Chapter 28. Author's note - The usual stuff - please vote, comment, and stuff, because it would make me really happy if this story made it to the top ten in Science Fiction. But if not, hey, I'm just glad to have all of you reading it!

It was Tuesday morning, Nightingale had just parted with a very unhappy Michael, Bobby had dropped in and she'd closed her eyes whilst fucking him and had alternated between imagining he was Robin and visualizing strangling Bobby to death with his own intestines, when Nightingale sat down to re-read snippets of Pride and Prejudice.

When she opened the book, she did not only find Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth there. The moment she began to flick through pages, two slips of paper immediately fell out.

A smile curved over her face, helping to soothe her habitual anger and misery from being used by Bobby.

The two slips of paper were the two letters; Robin's to her, and then her response. She'd never given him the letter and, as she read it, she realized that it would be foolish to give it to him then.

So, finding another scrap of paper and a pen, she sat down to write him a new one, with a mind to send it along with David the next time she saw him.

Robin, she penned, and then sat thinking for a moment, chewing the end of her pen.

She wanted to imitate his wonderfully bombastic, pompous style as she had done before, but she could not. So she settled for her emotions, delivered cleanly and clinically.

Robin,

I miss you. I hate them. I am counting the days until I can see you again. I feel immensely guilty for fucking Michael and Bobby. Don't tell Pierce I did that, I think it would make him hate Michael even more than he does now.

Nightingale

Pausing, she scratched out her name and wrote instead, Love, Nightingale. 

Then she scribbled that out, too, and penned.

Your Nightingale.

Sighing, she closed the book with her letter in it. As her fingers ran over the smooth surface, nails grazing the cover, she stared off into the distance, deep in thought.

A small smile appeared over her face as she considered Robin.

Her thoughts took a less innocent course as the thought about him. Now, she was unable to think about his dark, bright eyes without also thinking about-

She shook herself and went back to reading Pride and Prejudice. And that was how she passed her day. Pausing in her reading only to venture out of her room for her midday meal, she avoided the company of her sisters. 

Her absence was the source of some talk as she and the rest of the Inamoratas waited behind the Club later that night. Nightingale, before she even reached the door, could hear them muttering about her.

"Where was Nightingale today?" asked Sparkle in an undertone loud enough for Nightingale's sharp ears to her hear.

"I didn't see her all day," added Glitter, tacking her words onto the end of Sparkle's.

There was a snort and Nightingale knew the voice. "Probably brooding in her room over that damned detective she told us is going to head the raid," said Magenta.

"Keep your voice down, Magenta!" Nightingale heard Lace hiss. "If Bobby hears you saying that, it's all over!'

"No one's around to hear me," Magenta snapped at Lace.

Nightingale had to smile as she visualized the irritable expression that would have gone with the tone of Magenta's voice. However, she thought it best to contradict Magenta's words and so revealed herself, stepping out from behind the curve of the hallway.

"I think you'll find your voice carries more than you think, Maggie," she informed her.

Magenta jumped as though she'd been shocked by Bobby. "Gale!" she said.

All four Inamoratas looked slightly guilty at being caught in the act of talking about her. They shuffled their feet, Magenta and Lace looked down, and Sparkle and Glitter drew closer together.

Nightingale glared at Magenta. "And no, I was not brooding over Detective Beckett," she snapped, making sure her voice did not carry as Magenta's had. "I was reading."

Magenta snorted. "Whatever you say, Nightingale. All I know is that you've become more and more cheerful the longer you've known this man. You're a fucking ray of sunshine these days."

Nightingale arched her eyebrows and regarded Magenta's grin with skepticism. "Do you think that might have something to do with our impending freedom, not a man?" she enquired coolly, crossing her arms.

"Tell yourself that, sweetheart," said Magenta.

A witty retort was halfway out of Nightingale's mouth when the five of them immediately fell silent. They'd heard a heavy tread, followed closely by a lighter, faster one. Unmistakably, it was Bobby and  an Inamorata.

"Come on, let's get going before he decides to beat anyone," said Lace. She threw open the Club door and she, Glitter, and Sparkle all bounded in.

