Chapter 38. Author's note - just as far as updates go, there will be one more chapter of Inamorata after this, plus an epilogue. And then it will be over!

Robin did not let Nightingale sit for very long, brooding after David had left, before he whisked her out of Headquarters.

"Where are we going, Robin?" asked Nightingale as he towed her out of the building, past the lofty atrium, all the way to the hangar where they'd left the hovercraft.

"Where do you think, Miss Nightingale?" he asked as he opened her door for her, letting her into the passenger side as Nightingale knew from her conditioned knowledge a perfect gentleman would do.

Nightingale arched her eyebrows at him as he climbed in next to her. "Home, I supposed. Unless you'd like to go somewhere else."

Nightingale gave a sigh as Robin manoeuvred the controls, taking them into the air.

"The problem is, Robin, I don't know where my home is," she said. She laid her head down on her arms and stared out over the city as they flew.

Robin smiled. "Well, Nightingale, my home is your home for as long as you wish it," he said, his tone almost shy in its bashfulness. Taking his attention away from flying for just a moment, Robin paused to throw a winsome, lopsided smile her way.

"That's very sweet of you, Robin, but I-" she began.

He immediately cut her off with a musical laugh, the kind of laugh that only his melodious voice could produce, the kind of laugh that made Nightingale's voice sound like a rasping shriek.

"I know what you're going to say," he said. "Allow me to prove my uncanny judge of character and my powers of deduction. You're about to tell me, Nightingale, that while my gesture is certainly extremely generous, you can't possibly live simply depending on me for the rest of your life."

As he spoke, Robin turned his head to send her a daring glance, as if challenging her to deny the truth of his words.

Despite her poor temper over Rose's actions and David's anger, Nightingale smiled, a wispy grin curling its way over her face. "I'm not sure whether to be alarmed or amused, Robin," she told him. "That was uncannily accurate. Now go on. Tell me my reasons for what you just so cleverly deduced."

Robin chuckled. "Because you have determined that you are going to be independent. You don't need anyone, least of all a man, to provide for you. That's the way you've always done things and that's the way you'll continue to do things."

Nightingale shook her head in wonder. "You never cease to amaze me, darling," she told him, and kissed his cheek.

She was rewarded for her affection with a pink blush. "Hardly. But to get back to the point, will you at least consent to live in my house? Do what you want after you start making a wage and getting your government bursary-"

"My what?" asked Nightingale, eyebrows arching with curiosity.

"Government bursary. In order to avoid lawsuits by the Inamoratas against the bordellos - all of which have been abolished, by the way - or against the government, they're taking a proactive course of action. Each Inamorata or Inamorato will receive a monthly payment from the government for the first five years of their liberation, or until they find work that can pay their way. It's not a huge amount of money, but it's enough to live on until they educate themselves about society and how to make a wage," explained Robin.

Nightingale nodded, though she could not bring herself to love the government, even for that kindness.

"Caroline pioneered that, you know," added Robin with a sly glance.

"Perhaps it's best not mention Caroline in front of me right now," she suggested, gritting her teeth. "Considering her blatant rudeness to me and then her arrest of Rose, she's not exactly my favourite person in the world."

Robin chuckled. "Exactly why I told you that, my dear."

Nightingale could not help but smile. As if sensing the need to distract her from her anger, Robin began to chatter, detailing the process through which the Inamoratas (and Inamoratos, for Robin did not forget to mention Steel) were to be introduced to society.

According to him, they'd be kept in government custody for a year, being gradually acclimatized to the outside world unitl, having been hardened to society, they'd be let loose on the city.

"And what about me?" asked Nightingale. She'd seen the tell-tale shape of Robin's building and was now looking out as they circled it.

"You're different, as always," said Robin, and his words glowed with sweet praise. Nightingale practically purred with satisfaction to hear his affection. "Unique. You're to be given your freedom in its entirety."

Nightingale's happiness soured instantly. "My freedom? I'll remind you, Robin, that I was just press-ganged into government service," she snapped.

Robin sighed. "I was trying to distract you from that, my dear," he said.

Nightingale let out a sigh of her own as she turned her face to stare out the window. As they touched down onto the landing pad, something occurred to her.

"Robin?" she asked as she climbed out of the hovercraft.

"Yes?" he called to her, and his voice was so lovely the word was practically music. He sprang out of the craft and stood gazing at her, wide eyes curious.

