Chapter Twenty-Two. Author's note: Many, many thanks to those who have supported Inamorata thus far. Believe me, I would not have continued had it not been for the support. So thank you very much, and keep it up!

Nightingale gaped in a rather unattractive way, her jaw falling open as she gawped. At her gormless expression, one someone such as Michael might have been proud of for its stupidity, she saw David's mouth quirk the tiniest bit, a ghost of a smile lighting up his eyes before he glared again.

"Me? You've got to be out of your minds," she informed Clarence and David, even turning her head to look at Robin, who smiled and patted her cheek.

"Perhaps we misspoke," said Clarence, sighing. "It won't only be you presenting the case. Naturally, David will present the evidence. However, we've chosen you as the Inamorata to be interviewed by the Council."

Nightingale reeled, shaking her head like a dog with with water in its ears. "What?" she whispered, astounded. "Why?"

"Because you are truly the greatest example of what it means to be an Inamorata," said David softly. "You're so terribly human, Nightingale."

She felt a little soothed at the fact that he was back to using her name, but she quickly frowned again. She'd never been so nervous of any idea in all her life, not even when she'd lost her ribbon for the first time.

"I'll fuck up," she told him.

He smiled robotically. "And prove your humanity. Besides, Nightingale, all you should do is answer their questions the way you did mine when we first met."

"What, grab the Councillors by the lapels and snarl at them?" she retorted.

He chuckled and earned a surprised look from everyone else. "That might not be wise. But be yourself, Nightingale. You were bitter when I interviewed you; don't hold that back now. Any indication that you are a person, anything, will do our cause good."

Nightingale nodded, though her mind was a million miles away. She'd realized, unfortunately, that their entire cause hinged on her - if she came off as unfeeling, it meant she and her sisters would never be free.

"What is it?" asked Robin, patting her head. "You seem troubled, Gale."

"What do you think?" she fired at him. "If I make a mess, then I'm not only hurting myself, but I'm hurting every single Inamorata on the damn continent. Of course I'm troubled."

He lifted his hands pleadingly and stepped back. "All right, then. There's no need to snap at me."

Nightingale sighed. "When will this be happening?" she asked.

"You will appear before the Council tomorrow," replied David. His words were short and clipped, and geniality that he'd had long gone now.

"Tomorrow?" she hissed.

He quirked a smile again, one so similar to Robin's that Nightingale wondered if he'd learned it from his friend. "We ought to proceed as quickly as possible. There is no point in delaying. If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly," he said. Nightingale smiled, too, at the Macbeth quotation, but both of their smiles vanished as he went on.

"Besides, you didn't really think I brought you out here just to shout at you, did you?" he snapped.

It must have been Robin's muted giggle, Clarence's muffled snort, or Nightingale's openly disdainful sneer that informed David that they had, in fact, thought he'd done just that. As a result, he glowered at them before continuing.

"Anyway, you'll be taken to the Capitol Building. Other than that, just follow my lead. Speak when asked questions and, most importantly, answer honestly," he said.

"The only time you'll ever be asked to honest with the government," muttered Robin. It must have been funny, for Clarence laughed, though it was too far out of Nightingale's conditioned knowledge to be amusing to her.

"It's that simple?" asked Nightingale, ignoring Robin.

"Yes," said Robin. As he said it, he meandered around Nightingale's chair so that he was standing next to it, one hand on the arm and the other on his hip. "It's so very simple. All you have to do is convince the government of something the Corporation, Starkwood, and all the other companies that thrive off your slavery have been saying is not true. It's very easy, really."

Robin's sarcasm made Nightingale smile but David glare.

"Enough, Robin," he told the gangly man.

Robin rolled his eyes. "Why on earth would I listen to you?" he said.

"Because you're in my home and working for me on my damned case," said David.

"With my money, I'll remind you," said Robin. He sniffed haughtily. David rolled his eyes. Once again, the gesture was so similar to Robin's that Nightingale wondered if one of them had learned it from the other.

"Boys, play nicely," interjected Nightingale with a grin.

 The glare she got from David was disdainfully vicious - the kind of expression Nightingale usually gave Bobby behind his back whenever he shocked Magenta for her mouthiness. But Robin simply laughed.

"You saucy little creature," he said, bounding over to her and ruffling her hair affectionately. She smiled brightly at him, the expression feeling new and joyful on her face. Robin was the only person with whom she graced those smiles. Not even her sister Inamoratas, not even Sparkle or Rose or Magenta got that happy brightness.

"Do you like my sauciness, Robin?" she enquired, her voice more than a little flirtatious.

He smiled and blushed, the redness highlighting his cheekbones as he stared bashfully at the floor.

