Chapter 17. Author's note - sorry this is late. I've been terribly busy and schoolwork just has to come first. My apologies, but here it is! Comments and votes are always lovely!

Nightingale could not describe her emotions with words the next morning. They were high above the city, she and David, in his hovercraft, only a few minutes away from arriving back at the bordello, and Nightingale was contemplating the city with a mixture of sorrow and anger.

She belonged there, as a free woman, there in the sky, the pinnacle of freedom. She did not deserve to be locked away again the bordello, deep in that hellish place.

"You're quiet, Nightingale," said David.

"I know," she replied.

He nodded but said nothing, either not caring enough to pursue it, or not wanting to hear Nightingale rage or weep. David was ever the conversationalist, she observed with more than a little internal sarcasm.

"I suppose you know what's bothering me," she said softly.

"I have some idea," he returned coolly.

"I suppose I should be grateful," snapped Nightingale. She was staring out at the city with a hunger and a longing that was almost obscene.

"To me?" asked David.

"Yes. But not for the reason that you think," said Nightingale. "I've made my gratitude for my possible impending freedom very clear, but there's something else, something more I'm thankful for."

David looked over at her at the bitterness of her words.

"You know, this is the longest - since my first client - that I've gone without having to fuck a man," she observed acidly. "At the bordello, I get one night a week off, and even then Bobby still likes to have fun. But now...I haven't fucked a man since Friday, and it's Monday now."

"Friday...but I was with you on Friday, Nightingale," said David, the pulling together of his brows in evident confusion the only slip he made in an otherwise perfect mask of indifference.

"Bobby got to me first," said Nightingale. "Before I went out into the Club."

David did not flinch, as Nightingale knew Michael or Robin would have. Instead, he simply nodded mutely.

"Well, the faster we get you out of there, the better," he said, nodding along with his own words.

Nightingale didn't respond. She knew that, based on the fact that they had just passed the Corporation's building, they were getting closer to the bordello. She gave a sigh and her eyes fell upon the identity anklet.

She saw it in that moment, not as a simple piece of technology, unfeeling, unoffending, and incapable of, in itself. doing harm. She did not see it as a small piece of metal and plastic, utterly innocent, simply designed and used by those with malevolent intentions.

Instead, she saw everything she hated in that inky manacle. Her clients, her and her sisters' slavery, Bobby, Robin's rejection, David's coldness, even her strange frustration with Clarence, all seemed to be concentrated in that small device.

"I hate it," she snarled through gritted teeth. She was more angry in that instant than she had ever been in her life. Even in the moments where she'd wanted to murder her clients, strangle Bobby or beat the shit out of the people who hurt her, she'd never been as angry as this. 

"Nightingale," said David, looking over at her.

She began to shake, little growls and groans escaping from between her clenched teeth. Her display of fury must have been very alarming, for David immediately stopped the hovercraft, letting it float in midair, and turned to her.

"Nightingale!" he cried, and there was a strain of worry in his voice, under all the cool reserve.

She continued to shake in relative silence, but finally broke the moment David laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" she howled at him.

He immediately withdrew. "Nightingale," he said warily.

"No, please!" she groaned, raking her fingernails down the padded seat on which her juddering frame was sitting. "Don't! I've overcome so much by myself, I don't need you to help me now!"

David nodded. "Shall we sit here for a moment?" he proposed.

Nightingale closed her eyes, trying to calm her seething fury by reciting from the poem that so many people had quoted in her presence.

In what distant deeps or skies,

"Better," she said, and stopped shaking.

Burnt the fire of thine eyes, 

"Nightingale?" asked David cautiously.

On what wings dare he aspire?

"I'm...better," she said softly, feeling her anger retreat but not vanish. It was still there, that fury, still there with her sorrow and her pain, simply put away for the moment, but never vanquished. With the final line of the stanza, she calmed herself entirely:

What the hand dare seize the fire?

"You're fine now?" asked David.

"Yes," said Nightingale.

David restarted the hovercraft and soon they were flying along again, the buildings passing by them too fast, Nightingale's last moments of freedom slipping away.

"That's an admirable skill," said David.

"What is?" asked Nightingale. She hadn't really been paying attention to him.

"Controlling your temper like that. How on earth do you do it?" he asked, and Nightingale could hear genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Don't tell me - there's a talent of mine you respect me for?" taunted Nightingale.

"There is, as a matter of fact. Tell me, how do you do it?" he asked.

"I recite from my novels. I find it calms me. I teach all Inamoratas Bobby gives me to instruct a tactic like that to deal with sadness or anger. Some count, some sing ditties, and I recite. There, I was reciting in my head from 'The Tyger'," she said.