"It's a weekday, isn't it? Shouldn't you be at the shop or something?" she asked.

Robin laughed as he bounded forward and took Nightingale's hand. She could not prevent herself from smiling at the gesture, something she knew the old, cynical Nightingale would have viewed with contempt. Indeed, even the contemporary Nightingale, somewhere other than in the presence of Robin, would have scorned such a sappy display of happiness.

"That's the beauty of my wealth, Nightingale," he said as he led her into the living room. "Though I hate my bastard of a father, his wealth does wonderful things for me. I'm free to spend my time doing whatever I want."

Nightingale's lip curled as she immediately went to her bird, opening the large cage that sat on a nearby table and coaxing the nightingale up onto her hand.

"Is that what freedom is in this society, then?" she asked, looking over at him. "If you're rich, you're free? If you're beautiful?"

Robin smile was sad as he regarded Nightingale and Freedom, both of whom were staring at him, demanding an answer. "You've grasped the nature of our society, I fear," he said.

 Nightingale sighed again.

"Now, Miss Nightingale," said Robin, putting his hands on his hips. "If you are to be living here, would you like a tour? I'd imagine you saw very little of the house last night."

Any woman other than Nightingale would have blushed to think of what Robin was getting at. Nightingale, with her cavalier attitude, simply nodded.

"Then follow me," he said. As Nightingale placed Freedom back on the top of the cage, allowing the bird to roam where she chose, Robin grabbed Nightingale's hand. He led her on up the magnificent staircase, through huge halls, past the place where she'd slept the previous night, past a multitude of rooms like it, past bathrooms so ornate they looked more like small palaces than anything else, up another flight of staris, and, eventually to a large door.

Nightingale paused at the door. It was of a curious texture, made of a material she'd only knew of in her conditioned knowledge.

"It's wood," she said, and pressed her palm flat against it, feeling the grain of it, the grain of something once living, now decorating Robin's home.

"I know. A terrible indulgence of me, but I simply could not resist furnishing this room with wood," said Robin. "Now, come along."

He pushed the door open and slipped in. Nightingale moved to imitate him, but stopped dead on the threshold the moment she saw what the room contained.

The room itself was magnificent, what with its armchairs that looked like they were covered with real leather, the small tables also made from the luxurious wood, and the green-shaded lamps that lit up the back of the room.

Its very architecture was imposing, too, with its huge, vaulted ceiling, and its one wall made of huge panes of glass that let the light from the cloudy day illuminate parts of room and leave other parts in shadow.

It was not the light that astounded her, but the way it either lit up or submerged in gloom what sat on shelves towering metres high.

"It's filled with books," she said. Her voice, so unlike its usual powerful, catlike purr, was now a mouselike squeak.

Robin laughed. "Of course it is. It's a library, you charming little fool."

Nightingale stepped forward and regarded the shelves about her with almost a religious zeal, keeping her hands at her sides, afraid to even touch the books before her.

"No need to be so shy," said Robin. He pushed her forward and she stumbled, her toe catching on a heavy rug that sprawled over the smooth hardwood floors. "Let's find a book for you, yes? Remember, whatever is mine is yours, and so all of these belong to you, too."

Nightingale was ashamed of it, but tears welled in her eyes and she had to bite her lips to prevent herself from sobbing over the magnitude of the gift.

"Good Lord, is my stoic Nightingale going to cry?" asked Robin and his words echoed eerily those David had once said. When Nightingale didn't respond, Robin simply smiled. "Now let's pick the perfect distraction. How about some Milton? Paradise Lost?"

And that was how Nightingale found herself sitting between two bookshelves, the pearly grey light illuminating her book.

Though Robin had found the perfect distraction from her situation and Rose's crime, Robin had not accounted for the fact that even a book, and one so compelling as Paradise Lost could distract her from the thing that occupied the foremost of her thoughts.

Poor, besotted creature that Nightingale had become, she could barely tear her attention away from Robin. Every so often, she could not help but glance at Robin.

Soon, she found her glances turning into lingering stares as she let her eyes roam over the man, watching how he, while reading, was utterly absorbed. The fetlock of grey-streaked black hair that fell over his eyes barely seemed to distract him as, his neck bent over his book like a swan's, his deerlike eyes wide, he devoured the book.

With her fingers trembling, she reached forward and touched his face.

He looked up at her but said nothing.