"As nauseatingly charming as it is to watch the pair of you flirt, why don't we spend our time more usefully?" asked Clarence. As he spoke, he lifted himself from the sofa. On his way over to the window, he brushed past Nightingale, his fingers grazing her arm. With a jolt, she remembered exactly how seducing Clarence had felt. His mouth, his hands, his-

"An excellent idea," said David. Nightingale watched his eyes flare with anger, as he was far too reserved to show jealousy. As Clarence lurked by the window, he beckoned to Nightingale and waved off Robin. With a sly little smile, he retreated to where Clarence was standing.

"What else do I need to know, Detective Beckett?" she asked as she sat down across from him. Her anger with him was not absent enough to allow her to use his first name.

He grimaced at her as he reached for a tablet sitting on the low table between them. Flicking at it with the tips of his fingers, he began to speak.

"Not very much. You'll be with me most of the time. Just follow my lead. But tomorrow, we'll be taken to the Council Building. Once we're in, I will go in first. You'll wait in the antechamber until I send for you," he instructed. He looked up and their eyes met. Nightingale gave him a curt nod to let him know she'd understood him.

"When you come in, you will make a bow to the Council," he said.

Nightingale's lip curled in disgust at the idea of bowing. She already submitted enough to her clients and allowed them to use her - she was repulsed by the idea of bowing to anyone.

"You must do it," he told her.

"I know. And I will do it with the utmost humility," she sneered. "I'm a skilled enough actress to do so."

David smiled warmly. "I know you are. And I trust you to act with the utmost respect."

Nightingale nodded, a little taken aback by the glowing of his eyes.

"After you bow, you will join me at the podium," he said, handing her the tablet. Staring down at the blueprints displayed on the screen, Nightingale located the podium and nodded. "You will not be asked to sit. When you get there, you will be asked a series of questions. Answer them all honestly and respectfully, but don't hold back your emotions. And, whenever asked a question by a councillor, always address them as 'Sir Councillor' or 'Madam Councillor'."

Nightingale nodded. "I think I can do that," she said, handing back the tablet. Their fingers brushed and she felt David flinch at her touch.

His head bobbed, too. "Good," he said. "Now, these are the two people who will be asking you the majority of the questions. You might field questions from others, but it will likely be from these two Councillors."

Once again, he handed her the tablet. Now, it showed two photos.

"Councillor Marcus Renley," said David, pointing to the one on the left. Nightingale stared at the photo, quickly assessing the man. Likely in his seventies, with grey hair and a matching, closely-trimmed beard. A friendly look in his eyes. This man was kind, she could tell.

"I see," she said.

"And Councillor Olivia Kirkland," he said, pointing to the other photo.

Nightingale had a more difficulty assessing the woman pictured there. Of average beauty, her hair was pulled back in a bun, with only straight bangs flopping over her forehead. Her expression was severe, her dark eyes glinting. She could not tell if she was kind or cruel.

"Do we know if either one of them is pro or anti-abolition of the bordellos?" she asked, looking up.

"Councillor Renley is in favour of abolition. We don't know about Councillor Kirkland. But she is very fair. She will hear both sides before making her decision," said David.

Nightingale nodded again.

"Do you understand?" asked David, and their eyes met. He looked worried.

Nightingale smiled to soothe him. "Perfectly, Detective."

"That's another thing," he said, and Nightingale raised her eyebrows. "When referring to any of us, use our titles. Robin might be Robin to you, but he's Mr. Brightley to the Council. I'm Detective Beckett, and Clarence is Dr. Marshal. Got it?"

"Of course. Professionalism is key here," she said. And to prove her point, she removed every hint of emotion from her voice as she went on. "As much as I might like Robin and Clarence, the relationship between any of us must be seen to be entirely professional. Their bias - or mine - could endanger the integrity of the case."

"Perfect," said David. And in that little word was more praise than anything he'd yet said.

She nodded yet again, this time coolly. But when David stood, she looked at him quizzically.

It was Robin who voiced the question she'd been thinking. "David," he said. "Where are you going?"

"Work. There are some things I'd like to go over with the team," he said, his eyes flickering to Clarence, who immediately made his way over to David.

"Excellent," said Robin, smiling brilliantly. "Then I can take Miss Nightingale to the bookstore, yes?"

Nightingale was halfway out of her seat, ready to bound out the door with Robin to a place simply filled with the books she so adored when David shook his head.

"It's the day before the hearing, Robin. No. You mustn't be seen with Nightingale. In fact, if you are to be seen, you should be seen alone. Go to your bookstore, Robin, but alone," he ordered.

This time, Robin did not protest. He simply heaved a sigh. "Then it is with a heavy heart that I leave you here, Nightingale," he said, appearing to drag himself towards the door in a melodramatic show of sorrow.

