyond words. And provided Robin would consent to taking Michael's treatment - at least temporarily to extend his life - it was a good thing. He would not want to be immortal, but to add any years to his life was an improvement upon what had been until recently the bleak prospect of his dying relatively imminently.

She rolled over as lightly as she could and, raising herself on one elbow, regarded her husband as he slept. As she regarded his face she realized she would never tire of looking at it. His face was one of the more interesting she had yet to see. He was not a dashingly handsome man, though he had a certain brand of wild charm and eccentric appeal. That she confessed. But the dark, rich mane of his hair, the straight nose, the soft, smooth lips, the flawless complexion, and the deep, bright eyes - when they were open - fringed with inky lashes, these were all things that made him lovely.

More even than that, his smiles and his mischievous looks seemed a permanent fixture on his face and heightened his pleasing features into something Nightingale adored. When Nightingale looked at him he was positively beautiful.

She could not help kissing him when she thought of him that way. When she did he stirred and woke.

"Hello," he said, sleep still heavy in his eyes. He yawned and then he smiled at her. "I really do like to be woken up like that."

"I'll make a note of it," said Nightingale, and smiled back at him. Placing one hand on his chest, she began to trace patterns over the steady thumping of his heart. Even under the fabric of his shirt Nightingale could feel the even, plodding rhythm.

His smile became sly and then he closed his eyes. "Wait - I'm not completely awake," he said, feigning sleep unconvincingly. Cracking one sparkling, impish eye back open, he went on. "You'd better do it again."

She obliged him and when she drew back he sighed.

"Tell me what's troubling you," said Robin. Reaching up, he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. 

"Nothing that hasn't been troubling me for a long time," Nightingale replied. She said it without a smile and lowered her eyes. If she looked into Robin's eyes she would tell him instantly of Michael's discovery.

"Don't say that like you don't trust me with whatever it is," he said.

"Robin, my love, I trust you with anything," she told him. "You know that."

"Then what is troubling you?" he pressed. His voice was gentle, as it usually was, but he was persistent. That did not bother Nightingale, since she knew his motivation was to comfort her. But as persistent as he was she was equally stubborn.

"Aren't you supposed to be able to be so perceptive that you can simply sense what's troubling me?" she replied. She smiled at him again.

He gave a sigh. "I can tell there's something you're keeping from me."

"There is," said Nightingale. She never lied to Robin, nor he to her. Occasionally, however, they kept things from one another. This did not trouble either one; or, at least, it did not upset either Nightingale or Robin.

"Why won't you tell me?" he asked. It was not an aggressive demand. Rather, he was simply curious why she wouldn't reveal the secret. And, of course, he was eager to help her.

"I will, once this case is over." She said the words with the finality of a promise.

"Any particular reason for that date?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Nothing, other than that I don't want to add any other burden to what you are already bear for me," she replied.

"Is it something so terrible, darling?" he said, his brow constricting with concern. He touched her face again and she smiled at even the lightest brush of his fingers against her skin.

"Quite the opposite - something wonderful, probably."

"Oh?" he said.

"Oh," she mimicked, and kissed the tip of his nose. Robin blushed scarlet and looked very bashful. Nightingale liked that look and so she kissed him until, when they parted, his hair was rumpled and his entire expression dazed.

"I'm never going to get used to that," he said. His voice was thin with befuddlement, which made a pleasing contrast with the way his eyes sparkled slyly.

"Not even if we try it again?" she proposed, her expression as sly as his.

He grinned. "Hmm. Maybe. Probably not. We'd better try again, though. Just to see."

Nightingale laughed and kissed him again. Then she, moving with the utmost grace and care so as not to wake Colm, got out of bed. She knew she was needed at work. When Robin tried to follow her, protesting that he could at least get out of bed while the only one in the family who actually worked for a living ate breakfast, she pressed him down to the bed.

"Don't get up. Stay in bed as long as you like," she told him. "It'll be nice to think of the two of you snuggled up here while I'm out."

Robin smiled. "Will you be out long today?"

"I really don't know. Supposedly we're meeting the Britannic team today, but what that means I don't really know. I guess we'll be going over plans," she said. She flinched when she said it. She knew what those plans would involve - her, posing as a whore again, and suffering the groping and ogling of men, if not actually having to fuck them.

"Oh, darling," he said, sadness making his brow contract.

Nightingale smiled at him, touched his face, and left the room. She dressed as quickly as she could, ate little, and climbed into her hovercraft.

It was very early still, and the sun had just risen. She avoided snarls of traffic as she flew towards HQ. She tried not to think, tried not to let her thoughts run on ahead of her and send her spirits crashing to the ground a thousand feet below.