"I can't believe you're real," she whispered, her voice reverent, almost worshipping. "I could never have even dreamed of a creature as wonderful as you."

Robin smiled a little. "I feel as though I ought to be saying that to you," he murmured.

Nightingale kissed him on impulse.

And that was how she passed most of the day. Nightingale did not leave the library until, late in the evening, both of them lying half-naked on the floor, reading from the same book, there came a small buzz.

"What's that sound?" asked Nightingale.

Robin sighed. "That, my dear, is the sound of David letting himself into my home."

Nightingale's eyebrows arched as she, torn between her curiosity and watching Robin, in his bashfulness, attempt to cover himself as he got up.

"How do you know that?" she challenged.

"It's the security system. That's the sound it makes when someone comes in. And considering you're here and my father can't leave the Health Complex, the only person who could possibly be calling would be-" said Robin.

Nightingale finished his thought for him. "David," she said, and she frowned. However, a part of her was glad to know she could now let her emotions, even her irritation with David, who had once been a client, show on her face. Now, she feared no retribution from Bobby's anklet, though the thing still lay dead around her ankle.

"Will you go with me?" asked Robin, offering her a hand to help her up. "I don't want to go alone."

Nightingale smiled. "Of course," she said. Having dressed quickly, she and Robin made their way downstairs.

They found David in the main room. Nightingale watched as he turned at stared petulantly at the two of them, his gaze only wavering to throw Freedom a glower as she soared over his shoulder, missing his cheek by inches.

"You've got your shirt buttoned wrong, Robin," he sneered, voice disdainful and unhappy.

Robin smirked. "And I wonder why that is. Now, I assume you've come to speak with Nightingale and not me? I mean, that is the reason why you've just broken into my home?"

David simply nodded. "Everything's official. Rose has been released back to the other Inamoratas. Of course, she's being closely monitored by an agent and a psychiatrist," he added, as though to sour Nightingale's happiness at the news.

It worked, for Nightingale sneered as David had and observed sardonically, "Well, that's a relief."

"And you-" he began, but Freedom interrupted him as, with a little flutter, she came to sit on his shoulder.

Nightingale had to laugh as he glared up at Freedom with such loathing in his eyes. However, her laughter quickly vanished as David gripped Freedom by the legs and, cursing, thrust her into the cage.

"That damn bird," he said, face set in irritation.

Nightingale simply glowered at him, unwilling to grace him even with a word.

"You're to be given a month of leave," said David. "To become acquainted with the real world. Then, you'll be required to report to headquarters for training."

"Training?" asked Nightingale.

"You'll be trained by the team. Nicholas and Pierce will show you the basics. However, you're already talented enough" - here his words were grudging praise - "that you will not require much training. Mainly, you'll learn procedures and tactics. You'll be trained in how to use weapons. Though, from what I saw getting you to use a gun, it will not be difficult for you."

Nightingale nodded. "So, that's it? After that, I'm just indentured to the government for what, the rest of my life?"

David ground his teeth at her words. "Hardly," he replied, his voice issuing in a hiss from between his teeth. "You're to work as normal people do, from nine to five Monday to Friday. Once in a while, when our team is on special assignment, your hours will be longer. And you'll be released from duty after ten years - which was the length of Rose's sentence."

"So my service is direct atonement for her actions?" asked Nightingale.

David's eyes were cold as ice as he stared at her and answered, quite simply, "Yes."

"Which is very selfless and human of you," said Robin. He squeezed her arm, no doubt in an attempt to comfort her. It worked, for Nightingale turned and gave him a tiny smile.

Nightingale shrugged. "Fine. You'll see me again in a month, I guess," she said, turning back to David.

David nodded stiffly. Nightingale returned the gesture equally stiffly. Both of them stood there in silence, glaring at each other, neither one wanting to address the elephant in the room.

Robin's perception must have alerted him to this, for he backed away. "I suppose I'll give you two some time alone. There must be a few things you want to discuss and-"

"No," said Nightingale and David. It was eerie how their voices spoke in perfect unison, with exactly the same firm, commanding tone and glacial intonation.

Robin must have picked up on this, too, for one side of his mouth pulled up in his characteristic smile.

"I've nothing to say to her," said David, spitting the pronoun at Nightingale like it was some bitter poison he was trying to purge himself of.

"And I've no desire to be around him any longer," snapped Nightingale in response, going to Robin and nudging her shoulder with his.

