Chapter Thirty. Author's note - Hello everyone! Sorry for the late update! Hope you like this chapter anyway! I'd really love to hear from you all about it!

Nightingale stopped helping Rose when she heard a voice outside her door. When the voice got louder, she hushed Rose, who was stumbling through a short passage.

"Hush!" she told her, putting her hand over the girl's mouth.

Rose looked surprised but obeyed.

The pair of them listened. As the voice got closer, Nightingale felt her hands clench and her stomach turn with anger and disgust. She could suddenly feel bitter bile in her mouth and she very nearly gagged.

Her eyes flashed over to Rose's face and she saw the girl's sunny mood sour and turn afraid.

It was the voice of Hank, the Corporation's salesman to Bobby, the man who always cajoled Bobby into buying yet another Inamorata to enslave. He was speaking to Bobby, obviously, from the tone of his voice. Had he been speaking to an Inamorata, his voice would not have been so full of amiable respect.

"So, I'll just go find her, will I?" the two women heard him call.

"No," whispered Rose, shuddering all over as Hank's voice came to a stop in front of the room.

"It's quite all right, Rose," snarled Nightingale. "He won't be wanting to fuck you. You're a failure in that department. Bobby will be recommending me. So be quiet. I won't let him touch you."

Rose whimpered anyway, the sound of her grief grating against Nightingale's ears. She stood up and, making sure her dressing gown was sufficiently indecent, revealing far more skin than it ought to, pasted a slinky smile on her face.

"Hello, Mr. Mueller," she simpered, sashaying over to him, ready to kiss him when he shook his head.

"No need for that, Miss Nightingale," he said. "Equiano."

Nightingale was sure her expression of surprise was just as gormless as the one on Rose's face. With her eyes wide, her mouth agape, and her face blank, Rose looked almost comical with shock.

"You're-" began Nightingale, confusion and suspicion warring within her. It made for a very tumultuous mix.

"The government source within the Corporation? Yes," said Hank.

"But you sell Inamoratas!" accused Nightingale. "You're a dealer! How on earth could you be on the side of the cause when you make your living wage selling us into slavery?"

Hank smiled and sat down on the bed. "I have to. It's to keep my cover, Miss Nightingale," he said. Only then did Nightingale realize how he addressed her - the affectionate, respectful way preferred by Robin and Clarence.

"You sold me!" cried Rose. She sprang to her feet and stared at him. Her wide blue eyes were too full of innocent sadness to be accusing, making her look simply sorrowful instead.

"And for that I'm sorry," he said. He turned to face her and shook his head slowly. "I'm truly sorry, I am. But it was your slavery, and that of all the Inamoratas I sell, for the freedom of all of your sisters. The slavery of a few for the eventual freedom of all. You can do math, I was there when it was conditioned into your pretty head. Tell me, don't you think those numbers make sense?"

Rose was quiet. Her head was bowed, either in shame or defeat. It made Nightingale ache to see her so dejected, and so she turned to Hank.

"You had better have provided Detective Beckett with valuable information, then," she said, her tone soft and deadly. She took a step towards him, glaring at him.

"I assure you I did," he said, holding his hands up as if to placate her. "Now, I'm supposed to be in here inspecting Rose for any latent flaws that might have showed up. That has happened before, you know, and the Corporation finds if very expensive to have to get rid of the flawed one and replace it free of charge-" he said, but Rose, her face pale, cut him off.

"What?" she whispered.

Nightingale reached over and rubbed Rose's shoulder soothingly, nodding at Hank to go on.

"Anyway, I'm supposed to be in here checking Rose, which doesn't take very long. That means I should be going about...now," he said, turning his wrist up to frown at his watch. Standing abruptly, he went over to the door. However, he paused.

"Something else on your mind, Hank?" asked Nightingale, letting a sneer slip onto her face. It was a dose of delicious freedom to be able to snipe at Hank, the man who had, for so many years, represented her enslavement.

"Yeah," he said, shrugging at her expression. "You know your little fan? Michael Castleman?"

Nightingale bristled to hear him addressed with such a tone. "Yes?" she growled.

"Well, he's turned out to be quite the little boy wonder. Been feeding us information. Detective Beckett said I ought to tell you that," he said. Not even allowing Nightingale to smile at him in happiness, he left the room.