It was very quiet in the cockpit, and quite the change from what was often the pleasant chatter at home. Colm, Robin, and Nightingale all twittered merrily to one another when they were together.

"And no birds sing," she murmured. She wondered for a moment what had inspired her to quote Keats. Her curiosity vanished the moment she saw the HQ building loom before her. She found herself unable to focus on anything but the particulars of her new case.

Thoughts of clients with their hands and mouths on her skin, or thrust deep inside her chased her down the halls as she walked, assailing her as though with claws and teeth. No matter how fast she walked they pursued her. So she went faster and faster until, breaking into a run, she burst through the door of the team's office.

David was the only person in the room when she came tumbling in. He raised his eyebrows at her entrance but otherwise made no other expression.

He looked down, feigning boredom, as he asked: "Are you all right?"

"I just need a minute," she said. It was, undoubtedly, a massive fucking understatement. She leaned her back against the door and slid to the floor. 

She had been there for at least twice that long, floundering desperately against the tide of fear that was threatening to engulf her in wave after wave after merciless wave when a hand was offered to her. She looked up to see David standing above her, his hand extended. Reaching up, she accepted it and he, with one swift motion, towed her to her feet.

The moment Nightingale stood firm on the ground David immediately turned his back and paced back to where he had been before. Nightingale followed him until they stood on opposite sides of the table.

They had been standing there for a moment or two when Nightingale spoke.

"You told Robin for me," she said, sure he would know exactly what she meant. "Thank you."

He nodded without looking at her. "You're welcome."

"My God," said Nightingale, her astonishment only half-feigned. She tried to conceal her genuine surprise with an irony that she was sure wasn't fooling David as she flinched back and grasped the chair in front of her for support.

"What?" he asked. He was looking at her now - looking and frowning.

"That was absolutely fucking miraculous," she told him, and the sarcasm in her voice veiled only very thinly the honest pleasure in her. "I thanked you for something and you returned the gesture. I'm proud of the two of us."

She was rewarded with a small smile that managed to have more warmth than even the most cheerful laughs of Michael or Pierce or Nicholas. David was indeed very handsome in any expression, but when he chose to smile - with a smile that touched his eyes - his beauty became not more apparent, but differently so.

"You're nervous of this case," he said. He was looking down again.

Nightingale resisted the urge to snap at him - of course she was nervous, what a fucking ridiculous question - and she replied with all candid honesty:

"Yes."

"You know, you won't necessarily have to sleep with them," said David. He knew her well enough to be able to discern the root of Nightingale's fear. "Agent Rasal said be may be able to get you to pose as the virgin Nightingale, since anyone who buys you could sell your virginity for an astonishing price."

"Agent Rasal?" she asked, relieved at this revelation and pleased to be able to divert the conversation. "Is he a member of the Britannic team?"

David nodded, one short jerk of his chin. "He went undercover and is their most expert member on the triumvirate, apparently."

They were silent for a moment or two. Nightingale watched David carefully in this time for he, though he took a seat beside her when she sat, shifted uncomfortably in his chair, fiddled with his cufflinks, and sighed.

This worried Nightingale since David usually had the poised stillness of a predatory animal. She was about to ask, had opened her mouth and breathed both syllables of David's name, and his eyes were upon her, his face in a gentle, open expression, when the door slammed open.

"They're here," said Nicholas. Pierce came tumbling in after him. "Caroline is with them."

Nicholas and Pierce fell in on Nightingale's left, neither one daring to take Caroline's place on David's right, nor even attempting to challenge Nightingale for the one on his left. After two minutes had passed with very little conversation, the door opened once again.

Caroline came in first and immediately took up her spot. Five figures filed in after her.

Leading them was a tall, rail-thin man in his early fifties. In the controlled wave of his grey hair and the keenness of his grey eyes, he had the severe, stern look of smooth, self-possessed authority. 

At his side, so close that they were touching, was very pretty, a pale-faced young woman with masses of curly hair that she had in a long ponytail behind her head, and a pair of incisive eyes that hovered somewhere between blue and grey. She was attractive; nothing on Nightingale's astonishing beauty, but the contrast between her soft, gentle features and her sharp eyes was striking and very lovely.

Behind her was another woman, this one so short she did not clear the taller woman's shoulder. She was the elder of the two women, though she would not have been more than forty years given the few strands of grey that had woven through her pin-straight black hair. She smiled at Nightingale, a kindly look in her dark eyes. She also smiled at Caroline and, miraculously, was given a respectful if not smiling glance in return.

The final two figures were men; both were tall and would have looked like brothers had it not been for differences in the darkness of their skin and eyes. The nearer one had black hair, as did the further one, but the former had vivid blue eyes and the latter black ones. The nearer had skin so pale it glowed like the first woman's, and the further had darker skin with a tawny, nutmeg complexion of perfect health.