Robin sighed. "But I've a desire to be around both of you," he said, drawing Nightingale towards him and kissing the top of her head while smiling at David. "It's a shame you've decided to hate one another."

David and Nightingale rolled their eyes. Again, it was in such perfect unison that it was frightening.

"Still," said Robin, gazing between them. "It's understandable why you two would fight. You're too similar."

Nightingale gave Robin a disparaging look. "Fine. Well, you're going to be seeing a lot of me, so I suppose I could make myself scarce while you and David do whatever it is that you two do to bond," she said.

"Stay," entreated Robin.

Nightingale even caught David looking the tiniest bit hopeful before he smoothed his face out into its customary cool countenance.

"No," she said. "I'm going to read. I'm going to try sitting on a bed by myself, too, which is a pretty big step for someone as fucked up as me," she added.

"If you're going to sit on a bed, Nightingale, I'd recommend the one at the end of second floor hall," said Robin, a slightly flirtatious verve that Nightingale had heard so often in her own voice coming into Robin's.

"And why that bed?" asked Nightingale, quirking one eyebrow.

"Because that's my bed," he said, and smiled.

"That's awfully forward of you, Mr. Brightley!" exclaimed Nightingale, smirking from ear to ear.

Their repartee was immediately cut off by David, who gave a snort of disdain. When Nightingale turned to send him a disparaging look, Robin shook his head.

"Be gentle with him, Nightingale," he whispered in her ear. "The poor creature is terribly jealous and more than a little unhappy. Try to pity him. I know you can."

Nightingale now turned to look at David with Robin's words in mind. As she stared at him, she tried to put aside her anger with him, anger that she could never quite explain, and tried desperately to pity him.

And she could. Underneath the hard shell of unhappiness and coldness, Nightingale could find a bit of gentle, sweet pity for the bitter detective. She looked at him and saw a reflection of herself from before; a bitter, unhappy, angry individual.

Robin was right. They were too similar to be compatible. But not too similar for Nightingale to find, in her heart, some pity for David.

"Perhaps Robin's right," she said softly. "Maybe we should talk, David."

David lifted his eyes and glared at her. "I don't think I have anything to say to you."

Nightingale sighed though it hurt her pride not to resond to him in kind. "Very well, then," she said, only half-aware of the stuffy diction she'd effected. "I'll go to bed, then. Goodnight."

David acknowledged her with a very curt nod and a stern: "Goodnight, Nightingale." But she noticed that his cold countenance melted a little in the way he used her name.

"May I shake your hand, Detective?" she enquired softly.

He seemed to gaze at her for too long before he responded. "Yes."

Nightingale moved forward and, extending her hand, grasped his in hers. As she had always noticed, his hands were warm and his presence soothing.

"It will be a pleasure to work with you, Nightingale," he said. "The government will be much better off with you serving it."

"Thank you," said Nightingale, surprised by the depth of his praise. Then she kissed Robin and departed, leaving the two men alone.

 Then, moving up the stairs with absolutely no sound, Nightingale ghosted through the hallway until, coming to the end of it, she found Robin's room.

The room was large and opulent, what with its four-poster bed, huge closets, and stately furnishings. Nightingale practically had to use a ladder to climb up onto the bed, and had to wrestle back the thick duvet until she was sitting between the sheets, propped up against a huge, downy pillow.

Removing her clothes, snuggled under the sheets and felt, most surprisingly, relatively at ease in the bed. Perhaps it was because she knew it was Robin's that she felt so comfortable resting upon it. Perhaps it was because the room smelled vaguely of him. Perhaps it was because she knew it would not be long before he snuck into the room, his footsteps not quiet enough to evade her sharp ears, drew back the blanket, climbed in next to her, and fell asleep at her side.

With a smile on her face, Nightingale opened Paradise Lost and began to read. It was not very long, however, before the soothing verse of Milton's epic began to lull her into a doze. Soon, her eyelids were drooping shut as relaxation, such as she had never known, stole over her.

So it was not long before Nightingale drowsily put the book aside, curled up under the warm blanket, flipped off the light, and fell into a light slumber.

She woke sometime later. Her distaste for beds immediately stole over her and she flinched back from the softness of the mattress and the warmth of the blanket, as though worried the bed would devour her if she let down her guard.

Stretching out her hand, she grasped around in the darkness for Robin. However, her hand did not find his long, slender frame.