"From the anthology I gave you?" said David.

"Yes," she replied.

David nodded. Nightingale turned her head to look at him and suddenly found herself engrossed in admiring him - the handsome curve of his jaw, the fine structure of his cheekbones, the flash of his eyes.

"Will you be back again?" she asked him, despising how hopeful her voice sounded.

"Not for a week or so," he said. "Possibly more. There is a good deal of administrative stuff my team and I have to do before I will need to see you again."

Nightingale nodded gloomily. There went her free passes for peaceful nights. She could at least hope that Michael would be there to save her any truly repulsive clients.

With that, they descended, down towards the street. Nightingale turned her face away from the window, not wanting to see the exterior of the bordello.

"Nightingale, you'll have to put your anklet back on," said David softly as they touched down.

With a little snarl, Nightingale snatched the anklet from its resting place and was about to clip it around her leg before David stopped her.

"You'll break it. Let me do it," he said.

Nightingale's hands were steady as she handed him the anklet and lifted her foot into his lap. With expert dexterity, David attached the device around her ankle, his delicate fingers barely even brushing her skin as he clipped it on.

As she lifted her foot down, the anklet felt both familiar and as though it weighed a thousand pounds.

Giving a bitter, resigned sigh, Nightingale got out of the hovercraft. She felt David's arm encircle her waist. Though she knew he was only feigning being a satisfied, possessive client, it was still comforting. She could feel the warmth of his body and the strength of his limbs, and she felt safe.

"Not for much longer," she muttered acidly.

"What was that?" asked David.

They entered the bordello through the door clients used and entered the deserted Club. There, they found Bobby seated at one of the tables, a cup of coffee before him in a pristine white mug.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Beckett!" cried Bobby, standing up and grinning.

"I'd forgotten how much I hate him," murmured Nightingale to David.

He gave her a tight little smile. "Me, too," he returned, before adding, with a cool nod, to Bobby, "Bobby. I've brought her back."

"I was beginning to worry you wouldn't ever," he said, with a smile Nightingale assumed was supposed to be endearing or friendly, but came off as creepy and grovelling.

David rewarded Bobby with the iciest look Nightingale had yet seen from him. So it was no wonder that Bobby reeled back a little bit. She had to bite her lip to hide a smile emerging on her face.

"Yes, well I have," snarled David.

"Will you want to rent her again, for another weekend?" asked Bobby, looking hopeful.

"Yes - definitely," said David. "She was infinitely satisfactory. Well, goodbye, Nightingale. I look forward to us meeting again."

"As do I," simpered Nightingale, batting her lashes at him, though it felt so wrong to flirt with David.

Then, he leaned forward and, looking the tiniest bit shy, kissed her forehead.

"Goodbye, miraculous Nightingale," he murmured, handing her Pride and Prejudice, which he'd been carrying for her. Without a backward glance, he departed.

 "Nightingale, I could kiss you," cried Bobby, the moment David was gone.

She found it difficult to smile winsomely at him, but somehow managed. "Then do it," she said, puckering her lips.

"No, I've got work to do," he said. "Now you, run along. You're a hotter commodity than ever, so make sure you're ready for tonight."

Nightingale obeyed, giving him a bit of a grope before she exited the Club. Every step felt strange, though familiar. For her, so much had happened since Saturday. So being back in the bordello felt oddly familiar.

Seeing a strawberry blonde making her way out of a room, Nightingale called:

"Hey, Fox!"

The strawberry blonde turned. "There she is, the nightingale that flew away," she said, more than a hint of jealousy in her voice. "How was your weekend?"

"More pleasant than yours, I'm sure," admitted Nightingale.

Fox's face lost all its hostility and she ran forward. In a single bound, she had closed the distance between them and thrown herself at Nightingale.

"We all missed you, Gale," she whimpered into her ear. "Things aren't the same when we're missing one of our sisters. Besides, we were worried you'd never come back."

Nightingale sighed, squeezing Fox very tightly before releasing her. She knew the reason for the girl's distress. Inamoratas were never separated from each other. It was one of the only good things about what they did. Besides, Fox was younger than Nightingale, and so, for her entire life, Nightingale had been a permanent fixture.

"You know I'd always come back to all of you," she said, stroking a stray strand of hair out of Fox's face.

Fox nodded.

"Gale!" squealed a voice from behind her.

Nightingale turned around and her jaw dropped. Sparkle was sprinting towards her, arms open. The moment Sparkle collided with her, Nightingale gave a grunt.

"Ugh. Easy there, Sparkle," she said. "Don't break me."

"I'm just so happy to have you back," said Sparkle. "You've no idea what it's like here without you. There's just something missing."