Magenta and Nightingale remained, however. Nightingale was regarding the mad, furious light that had sprung to life in Magenta's dark eyes.

"Go on, Magenta," hissed Nightingale as Bobby's steps approached. From his direction, they could hear a soft whimper, the voice of an Inamorata in pain. But which one?

"When we're free, I swear I'll hurt him. Kill him," Magenta growled, her voice muffled by the clench of her teeth. "He should pay for this. For all of this."

"He will pay," said Nightingale, some of Magenta's fury seeping into her voice as she shook the Inamorata. "In a matter of days. But it will do no good to rage at him now. So go!"

With a hiss, Magenta hauled open the door and stomped into the Club. Nightingale was about to follow suit, to get herself as far away from Bobby as she could, when he came into view.

Had he been dragging any other Inamorata, yanking any other of her sisters around by the hair, she would have continued on. It was an unspoken rule in the bordello that one did not stand up for her sisters, as it would only harm everyone involved.

But it was Rose that Bobby was hurting, and Rose was different.

"You dumb fucking slut," Bobby shouted. Letting go of his hold in Rose's red hair, he threw her against the wall. She fell to the floor with a squeal. "Do you know how many complaints I've had about you?"

Nightingale was at her side in a heartbeat, helping the girl to her feet.

"You stay out of this, Nightingale!" snarled Bobby. Seeing he was reaching into his pocket to grab the remote he used to deliver shocks, Nightingale immediately backed away. She was noble enough to want to spare Rose the pain of a shocking, and cowardly enough to be afraid Bobby would give her one, too.

"I'm sorry," said Rose. She had begun to cry, her blue eyes made even bluer by her tears.

"Sorry?" thundered Bobby. "Sorry?"

He lurched towards Rose and it was in that moment that Nightingale rationally considered how to kill him. A kick to the back of his head would be easy enough. She was flexible and strong and could do it. Once he was unconscious, she could kill him any way she wanted - strangle him with a garter belt, her bare hands, anything.

The rationality of the plan astounded her.

Meanwhile, Bobby had Rose pinned up against the wall.

"Sorry doesn't make clients happy!" he snarled. He had his face right up against Rose's, his teeth gnashing just half an inch from her cheek, spittle flying from his mouth. "You know what makes clients happy? This!"

With one clawed hand, he grabbed her between the legs. It was either the horrific feeling of violation or pain from Bobby's anger that made Rose's face screw up with disgust.

"This is what they pay for, they don't pay to see you cry!" he snarled. With a wordless hiss, Bobby stepped backward. The moment he released her, Rose's eyes darted wildly to Nightingale and in a flash, she'd flung herself into Nightingale's embrace.

When Bobby's eyes bulged and he looked fit to murder, Nightingale smiled reassuringly at him.

"Don't worry, Bobby," she said, making her voice take on the coquettish tone for which she was famed. "I'll set her up with a client she'll be suited for."

"You'd better," he snarled, and stamped away.

Rose seemed ready to wail hysterically, but Nightingale quickly patted her hair.

"Hush now. You don't have to worry about tonight, Rosie," she said, hoping she wasn't telling the girl a lie.

"Really?" asked Rose. Her tear-stained eyes were suddenly filled with hope. Unlike when the girl had first come to her, Nightingale did not have to quench that hope. She could leave it be, even encourage it.

"Well, if Dav- Detective Beckett and his team are here, I can put in a word with one of them. They can take you tonight, and you won't have to sleep with anyone," Nightingale said. "Now, pull yourself together."

Rose nodded and wiped at her eyes. After only a minute, she gazed up at Nightingale. "Well? Do I look okay?" she asked softly.

Nightingale appraised Rose's innocent expression, something so at odds with the risque nature of her clothing.

"Give me a seductive smile," she told her.

Rose tried and failed miserably.

Nightingale laughed. "Like this," she said, and demonstrated.

So when Rose was wearing a ridiculously sultry expression, the pair of them strode out into the Club. It took Nightingale only a moment to spot the man she was looking for. 

At a table near the dance floor sat David, with Clarence at his side. Both were unattached. Allowing her eyes to sweep further, she spotted Nicholas and Pierce at another table. Nicholas had Caramel in his lap and Pierce was doing a very good job at pretending to be besotted with Cocoa.