Frowning, she sprang out of bed. Where was he? She did not feel comfortable in the bed without him. Without Robin, it was too cold, to impersonal.

And so, donning a robe she found draped over a chair, she stole out of the room. Her bare feet made no sound as she tiptoed through the hallway, and her steps were silent as she crept down the stairs. Silent enough, in fact, for her to make out the conversation happening in the living room between Robin and David.

"You're an idiot, David," said Robin.

Nightingale slunk down the stairs a little further, moving forward, stealthy as a cat, until she could make out both Robin and David from a hiding place in the shadows.

"Excuse me?" asked David. Nightingale was able to observe, from her perch, how he, seated across from Robin, had removed his tie and his impeccable jacket and was sitting there on the sofa, looking utterly informal.

"You heard me," said Robin. Nightingale noted, as well, that both men had a tumbler in their hand and were sipping from it.

"What, about her?" asked David. Nightingale panicked as his hand gestured toward her before she realized that he was simply gesturing up the stairs.

"Exactly. You're praising her one minute, disparaging her the next, fucking her one minute, and rejecting her the next. Tell me, do you actually expect anyone to believe that you're anything other than utterly smitten with the lovely creature?" asked Robin.

Though Nightingale knew eavesdropping was deplorable, she could not help but listen.

"Robin," snapped David.

"Oh, would it kill you to have a little human emotion for once?" said Robin, rolling his eyes. "Admit that there's something other than cold, calculating intellect inside you, David."

They were silent for a moment before David, looking down at his tumbler, said:

"Fine. I do. I do...love her. Idiotic, foolish emotion that it is, I can't help it," he admitted. Nightingale heard a strain of shame in David's voice, as though he was ashamed to admit such a soft, tender feeling.

"Then what the hell have you done, David?" asked Robin and, so rarely for him, all of his gaiety was gone from his face and his voice.

"What the hell am I supposed to do? What's done is done, I can't change it!" snapped David, and do, in one motion, he downed the rest of the drink that was sitting in the tumbler.

"No, but you did have a choice. You were stuck between the right thing to do and what you should have done," said Robin. Though there was judgement in his tone, Robin's voice was not harsh.

"Elucidate for me, will you?" returned David. "I can't bear your fucking philosophizing."

"You did the right thing. By all accounts, your actions have been, empirically, the correct ones," explained Robin carefully. "But here's what you missed: you love Nightingale. As a result, what you should have done was be honest with her. You should have told her the truth, right from the start.  Now, I doubt that she will ever forgive you. And if that weren't bad enough, there's the matter of the government. Should she ever forgive you about Steel, she would never forget about that damned affair with the government."

David was silent, his face set in its stony countenance.

"You see, that's where you and I differ, David," said Robin. And now his voice was sad. "I would do anything for Nightingale, anything at all. My love for her trumps my morality, my judgement, even my sanity. Yours for her is different. She is not your foremost concern, as she is mine. She is of less importance than your morals, than your job, than your damned-"

"As she should be!" shouted David, leaping up. "It's insane an utterly irrational to be so infatuated with someone, to have your mind and focus so cloyingly befuddled by obsession that you forget your morals, your-"

Robin cut David off with a calm that was in stark contrast to David's sudden fury. "Yes. It is utterly irrational. But it's the truth. And, I think, impossibly, the way she feels about me."

David stopped dead and stared down at Robin.

"You see, David, had you been like me, Rose would never have been arrested. It was you who gave the order, I found that out with a little digging," said Robin.

Nightingale listened with astonishment to Robin's words. David had Rose arrested? But Caroline-

"Yes, it was. I gave the order. It was what-" snapped David.

"It was the right thing to do, I understand that," said Robin. "You're a police officer, it was your duty to arrest someone who'd committed a crime. But what you did next was not your duty, David."

David looked down at Robin again. "How on earth could you possibly know about that? I went straight to the Chief Agent and I-"

"I've got my sources, David. Now that, that was something that was not your duty," said Robin. "And it's something for which, I'm afraid, despite how much I care for you, will never forgive."

Nightingale gaped to hear Robin's cruel words. Though Robin said them with a sweet, gentle tone, there was something harder, something colder in them than she had thought Robin was capable of.

