Author's note - important news! Having recently had to leave my job due to serious medical concerns, I am at the current moment taking stock of my life. I've come to the realization that I want to make writing a part of my career, and for this I need your help. That's why I've launched a Patreon page, where I'm hoping that some of you can help me make my passion for writing into a real career. To everyone who has supported me for so long, thank you. 

You can support me here: https://www.patreon.com/niamhwrites

I appreciate and love you all. Thank you for your support. 

The guard who ambled by from time to time was easy enough to flag down.

"Hi," said Nightingale. She hung off the bars, smiling as sweetly as she could. "What's your name?"

The guard looked to his left and to his right, as if surprised she was speaking to him. 

"Oh come on," she said. "Don't be shy. I'm bored. What's your name, handsome?"

"Robert. Bobby," he said.

Nightingale grinned at the coincidence as she repeated his name. "Bobby," she said, and she made just the name sound incredibly filthy. "You're handsome."

"Uh, thanks," he said. He looked furtive.

"What's the matter?" she asked, cocking her head and playing stupid. "Don't you like me?"

"I'm not supposed to be talking to the merchandise," he replied.

She pouted. "Not even when it's as pretty as me?" she asked. When he didn't respond, she pretended that had wounded her. "Don't you think I'm pretty?"

"Yeah," he said.

She bit her lip and let her eyes rake him from head to toe. She let the silence hang in the air as Bobby pretended not to notice. He was visibly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot as he looked anywhere but at Nightingale.

"I'm bored, Bobby," she whined. "Won't you keep me company?"

His head whipped around. "You mean-"

She nodded, and licked her lips for good measure. That would have been a step too far for most men, but she could tell that this one was desperate.

"I shouldn't," he said.

She pouted again. "Do you always do what you should? What about what you want? I can see you want me."

"I shouldn't," he repeated, and now Nightingale could see that she had him. 

"Come on," she cajoled. "No one will know."

He looked left, and then right, and then reached for the keys on his belt. He opened the door and Nightingale smiled. Letting his rifle hang slack at his side by its strap, he sauntered his way in. Nightingale kept her distance from him, encouraging him to proceed further into the cell.

He did, and then she had him. "Hope you like it rough, baby," she said to him.

He looked a little confused. "Wh-" was all he managed, because Nightingale kicked him directly in the chest. He went flying back into the bars with a thud, and Nightingale followed at once. He reeled and made a swing for her, but winded and weakened, he missed.

Nightingale punched him in the face with all the strength she could muster. It proved considerable; he dropped to the floor, catching himself on his hands. The rifle clattered to the ground.

Nightingale delivered another blow to his face, this time snapping her heel across his cheek. He collapsed. He didn't get up.

She checked him for a pulse - he was alive, but unconscious. She took his rifle and slung it over her back. Then she fished the comm out of his ear and crushed it with the heel of her shoe. For good measure, she took the handcuffs from his belt, too. Dragging him as far as the door, she handcuffed him to a bar.

She left the cell, kicking off her shoes to mask the sound of her steps. As she did, she looked up and saw something that made her heart seize in her chest.

Every single one of the Inamoratas and Inamoratos was now hanging off the sides of the barred doors, watching her with wide, wide eyes. She held her finger up to her lips. Not a single one made a sound. Then she motioned for them to stay back. One by one, they melted into the shadows of their cells. Nightingale could still feel hundreds of pairs of eyes upon her. The weight of that responsibility weighed heavy as she slunk forward.

She crept toward the double doors. She could see the guards' backs - their postures were relaxed. They didn't know anything was wrong. Good. She dropped into a crouch about a metre from the doors.

"This is Nightingale," she said, quietly to her anklet. "The cell block guard is neutralized. I'm in position."

There was the briefest of pauses, and then an explosion of sound. Someone - David, probably - had opened the vent directly over the guards' heads and dropped a sonic grenade directly into their midst. Nightingale heard a few profanities before it went off with a series of bangs and thuds designed to disorient its victims.

Everything happened very quickly after that. The team seemed to appear out of thin air, but in reality through pre-planned entry points. Nightingale had little time to focus on anything except disarming and subduing the two guards on either side of the doors.

She kicked open the doors, and the two guards turned toward her. One rushed her, gun at the ready, and it was an easy thing to sling her rifle over her shoulder, grab him by the wrist, and bring the heel of her other hand up against his elbow. She bent the arm back the wrong way and with a yelp of pain, he dropped his gun.

Using her grip on his arm, she pulled him forward and clambered up onto his back. Her weight was not enough to bring him down, so she kicked at the back of his knees. He stumbled and fell, and she landed on top of him.

Snatching his cuffs from his belt, she secured his hands behind his back. As she was finishing, someone grabbed her and she felt herself hoisted into the air.

Giving a shriek, she thrashed about but found herself held tightly. She realized it was the other guard who had picked her up.

She wondered at first why he didn't just kill her, and then she realized - in his eyes, she was still very valuable merchandise. To kill her would be to waste the astonishing amount of money the triumvirate had spent on her, and would surely be a death sentence for him.