The blue-eyed man smiled - all of them were smiling, a welcome change from the sombre anger of David and Caroline - and then so did the dark-eyed one. Nightingale liked the look of the last man the best, she had decided. Of the men, he seemed the gentlest.

"Detective Beckett," said the grey man, coming forward and extending one skinny hand. David grasped it and gave a strained, tight smile. His voice revealed his heritage - a thick lilt placed him as Scottish and so from a slightly more tempestuous area of the Republic. "A pleasure."

"Detective McCrae. An honour to work with you," said David. Though his voice was harsh the statement did not appear to be a lie.

"And your team?" said Detective McCrae, turning to team assembled before him. His eyes - grey as his hair and eerily bright - took in each one of them individually. Though he tried to hide it, they lingered on Nightingale longer than the others.

"My team - Agent Caroline Bure, whom you have already met. She is our legal expert, among other things," said David, giving Nicholas a withering look when the big blond coughed suggestively at what those other things might be.

Detective McCrae inclined his head and gave a short greeting. The rest of his team followed suit save for the woman at his elbow. She stared directly at Caroline with her clear eyes and Nightingale watched how Caroline's gaze shifted nervously to her hands.

"Agent Nicholas Jacobsen and Agent Pierce Castleman," David said next, gesturing to the pair of them as though they were a single entity. Which, to be perfectly honest, they very nearly were. Again the ritual was the same, a greeting and the inclination of heads.

"And Agent Nightingale Brightely," said David.

"The lady of the hour," remarked Detective McCrae. "It is a genuine pleasure to meet all of you. I hope you don't think me rude, Detective, but I have to remark on what a great honour it is to meet Agent Brightley in the flesh."

Nightingale gave a smile as terse as David's as she inclined her head. The smile soured into a grimace as the tall, blue-eyed specimen standing at rigid attention behind Detective McCrae spoke up.

 "And my God, you're even more beautiful in person."

Every head in the room turned, and every gaze fixed itself upon Nightingale. A nerve twitched in David's temple and Caroline looked angry.

"Is that meant to flatter me?" she retorted, instantly furious. 

"I-" he began, but his boss cut him off.

"A bit of courtesy, Agent Collier," he ordered. The woman beside him gave him a little glare before turning her eyes back to Detective McCrae.

"He thinks he's Clarence two-point-oh. It's disgusting," sneered Caroline in an undertone to David. Nightingale saw him share with her a sidelong look of agreement.

"And this is your team?" Pierce interjected, his voice somewhat higher than usual as he sought to smooth over the glowers being exchanged.

"Ah, yes," said Detective McCrae. He took a step back and motioned to his team. "Agent Daniel Collier has already introduced himself in the most charming way possible, so he needs no introduction."

Agent Collier inclined his head, looking contrite. It made Nightingale pity him, if not forgive him. He most likely had not meant to offend her and though ignorance was hardly a good excuse, the apologetic look on his face gave her the tiniest bit of sympathy for him.

"This is Dr. Erica Oshiwa, our medical expert," Detective McCrae went on, gesturing to the smaller dark-haired woman. She inclined her head and then smiled again.

"There is no medical expert on my team," said David, inclining his head her as she had done to him. "Your advice and counsel will be very welcome, Dr. Oshiwa."

"Agent Amartya Rasal," said Detective McCrae, waving to the dark-haired man currently staring intently at Nightingale. She started instantly. This was the Britannic team's undercover officer, the expert on the triumvirate.

"And finally, Agent Sorcha Brennan," he said, and nudged the woman at his arm. She blinked, bowed her head with a shake of her curls, and went back to gazing mutely at all of them. Unlike Dr. Oshiwa or Agent Rasal, her silence did not seem to be the product only of a respect for the introduction of a superior officer - a respect Agent Collier seemed to lack - but was more deep-seated. She lifted her wide, melancholy eyes to Nightingale's and it made her wonder whether Agent Brennan had a good reason to be quiet.

"You are welcome, all of you. Now let's discuss. Please sit down," said David.

The Britannic team took their seats with a small amount of shuffling. Detective McCrae took the seat in the middle of the table, opposite David. On his right was the sharp-eyed Agent Brennan, whose eyes were currently trained upon her hands. On his left sat Dr. Oshiwa. On Brennan's right Agent Collier had taken his seat and next to him, the smiling Agent Rasal.

Agent Rasal's eyes were fixed upon Nightingale and she, flinching back from even that friendly, warm look, opted instead to examine David's left cuff in detail. Next to her, Nicholas and Pierce looked as though they were trying to engage Agent Collier - who sat across from them - in conversation.

At a wave from David, silence fell.

"Now, where to begin?" asked Detective McCrae.