"But I'm back," she said, and kissed Sparkle's forehead in a motherly way. "By the way, how's Rose?"

Based on the way both Sparkle and Fox blanched, Nightingale knew the news was not good.

"Maybe you should go see her yourself," said Fox softly.

Without further ado, Nightingale half-ran down the hallway until she found Rose's room. After a knock, she heard a tremulous:

"Come in."

She entered, terrified of what she would see. What had happened to Rose? What had some lust-crazed client done to her in a fit of passion or rage?

When her eyes settled on Rose, perched on the bed, looking so very fragile, it seemed as though her heart had leaped up into her throat.

"God," she said.

Both Rose and Diamond - who was sitting next to Rose, daubing at Rose's face with a cloth - looked up at her entrance.

"Hullo, Nightingale," they said in perfect unison. Diamond's voice was relieved but Rose's was terrible. It was flat and broken and utterly hopeless.

"What happened, Rose?" asked Nightingale, gesturing to the gigantic purple bruise on Rose's face. It was a mark she must have received on Saturday night, a mark that would make Bobby furious and the clients disgusted.

"He hit me," she said flatly, and then burst into tears.

Nightingale immediately went over to the girl. Rose, seeing that Nightingale was close, immediately collapsed onto her shoulder and began to sob.

"I'm doomed, Nightingale, he's going to kill me, or shock me, or beat me," she sobbed. "I know what he does to girls who have visible injuries."

Nightingale knew all too well. To get yourself beaten and subsequently visibly bruised by a client was bad on two levels. Not only did it mean a client had been severely dissatisfied - which meant a loss of business for Bobby - but it also meant that other clients would find you repulsive - which also meant a loss of business for Bobby.

Since Rose was sobbin incoherently, Nightingale turned to Diamond. "Has Bobby seen her yet?" she asked.

"No. We've managed to keep her hidden. But what are we going to do about that bruise, Nightingale?" asked Diamond. The platinum blonde was chewing on her lip, looking anxious.

Nightingale didn't want to say she didn't know what they would do. She didn't want to tell Rose that she'd probably get a very nasty shocking from Bobby the moment he saw her.

"Have you tried covering it up with makeup?" asked Nightingale.

"Yes. But you've seen that thing. Nothing's going to cover it," said Diamond sadly. "We might be able to deal with it tomorrow, but tonight, everyone's going to see it."

Suddenly, Nightingale had a flash of inspiration. With a smile, she shook Rose.

"Stop crying. You'll make your eyes puffy," she snapped at her.

"What?" slurred Rose, looking confused.

"Your eyes are going to need to be perfect for tonight. Don't worry about your face, it won't matter," said Nightingale, patting Rose's cheek.

"Nightingale? What is it?" asked Diamond.

"I've had an idea. It's risky, but I think I can pull it off," said Nightingale. "Here, Diamond, you take Rose for a moment."

Diamond obeyed, allowing the befuddled Rose to lean on her, but she looked up at Nightingale, who had stood and was now running her hands through her hair.

"What are you planning on doing?" she asked warily.

"I'm going to go suggest something to Bobby," said Nightingale, gritting her teeth tossing her hair, attempting to look both authoritative and seductive at the same time.

Diamond's and Rose's eyes bulged. "Are you fucking insane?" hissed Diamond. "Suggest something to Bobby? Did you see what he did to Caramel when she suggested that he dress his Inamoratas in something more sophisticated than garters?"

"I did. But I'm not Caramel," said Nightingale. She turned to Rose's mirror to examine her reflection. With another toss of the hair, a bit of a pout of the lips, and a dangerous sparkle in her eye, she felt ready.

"I know you're Bobby's favourite, but suggesting that Rose take the night off it going to get the two of your murdered and all of us beaten," snapped Diamond.

Nightingale smiled, a slow, creeping smile that took a moment to mature into a sort of mad, satisfied glee on her face.

"That's not what I'm going to suggest," she said. "Besides, you underestimate my skills, Diamond."

With that, before anyone could stop her, Nightingale strode out of the room. Now, she was going to use the skills she'd told David were her only power. She was going to be clever, and she was going to help Rose.

She found Bobby sitting in the Club. Without any preamble, she went up to him and sat down on his lap.

He grunted but grinned. "Hello there, Nightingale," he said. "What are you doing?"

Nightingale kissed his mouth, though touching him disgusted her. She managed to get through the sliminess of his tongue and the wandering of his hands by thinking of other things - namely Rose.

"I've got a proposal," she said. She made sure to time her words with sticking her hand down his pants and giving him a bit of a stroke. As much as she would much rather have cut off her hand than do that, she knew it was necessary.

"What is it?" he asked breathlessly.