With a bit more searching, Nightingale even found Caroline, who was dancing extremely intimately with Magenta and attracting much attention from the male clients.

"Come along, Rosie," said Nightingale in the girl's ear. "I've got just the man for you. All you have to do is be as convincing as you can possibly be."

Rose nodded.

The two of them made their way over to David's and Clarence's table. Nightingale managed to get only a few words into a sentence before David stopped her.

"Well, hello Mr. Beckett, how-" she began, but was quickly cut off as David stood and, in a quick motion, grabbed her about the waist and kissed her hard on the mouth. It was an aggressive, passionate kiss, more angry than desiring.

Her surprise was echoed by Clarence's, as she could see when David drew back. Clarence's eyes had grown wide and a mischeivous light had flared to life in them.

"Well, that was quite...interesting, David," Nightingale breathed. She watched as David blinked, their faces so close that she could see every one of his downy eyelashes.

"It's imperative I behave like a client," he retorted in a hiss.

Nightingale smiled. Then, keeping up the act as David had, she turned to Clarence.

"Dr. Marshal," she purred. "Allow me to introduce you to Rose, one of my sisters."

Clarence smiled as lasciviously as any other client as he eyed Rose. Just as swiftly as David had, he  pulled Rose down onto his lap and wrapped his arms about her waist.

"Not bad. Not bad at all," he remarked, regarding Rose. "Still, not as lovely as you, Nightingale."

Nightingale smiled at Clarence as she saw him shift a little uncomfortably under Rose's weight; though he might have been doing a terrifically good job of pretending to be the average client, she could tell he was not happy about it.

"Sorry, Clarence, but you'll have to make do with her," said David. At this point, he'd put both his hands on Nightingale's hips. "Nightingale will be very busy tonight."

"Oh, I've no doubt," said Clarence. His smile was not a client's this time, but one of conspiring humour. It earned him a glare from David. "Oh, by the way, Rose - Equiano."

Rose's relief at the code word was tangible. Nightingale swore she could see the gears of thought turning in Rose's head as she processed the idea that Clarence, though he might be convincing as a client, was not in the bordello to hurt her. Rather, he was there to free her.

And not only that, but it meant she wouldn't have to sleep with him.

And that meant that the smile Rose gave Clarence was almost mad with glee.

"Thank you, Dr. Marshal," she said, and gave him a quick kiss.

Nightingale was surprised to feel the tiniest bit jealous. However, she quickly shook it off as David put his arm around her waist and guided her away from the throng.

"Where are we going?" she asked him.

"The Red Room. I've something I need to show you that requires a soundproof room," he said. And it was only then that Nightingale noticed he was carrying a sleek metal briefcase.

"How did you get that thing by Bobby?" she enquired. She jerked her chin towards it but dared not point to it.

David gave her one of his rare chuckles. "When you have as much money as I have at my disposal as I do - thanks to Robin - you can convince Bobby to do anything," he said. "Now come along."

When they were out in the hall, Nightingale began to pester him with questions. How many agents had be brought? Were they armed? Which Inamoratas were they with? What did they look like?

When she paused for breath in her tirade, he held up his hand. "I will answer those, Nightingale, but give me one bloody minute," he told her, shaking his head tiredly. By this time, they had reached the Red Room. David stood aside, holding the door for her in a strange show of gallantry. "After you, Miss."

With a smile, Nightingale marched in, head high. Then, she alighted at the table in the centre of the room and sat there, hands folded, expectantly waiting for him to speak.

With a sigh, he dropped the briefcase onto the table and opened it. However, the contents were facing him and so Nightingale could not see what it contained.

"I brought with me my agents and five others. As for appearances, I won't describe them to you, it's unnecessary. I have no idea which Inamoratas they chose. And, most importantly, yes, they are armed," he said.

Nightingale watched as he removed a largish canvas from the case and set it up a few metres away. Painted on it was a pattern of circles - something Nightingale's conditioned knowledge told her was a bull's eye.

"Are you armed?" she asked.

David looked up from whatever he was doing. "I'm always armed."