"I did the right thing," snarled David, throwing himself down onto the sofa across from Robin and glaring at his friend. "The world will be a better place with Nightingale as an agent. I did it for my country, I did it for my team-"

"But you did not do it for her. You offered her up like some damned sacrificial lamb to your cause and you never asked her," said Robin, and his gentle dark eyes suddenly darkened as his brows drew together sharply.

"For the greater good!" growled David, his anger evident in his posture and his voice.

"That doesn't matter! It was your idea to make her an agent. Your idea to barter her to the government the way her pimp used to barter her to clients. Only this time, you used something worse than the pain of beating to bring her to heel; you used her love for another person. And not only that, but that job will endanger her life," said Robin. "You will risk the live of the woman I love without her consent and for your cause. And for that I will never forgive you."

By the end of his speech, Robin's voice was cold. Hard. Like David's usually was.

Nightingale could not bear to listen to any more from the shadows. So she sprang forward and, stepping into the light, she watched as both Robin and David turned to look at her.

Both looked guilty, as if feeling a little remorseful that she had caught them in their furtive discussion of her.

She didn't care. It hardly mattered. "Is that true?" she challenged David. When he did not respond, she pressed him again, her voice louder this time. Commanding, too, and full of authority. "Is that true? Answer me!"

"It is," he said, seeming to admit the fact with not a scrap of contrition.

Nightingale wanted to hit him, wanted to leap across the room and scratch at his eyes and tear at his hair, but her own abhorrence of violence and Robin's hand arm about her waist prevented her.

"I thought you said you loved me," she spat at him. "Yet you could never do that to someone you loved!"

"And what would it matter if I did love you, Nightingale?" David returned, his face terrible with anger. "What difference would it make to you? Would you derive some sick satisfaction from it? You don't want me, so why should you care?"

"Because I trusted you!" she shrieked back at him. "I might have been angry with you, might never have loved you, but I always trusted you, always felt safe with you! I even told my sisters to trust you, that we could never be harmed while you kept us safe!"

David scowled and his entire frame shifted forward, his feline grace utterly frightening, like that of a lion about to pounce.

"Was this your plan all along, Detective?" Nightingale shouted at him. "Arrest my sister so you could force me to-"

"I didn't do it for you!" he howled at her.

She stopped dead before her mouth curled into a furious grimace. "Of course you didn't," she said roughly. She pushed herself out of Robin's embrace so she could stand toe-to-toe with David. "You-"

"You think that everything I do should be about you, don't you?" said David. He surged forward and gripped her by the face, very hard and very roughly. "Because I love you, idiotic man that I am, that you should be first. Well, you aren't!"

"Yes, your fucking cause is too-" started Nightingale, ripping herself away from him.

David gave one sharp, cruel laugh. "My cause? Yes, my cause is important, and more important than you could ever be! But no, Nightingale, there is someone more important to me than you, you bitch, more important to me than my morals, more-"

"Who?" laughed Nightingale, her own laughter far crueler and far more mocking than David's had been. "Who? You said you could love, yet I have never seen you show it! If you love me and betray me, then how do you act for this-"

"You'll never forgive me anyway, so I'll tell you," said David, interrupting her and glaring down at her. His voice had quieted, his calm even more threatening that his anger had been.

"David," warned Robin.

"No! I won't keep it from her, why should I?" snapped David.

Nightingale fell into a mutinous silence, part of her wanting to throttle David to death, the other part curious about what he had to say.

"It's Steel," said David, and he spoke as though the confession pained him.

Nightingale was perplexed. Though she was still angry, she said to David, her voice soft in its befuddlement but became harder in bitterness: "But why would I be angry at you for loving Steel? Did you think I would resent him? Be jealous of him? Did you hope-"

"Listen and I'll tell you," snapped David. "It's because he's my son."

Nightingale stood there for a moment in shock. It made sense, David's answer. And, if she thought back on it, she could draw similarities between the two men's faces - their cheekbones, their fine bone structure, their thin, aristocratic lips, even the way their eyes crinkled with smiles.

"Your son? But he's an Inamorato-" she whispered, still too shocked to be anything other than utterly gobsmacked.

"Yes, he is. While I was undercover, I was part of a crime syndicate that operated out of the East Side," said David. "Before it got busted, the bosses needed money. In order to maintain my cover, I was required to provide a certain amount of money to keep the syndicate afloat. My partner, who was undercover with me, suggested a fast, easy way to make money - the Inamorato business."

Nightingale, against her better judgement, remained silent.