So Nightingale was left to grin smugly at Rose as the pair of them sat back down and continued their lesson. It was a weight off Nightingale's already-heavy spirits to know that Michael, at least, was proving to be the good man she'd always seen.

The afternoon flew by due to the sunny moods of Nightingale and Rose. The pair of them laughed, read in French, and otherwise enjoyed themselves. When cheeks and her sides began to hurt late in the day, Nightingale at first wondered why.

And then she realized it - it was because she was smiling and laughing so much. She'd never been so lighthearted in her life before.

Of course, that idea only made her smile more.

However, her smile faded the moment she stepped into the Club. Whe Nightingale saw David waiting that night, she was not surprised at the livid expression on his face. He was making no attempt to behave as the other clients did, what with their whooping and cheering and attempts to grope her. He was simply glaring at her as though she'd done him some great, personal wrong.

Which she supposed she had.

"Why does Detective Beckett look so angry?" asked Sparkle. Nightingale, after having been quickly abandoned by Rose in favour of Clarence - upon whom the girl was fawning - was instead in the company of Glitter, Sparkle, and Emerald.

"He always looks angry," snapped Nightingale. Her good mood was entirely gone, utterly soured by David's churlishness.

Emerald smiled. "Now you look angry, Gale," she said. "Why?"

Nightingale did not respond except to grunt. "I'm going over to him," she said. Without further ado, she approached him. It was only out of pity that she did not throw herself down in his lap as she knew Bobby would have liked to see. 

"I have a letter for you," he told her bluntly. "From Robin."

Nightingale nodded. She did not hold out her hand for the letter, and he did not move to hand it to her. Both knew passing a paper like that would arouse suspicion. So they sat staring at one another for a moment.

"Come on. We might as well get going," said David.

Nightingale arched her eyebrow. Seeing Bobby watching her from where he was chatting up none other than Caroline - who, that night, had Glitter on her knee instead of Magenta - she took his hand.

David flinched back the moment their skin touched and Nightingale scowled at him. She grabbed him close and, with her form flush against his, her fingernails digging into his neck, her mouth next to his ear, said:

"You've got to keep up appearances, Detective Beckett."

"Don't you dare touch me," he growled in response, though his arms circled her waist and he buried his face in her neck.

"Trust me, I take no pleasure in this," she hissed back, turning his face towards hers and kissing his thin-lipped mouth. Her claim, unfortunately, had been something of a lie, for she did take some pleasure in kissing David.

It made her feel warm, safe. Loved, even.

After a moment, he drew back. She took his face in her hands so she could look intently into his eyes. She was searching him for the love Robin had claimed time and time again was there but that she herselg could not see past his iciness.

Our of the corner of her eye, she noticed Clarence staring at the pair of them over Rose's head. Briefly glancing his way, she saw a curious, suspicious expression on his face. Rose, who'd been eagerly chattering at him, paused and turned, too.

Rose's face immediately fell, her bright smile slipping off her face, as her eyes flicked between them. Hurt flared to life in her wide, pale blue eyes.

"Nightingale," growled David, drawing her attention back to him.

"I'm sorry, David," she murmured softly.

"You're sorry? You're-" he started, but she cut him off by putting one hand on his mouth.

"For what I said this morning. It was...wrong of me," she admitted grudgingly. It wounded her pride to apologize to David, but she forced herself to do it.

However, her efforts at reconciliation failed, for he simply grunted and glared at her. With no further ado, he took her by the hand and practically dragged her out of the Club. When they reached Nightingale's room, when Nightingale had entered the passcode and opened the door, David promptly let go of her and moved as far away as the room would allow.

Nightingale rolled her eyes at his melodrama. It was as though she had caught some contagious disease and David felt the need to stay as far away as possible to avoid becoming infected by her virilent filth.

"Can I have the letter now?" she asked, crossing one arm but holding out the other.

His lip curled and the glare he gave her practically chilled the room. "Here's the damned letter from him," he snarled, drawing the letter from his breast pocket and placing it in her palm. As he did so, despite her irritation with him, Nightingale could not help but notice the swift elegance of his movements.

"Thank you," she retorted, with so much venom in her voice that it negated any gratitude in the words.

He simply grunted.

Nightingale quickly unfolded the piece of paper, her hands shaking with anticipation. The past Nightingale, the bitter one, would have chided herself for being so foolishly excited by a letter from a man, but she was a new woman. A happier one.