Nightingale lurched back, not sure whether that made her feel safer around him or more nervous.

"And soon, you will be too," he said. Flicking his wrist, he turned the case about so that it faced Nightingale. There, swaddled in what looked like foam was a-

"Is that a gun?" asked Nightingale. She stared down at the black, malevolent-looking piece of technology. Even still, not held up and near her, the thing looked dangerous. It was as though it could communicate its deadliness even in stillness.

David nodded. "Yes. It's for you."

"I don't know how to use one. I don't want to use one," said Nightingale. She jerked back from the weapon.

David raised his eyebrows. "It's for your protection," he said, waving his long-fingered hand at the gun. The very nature of the thing seemed to contradict his words. The gun was not a thing to protect, it was a thing to do the opposite.

"No, it isn't. That thing was designed to cause pain, to kill. Having experienced a good deal of pain in my life" - Nightingale sneered at her own understatement - "I won't use something that will inflict pain on others."

David rolled his eyes. "I highly doubt we'll have to use weapons, Nightingale. And even if we do, we most likely will not be shooting to kill, only to wound. So take the damn weapon."

Nightingale glared up at him and crossed her arms. "I don't know how to use it," she snapped. She knew she sounded like a petty, sarcastic child, but did not particularly care.

"Then I'll show you," he said. Reaching over, he snatched up the gun and the small rectangular thing sitting next to it. He lifted the rectangle before shoving it inside the handle of the gun. His movements were confident and expert and made Nightingale wonder how many times he'd used a gun. "That's how to load it."

Nightingale only raised her eyebrows.

"This is how you cock it," he continued, pulling on a lever just above the handle.

"And how do I shoot it?" she asked.

The smile David gave her was so far from cheerful it could barely be counted as a smile. "That's easier if you're holding it," he said.

Giving an exasperated sigh, Nightingale took the gun from him. It felt strange in her hand, though, most surprisingly, not unfamiliar. The cool metal of the gun felt nearly comfortable in her grasp.

"Now, do you feel the trigger beneath your index finger?" he asked.

Nightingale nodded. Standing there with the gun, something that could kill at only the squeeze of her  finger, made her feel powerful. Clarence's words came back to her - that, if properly trained, she could be the most deadly creature on the planet. She did not doubt that now. She almost embraced it as she lifted the gun.

"Put your other hand under your right to steady the gun," instructed David.

When Nightingale moved to do it, she shook his head.

"No, not like that," he said. As if without thinking, he reached over and corrected her grip. Their hands touched and Nightingale felt him flinch when their skin touched. His voice became gentler as he went on.

"Like this?" she asked, turning her head. In order to help her, he'd gotten very close to her. They were standing only an inch apart so that, when Nightingale turned her head, their lips almost met. David was close enough to touch, close enought to kiss, and it unnerved her.

"Yes," he breathed. Then, shaking his head he backed up. "When you're ready, point the gun at the target and fire. Try to get it in the middle."

Nightingale scowled. "I've never used a fucking gun before, David. I'll be lucky if I hit the target at all."

"Remember what Clarence said about you, Nightingale. You have heightened senses and reflexes. Shooting should be easy for you," he said. "Now, squeeze the trigger when you feel ready."

Giving a deep sigh, Nightingale turned her eye to the target. Blinking, she watched the red bull's eye fade until it was replaced with a figure. Her heartbeat quickened and anger flared inside her as, instead of the target, she saw Bobby standing there, a lecherous grin on his face.

She squeezed and there was a bang. Not only that, but there was a sharp intake of breath from David.

"Shooting should be easy for you, but not that easy," she heard him gasp. She turned around, lowering the gun, to see his eyes wide with shock. It was a most un-David-like expression, as Nightingale did not think she'd ever seen him surprised so. "The impossible has happened. Burnam Wood has come to Dunsinane."

"Did I do well?" she asked, recognizing the quotation from Macbeth.

"Take a look for yourself," he said, pointing over her shoulder.

Nightingale smiled when she saw that her bullet must have gone right through the centre of the target, as there was a tell-tale circle directly in the middle of it.

As she watched David marvel, she grinned impishly.