He was holding her firmly, despite her struggling and kicking. He pushed her through the doors, carrying her back to the cell block. Scrabbling desperately, she finally managed to reach back and claw at his face with her nails.

It worked - with a shout, he dropped her. She landed on her hands and knees and rolled, up before he could grab for her again. As she turned to face him, she finally got a sense of what she was dealing with.

The guard was very big - over six and a half feet. He was also very angry.

He made a grab for her and she sidestepped him. He did it again and she repeated her action. He was so much slower than she was! So when he made a swing at her, she jabbed quickly with her fist, punching him right in the face.

He gave a howl of pain and rage. Nightingale was sure she'd broken his nose. She let a grin, cocky and smug, climb onto her face. 

"Ouch," she mocked.

He blundered toward her and she jabbed again, this time delivering a blow to his solar plexus. It was not enough to down him, but it did slow him.

Then she made a very silly mistake. She caught sight of an Inamorato in a nearby cage. He was watching her with wide, dark eyes. They were so like Robin's that for a moment she faltered. 

The guard snatched her up, holding her by the neck with both hands. So much for not killing her. As his hands tightened around her neck, she gave a gasp and kicked frantically at him.

"You - stupid - little - bitch," he spat, tightening his grip after each word.

"Put her down," came a commanding voice from behind them.

Nightingale would know that voice anywhere. As the guard dropped her and turned toward the voice, Nightingale watched David advanced into the cell block. His gun was raised and he moved forward with firm, confident steps. His jaw was set and his eyes blazed. He was magnificent, but he was also terrifying.

The guard snatched a smaller sidearm from the holster at his hip. He dragged Nightingale to her feet and held her flush to his body as he pressed the barrel to her temple.

"Any closer and I'll kill her," he spat past bloodied teeth.

David's eyes flickered to Nightingale for the briefest of moments. Then he fired his weapon and the guard collapsed. When Nightingale turned, she saw - with astonishment - that the man had a bullet hole directly in the centre of his forehead.

David holstered his weapon and surged toward Nightingale. He swept her up into his arms at the same time she reached for him. 

"Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?" he asked. He was desperately searching with his eyes.

"I'll be fine," she said. Her voice was thin and raspy and her throat burning. 

His gaze immediately went from concerned to furious. For once, the fury was not for Nightingale but for the man who had hurt her. He looked over her shoulder at the dead guard and his eyes blazed.

Nightingale took his face in her hand and made him look at her. "Don't do anything stupid," she told him.

He flicked his chin to remove himself from her grasp. She let him go, opting instead to anchor both her hands on his chest to prevent him from approaching the body.

"He's dead," she said. Then, she said something that seemed to make all the difference: "He can't hurt me again."

David paused, and then he gave a sharp nod. "You're right," he admitted.

Nightingale smiled. "Of course I am. I'm always right," she said.

David snorted. Together, the two went back to the guard station, where the fight was over. Seven guards were sitting on the ground, all cuffed and some sporting split lips or blackening eyes.

"Status?" asked David, to no one in particular.

It was Caroline who drew up to him. "Three dead, counting that one," she said, jerking her chin toward the cell block. "No casualties on the team."

"Good," said David, nodding. He did not acknowledge Caroline any further as he crossed the room. Nightingale let him go, pausing instead as Caroline reached out to her.

"Christ," she said, indicating Nightingale's neck. "That must've hurt."

Nightingale accepted the sympathy - it was as close to gentleness as she'd ever seen from Caroline. "It did," she admitted. She looked pointedly at a cut above Caroline's eye was bleeding freely. "Bet that did, too."

Caroline shrugged and for a moment, Nightingale thought that she was going to be rebuffed as she always was, but Caroline said, very grudgingly. "It did."

It must've taken all of Caroline's strength to admit that. Nightingale smiled, suddenly near tears. She stared at Caroline and saw, instead of a bitter rival, a woman who she trusted deeply, respected highly, and - dared she think it? - loved.

Nightingale did something incredibly stupid then - she put both hands on Caroline's shoulders, drew her close, and kissed her forehead.

For a moment, the two women stared at each other. Caroline placed a hand on one of Nightingale's - Nightingale thought, at first, to brush hers off - before Caroline gave her hand a squeeze.

Caroline did something miraculous. She smiled. There were tears in her eyes, but she smiled. Then she put her other hand on the back of Nightingale's neck and rested their foreheads together.

"I'm glad you're all right," said Caroline, in the softest, sweetest tone Nightingale had ever heard.

Nightingale allowed herself to be soft, too. "I'm glad you're all right, too," she replied.

Caroline laughed very quietly, the sound a low tone of pure pleasure. Nightingale pulled back to look at her, and could hardly breathe at what she saw - an achingly beautiful woman, with eyes as clear and bright as the azure sky, smiling fit to outshine the sun at its peak. Nightingale loved her so much that she could hardly breathe.

"Am I forgiven, Gale?" she asked.

Nightingale gave her a smile of her own. "Of course. Am I?"

Caroline's noonday smile was enough of a response.