My dearest Nightingale,

I would comfort you if I could. But I can't. For that I am truly sorry....however, I was perversely glad to hear you've missed me. What with your angrily amorous David, and your admiring Clarence, I was rather nervous you'd forget about me.

Oh, and about David - he looked terribly angry when I saw him today. Please be gentle with him, Miss Nightingale. When my oldest and dearest friend is as unhappy as he is now, it makes me unhappy. Please be good to him, Nightingale.

I count the days until you are free,

Robin Brightley 

"Well, any news from Robin I should know about?" asked David. He'd begun to remove his clothes and was now standing beside the bed in a shirt and his underwear. It was the most undressed Nightingale had ever seen him, and it arrested her for a moment.

"Apparently I'm supposed to be nice to you," she retorted, folding up the letter and crossing her arms.

"Oh? And why's that?" snorted David, crossing his arms in the exact same movement as Nightingale.

"Because-" began Nightingale, but she stopped herself. Robin's words came back to her: be gentle with him. 

"Because?" pressed David, raising his eyebrows disdainfully.

"Because he thinks I'm too mean to you," she lied, trying as hard as she could to conceal Robin's real reason for concern. She pulled her expression into one of disdainful disbelief, hoping fervently her lie would work.

And it did, for David snorted, motioned for her to turn her back, and then climbed naked into bed.

"I'm going to bed now. Stay up if you want to," he said, and rolled over.

"But if Bobby-" began Nightingale.

David gave an exasperated sigh and rolled back so he was facing her. "Bobby won't come in. I'm too reliable for him to need to spy. And even if he does, I pay enough that I doubt he'll give a damn what he finds," he said.

Nightingale shrugged. "Shouldn't you tell me a bit more about how the raid is going to work?" she asked.

He groaned. "It's Wednesday, and my team still has to go over some tactics. I will tell you on Friday, Nightingale," he said.

Nightingale watched as he, without turning away from her, closed his eyes. She stared in fascination at his downy lashes, so gentle in comparison to the hard lines of his face.

Turning off the lights and undressing, she climbed into the bed next to him. In the very dim light, she could just make out the shape of his nose and the line of his jaw. Giving a sigh, she closed her eyes.

She was almost asleep, in that hazy state between sleeping and waking, when she heard David say, very gently, "Goodnight, Nightingale."

"Goodnight," she mumbled back, and was fast asleep moments later.

And it seemed like only moments after that that it was morning and David was departing, carrying with him another letter from Nightingale to Robin. She'd made David wait for ages while she'd carefully penned a new note to Robin. Hed'd stood there, tapping his foot and looking impatient.

Thursday and Friday passed in a blur. When she curled up next to David on both nights to try to rest, she found herself exhausted from both days' labour, yet so strung out and nervously excited that she could not sleep.

On Thursday, she was peppered with questions by her sisters, who would not allow her to simply retire to her room to read alone. Not only that, but she spent a very exhausting evening discussing strategy with David so that she would be able to repeat it to her sisters.

Friday presented another form of exhaustion. Much to her surprise, when she led David out of the Club on Friday night, her room was not empty.

She was shocked to walk in and find not only Nicholas, but also Sparkle, lounging about her room.

"Hullo, Nightingale!" trilled Sparkle, bounding over to her and hugging her.

"What the fuck?" had been her exact words, with such a surprised intonation that even her profanity only made Sparkle grin and laugh. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, since I've been spending so little time with you because of all of this, Nicholas and I just thought we'd drop in," said Sparkle. As she said it, the tiny blonde looked up at the much bigger blond and grinned broadly. "Right, Nick?"

Nicholas grinned back, the expression sitting very pleasingly on his boyish face. "That's right," he told her, and playfully nudged her. Even the gentle, teasing action was strong enough to send Sparkle skittering back a few steps, an amicable smile lighting up her face.

Nightingale glanced between the pair of them with a ghost of a smile. With their similar hair, same sparkling eyes, and their familiar manner, they seemed far more like brother and sister than client and Inamorata, or even agent and civilian.

"Don't be ridiculous, Nicholas," said David, coming forward. As he did, he brushed past Nightingale, their thighs touching for just a moment. "I've brought him in here to teach you to fight a little, Nightingale."