"Not jealous, are we, Detective Beckett?" she enquired, having the audacity to give his cheek a kiss.

Faster than she thought possible, David removed a weapon from inside his jacket. Face set and eyes flashing, he fired off three shots in quick succession. When he lowered his gun, the two of them stared at the target. Like with Nightingale's shot, every single one had hit its mark.

"No, I'm not, Miss Nightingale," he said, tucking the gun back in his jacket. "I'm a rather good shot."

Nightingale laughed.

David had her practice shooting a few more times, from various positions and at various speeds - sometimes crouching behind the table, firing eight shots as fast as she could, sometimes standing upright and loosing a single shot.

However, it was not long before they finished up, David packed everything back into his brief case, and they left the room. Arms about each other, legs tangling, they made their way back to Nightingale's room.

Though they were behaving like any other Inamorata and her client, Nightingale was comforted by his proximity. Knowing he was at her side, feeling him curved protectively about her, both gave her a sense of security.

David was silent the whole way, the only sound from him his soft breathing and the quiet tread of his footsteps. Nightingale imagined he was deep in thought. About what, she could not tell, though she felt his eyes on her more than once and blushed, wondering if he really was as besotted with her as everyone else was.

When they got into her room, he immediately released her and backed away. Nightingale snorted derisively.

"What?" he asked. He was in the process of taking off his tie, obviously readying for bed.

"The way you let go of me like that, David. I'm starting to think you don't like me at all," she said. Though her voice was light and teasing, there was an edge to it that was far from humorous.

David did not respond, starting instead on his cufflinks.

"David?" she pressed.

"Hmm?" he said, not even gracing her inquiry with a word, only a sound.

"David?" she repeated.

"What?" he snapped, fumbling with his cuff-link and dropping it. As he bent to retrieve it, he fixed her in his powerful glare.

"Do you like me, David?" she asked. Now, all her teasing was gone. She even surprised herself with how raw her voice sounded.

He immediately paused in removing his other cuff-link. "Why do you ask?" he said softly.

"Because Robin told me when we first met that you don't like anyone," she said. "And I was wondering if that's true."

David shook his head. When he spoke, his words were crisp and short. "It isn't. He was lying to get a rise out of me, something he never gets sick of doing. I like Robin. And I like you," he said. Having said it, he seemed a touch embarrassed of confessing his feelings (even in such a stoic way) and went back to fiddling with the cuff-link.

After a moment of it, he seemed unable to undo it. Swearing loudly, he yanked at in a frustration most unlike him. "This damn thing," he cursed. "I can never seem to get it undone!"

"Here, let me," said Nightingale. "I'm an expert in removing any piece of male clothing."

Coming forward, she climbed onto the bed so she was kneeling on it and he was standing before it.

She steadied his hands with hers. At the brush of her fingers, he was immediately still. She could feel him staring down at her, his eyes boring into her face in a way she would have described as hungrily if she had not been so doubtful of his affection for her.

"Nightingale?" he asked. His voice was was soft, almost innocent.

"Yes?" she asked. The cuff-link was proving to be far more obstinate than she'd anticipated, and it was taking some maneuvering to remove it.

"Do you like me?" he asked. He sounded almost nervous, and it made Nightingale's heart throb with a strange emotion.

Nightingale smiled and looked up at him. "I do. Very much."

Just as the cuff-link popped into her hand, David went on.

"Do you love Robin?"

The question was so disarming in its pointedness that Nightingale had to consider it for a moment. While she sat in thought, he sank down next to her.

"I...I don't know. I suppose I don't really know what love is," she admitted. "I care about him, and I miss him when I'm not with him. But I've no idea if I love him."

David nodded. "I suppose it was a foolish question," he said. Without another word, he turned away from her.

Giving a sigh, Nightingale began to undress. When the two of them were undressed, Nightingale climbed in next to David. He did not react when she snuggled close to him but did give a soft hiss when she laid one arm over his chest, curling so closely to him that her forehead touched his temple.

"Goodnight, Detective Beckett," she said, and yawned.

"Goodnight, Nightingale," he replied.

With a smile, Nightingale sank into sleep.