Now, she straddled him and kissed him again. When she drew back, she explained something, punctuating each word with a kiss to his neck or his face.

"Well, when I was with David over the weekend, he had me wear a mask one night," she invented.

"Did he?" gasped Bobby.

She gave him a smile and continued to stroke and kiss. For a moment, she drew back and said:

"He said it was very sexy. So I was thinking, maybe all the Inamoratas should wear masks one time."

Miraculously, Bobby gave a nod. "Were you?" he moaned.

Nightingale smiled genuinely. It was not the reaction she'd expected. She'd expected him to throw her aside, shock her, maybe kick her a bit, and then scoff at the idea of any Inamorata thinking.

"So, maybe we should give it a try tonight? We've all got big wardrobes, Bobby baby," she said. "Just get us some masks, and we can dress up. It could be like a masquerade. It will drive the clients wild."

Now, she could see his desire to obey her based on her seduction mixed with the businessman in him contemplating the idea.

"Well, I'm not going to argue with you, the most brilliant Inamorata to ever fuck a man," he chuckled. "All right, we'll do it."

Nightingale didn't stand up right away, but continued to kiss him. She was surprised he hadn't asked about her motivations for suggesting such a thing - after all, he must have known that she could not possibly be interested in bettering the business of the bordello unless it benefitted her in some way.

Or pehaps he did not think her clever enough to do things for her own benefit. Either way, Nightingale would not complain.

He groaned. "God, I wish I could take you right here, but I've got work to do," he said.

"Too bad," she said, and pouted. She sprang off his lap and smoothed out her dress. "Thank you, Bobby."

"Go," he moaned at her. "You're distracting me. Tell the rest to collect their masks this afternoon. I'll order them now."

And so off Nightingale went, blowing Bobby a kiss. She practically strutted back into the Inamoratas' quarters, feeling grimly satisfied with her work. Walking straight into Rose's room, she announced:

"Don't worry about your face, Rose," she said.

Diamond, Rose, and Sparkle - who had joined them since Nightingale had left - all looked at her.

"You mean-" said Rose.

"You're still going to be fucking someone tonight, Rosie," snapped Nightingale, careful to snub Rose's hopes before they could give her too much false elation. "It's just that no one will notice that you're bruised. I convinced Bobby to let us all wear masks."

Sparkled gave a trilling laugh. "Perfect! Nightingale, you're brilliant."

"Not exactly. If I were brilliant, I'd have figured out some way to get her out of this. I just patched things up," she said, aware her tone was a strange mix of aggression and sadness.

"Still," said Rose, shrugging. All three Inamoratas looked at her, astounded to hear her voice so coherent. "It's quite something. You're amazing, Nightingale."

Nightingale grinned.

So that was how they all ended up behind the Club that night, all dressed in whatever costume they had managed to rifle up to match their mask. Nightingale, wearing some feathers and hiding behind a very pretty bird mask, was making sure that Silk's mask would stay on.

Apparently, the plan was that they should all enter the Club disguised, and the clients would mingle with them like that. Bobby had cleared out most of the tables, which he said would force the clients to dance with them all.

When Ruby had asked how the clients were supposed to recognize them disguised, Bobby had given her a very nasty slap and told her to shut her mouth, that the point was that the clients wouldn't know who was who.

"I'm trying for some fucking mystery here," he growled at her. "Though I suppose your stupidity will give you away."

Ruby had simply ignored him. Nightingale knew Ruby was among the oldest of the Inamoratas, nearly eight years old. She'd been with Bobby from the start, and so therefore could ignore him perfectly.

Now, he was standing with them behind the Club. As Nightingale watched, he threw open the door, and they all rushed in, much to the evident delight of the clients, who whooped and cheered.

Nightingale found herself pressed between three men, all of whom rubbed up against her.

"You wouldn't be Nightingale, dressed as a bird like that?" asked one.

"Pretty birdy," leered the other, and groped her. She restrained herself, wanting to break his wrist but simply smiling mysteriously instead.

"Of course she is!" laughed the third.

And so that was how the night passed. After about an hour of flirting, kissing, groping, and laughing, Nightingale was able to locate the highest-paying client. With a sinking feeling as it was not Michael or, miraculously, David, she led him away.

As she undressed in her room, leaving on only her mask, she eyed the client. She'd realized the moment she'd led him out of the Club that it was Mr. Foster, the man who'd given her a bite on Friday.

Smiling grimly, she pushed him onto his back. Instead of reciting to cool her anger, she imagined he was someone else. When it was a melange of Robin, Clarence, David, and Michael she saw before her instead of the biting Mr. Foster, she grinned.

"Let me entertain you," she purred, and climbed on top of him.