Nightingale nodded at him and was rewarded with a small smile from him, but Sparkle pouted.

"Oh, don't be such a spoil-sport, Detective Beckett," she said, having the audacity to bounce over to him and smack his arm lightly.

The look he gave her was so disdainful as to make even her, even joyous Sparkle, whose spirit even the bordello could not break, jerk back.

"Now, Nightingale, do you know how to throw a punch?" asked Nicholas, rolling up his sleeves.

"I've been on the receiving end of one more than once, so I'm pretty sure I can imitate one," she said, some of her old, familiar cynicism slipping back into her voice as she said it.

Nicholas's and Sparkle's grins faded. "Oh," said Nicholas, looking as though he was not quite sure how to react.

"Moving on," said David, motioning with his hand.

Nicholas turned to Nightingale. "Are you confident in your ability to punch, then?" he taunted.

"Yes. Also to slap, and to kick, and to pull hair," said Nightingale. This time, her tone was not bitter. In her mind, she was cataloguing all the injuries Bobby and her clients had done her, so that she might use them against someone should she need to.

"Really? Punch me in the face, then," he said, beckoning her on with open hands.

Nightingale smiled wickedly, remembering that, her first time meeting the team, Clarence had told them all of her heightened strength and reflexes. "Punch you? In the face?" she enquired, her voice mockingly polite, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," he said, smirking. Oh, how Nightingale would change the smirk to a grimace in just a moment. "What, do I scare you?"

"As sparrows eagles," she retorted, the quotation from Macbeth slipping easily from her tongue.

"What?" asked Nicholas, quirking one blond eyebrow and looking puzzled. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means no," said David. "She means she's not afraid of you."

"He's right," said Nightingale. And, springing forward, she punched Nicholas as hard as she could in the face. He stumbled back a few steps before falling flat on his ass, blinking like an utter fool.

"See why I'm not afraid?" she said.

Sparkle broke out into high-pitched, trilling laughter, doubling over and giggling every time she saw Nicholas's dazed expression. Even David cracked a smile, turning to Nicholas - who had hauled himself to his feet - and saying:

"See? Miraculous, isn't she?"

Nightingale heard more than just a strain of pride in those words and looked over to see him gazing at her, all the coldness in his eyes replaced with fierce admiration.

"Oh my God," said Nicholas. "That's it. My work is done. She doesn't need lessons, David. Now, I'm going to go before Nightingale beats me up even more."

Sparkle laughed at that. Indeed, she continued laughing all the way down the corridor, the sound of her mirth vanishing as she and Nicholas moved out of earshot.

"That was truly amazing, Nightingale," said David when they were gone.

Nightingale, about to reply with a snarky, cynical remark, stopped when she saw the expression on his face. It was there for but a moment, but he was gazing at her with unmasked admiration for just a moment before she blinked and it was gone.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He stared at her for a moment before nodding in almost a twitchy manner. Then, with only a soft goodnight, he promptly turned out the lights, undressed, and crawled into bed, leaving Nightingale standing there in the dark.

Sighing, she followed him. But when she had climbed into bed, unlike him Nightingale did not fall directly asleep. When she closed her eyes and calmed her breath with recitation, her mind raced on ahead, imagining the raid the following night. That, at that time tomorrow night, she would be a free woman. She would never have to see the bordello again.

"Ha!" she said in a whisper. "Just think of that, David! Me, a free woman!"

She turned to see his response, but he was already asleep, his chest moving slowly, all lines of worry and coldness and harshness eliminated in peaceful slumber. He looked five years younger, and twenty years less bitter.

Nightingale reached out and, as if she was curious to see whether such a peaceful, pleasant version of David were real, touched his cheek.

He immediately jolted awake, his eyes flashing open and his mouth already curled into a snarl. She remembered how she'd frightened him like this before and immediately backed away.

"Sorry, David," she murmured, and kissed his forehead. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

He shook his head softly and mumbled. Feeling it was safe to turn her back on him, Nightingale rolled over. Just as she was closing her eyes, she felt his arm encircle her waist and draw her back into his chest. Against her ribs, she could feel the slow beating of his heart and the gentle sigh of his breath.

She smiled. He seemed a little happier, if David could ever be anything but cool and detached. Robin would be proud of how kind she'd been.

With that happy thought, she was able to sink into sleep.