"Creating an Inamorato isn't the same as creating an Inamorata. You've a mother but no father, because you can be directly cloned and modified from the cells of one woman. But an Inamorato is different. He needs two donors - a woman for the oocyte and a man for either the sperm or the nucleus of a male cell," said David. "So my partner donated an oocyte and I a cell, and we took our money and kept our cover. Within three more weeks, we'd busted the largest crime ring in the Union and arrested eighteen of the Union's most wanted criminals."

"So...Steel was a sacrifice? Collateral damage? His life was the price of eighteen arrests? asked Nightingale, her voice rising with every accusatory question. "Your son, your own son, you created and sold into slavery so you could maintain your cover?"

"Yes," he said softly. And, most surprisingly, Nightingale heard gentle, paternal affection steal into David's voice. "And do not think that a day has passed, a single day, where I have not thought of him."

"Yet you regret nothing?" she growled.

"I did the right thing. But I regret it," he said. And in that moment, more even than when they'd first met and Nightingale had cradled David in her arms, even more than when they'd made love, Nightingale could see David's entire, bitter, controlled mask stripped away until he looked entirely human. "Why do you think my team was the one to take on the abolition of the bordellos? Because I - and Steel's mother - were trying to atone for what we had done."

"Steel's mother? Your partner?" said Nightingale.

"Caroline," said David softly.

A wave of realization came crashing down over Nightingale and threatened to drown her. She stood there, utterly silent, mouth opened, mind reeling as everything began to make sense. It explained why Caroline had been the one to care for Steel, seeming to cling to and fuss over him far more than she ought to - she was his mother. And, even more so, it explained Caroline's fixation with David. She'd been his partner and, more importantly, so much more importantly, she was the mother of his child.

"Don't you see why she hates you, now?" asked Robin softly. In her epiphany, Nightingale had almost forgotten him. "It's not because she sees you as a rival for David's affection, or even just because of the reasons she gave to you. It's because, whenever she sees you, she's reminded of what she's done to her own son."

Nightingale shook her head. Both David and Robin were silent, evidently waiting for a reaction from her. But she stood, tumultuous with emotion and reeling with sudden realization. Eventually, however, she looked up at David.

"What, do you expect me to pity you?" she growled at him.

The cold mask was back again as David stared down at her.

"You expect me to feel sorry for you, that you've been without your son, that you've lost him?" she said. Her tone was full of anger and controlled, frigid fury. "Well, I won't pity you. I won't. You sold your own son into slavery. You sold him to someone who would have him raped and beaten and earn money off of his suffering. I went through that agony, and I know what it's like. I will pity Steel for having such parents, who sold him knowing what his fate would be," she said, and her voice stayed soft and deadly.

"Nightingale," warned Robin, his tone the same as when he'd issued a caution to David before.

But Nightingale ignored him. "But I will never pity you," she spat at David. She meant the words to hurt, and, by the way he flinched, she could tell they did. "You feel guilty? You deserve it. He hates you? You deserve that even more."

David surged forward, hand raised as if to hit her. He looked more murderously angry than Nightingale had ever known him to and now, her trust in him shattered, she feared for the first time that he would hurt her.

But he did not. He was leaned over her, ready to strike, looking fit to strangle her, when he stopped dead. His chest heaved and his eyes blazed as they had the first time they had met, his face full of inhuman rage.

But then, slowly, as Nightingale stared him in the face, refusing to be frightened of his rage, he backed away. And then, turning away, simply stormed out of Robin's house without another word.

Nightingale watched him go, anger and sorrow and unhappiness all vying for the upper hand in her stormy thoughts.

But it was Robin, gentle, lovely Robin, Robin whom she adored, who took her hand and, with it, took most of her grief and anger away.

"You're terrible when you're angry. I never knew you could say such horrible things," he said softly, and kissed her forehead.

Nightingale sighed. "I suppose it's one of my worst flaws," she said.

Robin smiled very sweetly. "Come," he said, and took her hand. "Let's go to bed."

And, with that, they walked, hand in hand, to the bedroom. When they had climbed in together, when Robin's head was cushioned on Nightingale's chest, she gave a sigh.

Things had worked out, she supposed, even if she might never forgive David. The Inamoratas were free, even Rose. Though she had been forced into a new kind of slavery, at least she was free from tyranny. And, most importantly, she had Robin.

With a soft smile, she kissed his hair and slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.