It made her smile, but that quickly faded. "If you're all leaving, what am I supposed to do here?" she demanded waspishly, springing to her feet and placing her hands on her hips.

"Entertain yourself. But stay out of my room," snapped David. Without any other goodbye, he was out the door. Sighing and blowing her a kiss, Robin followed.

Eventually, she was left alone with Clarence. She could not help but blush like the most foolish of schoolgirls as he smiled down at her. While she sat there, he took a step forward, lifted her hand and, as he had done the previous night, kissed it.

"Goodbye, Nightingale. I will see you tomorrow. Good luck."

Nightingale smiled as alluringly as she could, attempting to give Clarence a taste of the enormous pull he had upon her. It must have worked, for he gaped a little before, smiling broadly, he backed out of the room.

When the three men were gone, Nightingale gave a sigh. With nothing else to do, she meandered over to the room she'd stayed in the other time she'd been in David's home. Finding One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest in the same place it had been before, she settled down to reread it, sitting on the sofa in the main room so she could watch the city out of the corner of her eye.

She eventually fell asleep like that, her head on the arm of the sofa and her knees drawn up to her chin as she struggled to keep awake. Eventually, the heaviness of her eyelids proved too much for her and she drifted into slumber.

She wasn't sure what time it was, or how much time had passed, but she woke to the feeling of someone tucking a blanket around her.

Carefully, she opened one eye. When she saw it was David, she remained motionless, not allowing her body to betray that she was awake. However, she watched him with one eye, noting how the hard, cold lines of his face had smoothed into delicacy.

"Goodnight, Nightingale," she heard him murmur.

Giving a little smile, she snuggled closer to the sofa and allowed herself to slip further into slumber.

She did not wake quite so peacefully. In fact, she woke to the same David who had so tenderly tucked a blanket around her the previous night, shaking her shoulder.

"Get up," he snarled.

She opened her eyes immediately, knowing the sound of an irritated client. When she remembered it was David, she yawned.

"Yes?" she said blearily.

"You have to get dressed and ready," he said, crossing his arms and regarding her with a snappish eye.

She yawned again and, just to irritate him, made a big show of stretching. When she was finished, she climbed off the sofa. Only then did she noticed something.

"Why, Detective Beckett," she purred, smiling at him. "You terribly dashing today."

His glare seemed to bring the temperature in the room down a few degrees. "It's my dress uniform. Every officer in the secret service is issued one of these. I'm wearing it because it's customary to wear a dress uniform to the Council hearings. Don't think I'm happy about wearing this bloody thing."

As he spoke, he gestured to his navy blue uniform, a very attractive outfit, complete with gold stars on the lapels and rings about the cuffs that Nightingale assumed denoted his rank. 

"Unhappy or not, you look very handsome," she said, strutting over to him and smoothing a lapel that was in no need of adjustment.

He simply stared down at her, completely unresponsive, except to say:

"Professionalism, Nightingale."

She smirked. "Of course," she said, and backed away. "Now, you said I have to get ready? How much time do I have?"

He glanced at a device in his hand. "Ten minutes."

Nightingale nodded. Like that, she was off like a shot and, precisely ten minutes, she rejoined David in the main room, dressed and ready.

She caught his eye on her as she walked in, but she could see that it was not an admiring gaze, nor a lecherous one. She could practically see him sizing her up.

"Well?" she asked, twirling for him. "Am I suitably dressed?"

He nodded but said nothing. That same silence hung over them as they left the building and got into the hovercraft. Throughout the stony silence, Nightingale could see David's hands locked on the steering wheel of the hovercraft.

And that's when she felt it - pity. Though, outwardly, David seemed calm, the whiteness of his knuckles betrayed him. He, like her, was terrified.

So, wordlessly, she took his hand.

He looked over at her hand like it had burned him, withdrawing it from her grasp. But then, seeming to relent, he allowed her to take it once more. Rubbing the pad of her thumb over knuckles, she illicited a sigh from him but nothing more.

When they landed in a hangar halfway up an enormous building, David removed his hand. Though he said nothing, his face openly said:

"Professionalism, Nightingale."

It was Nightingale who was in need of comforting, not David, however, the moment they stepped out of the hovercraft.

Because, the moment they did, four men and two women, all dressed in a navy blue uniform like David's but less ornate surrounded them. They were all armed with some form of gun. Nightingale was not an expert when it came to weapons. After all, what good would it do to educate Inamoratas in the many ways they could kill their masters?

"Identification," demanded one of them.

"Detective David Beckett," he replied.

The same one approached him. Holding up a small, circular device to David's eye, she waited for a soft beep before nodding.

"Retinal analysis matches," she said. "Detective Beckett, is this Inamorata 29180?"

Anger flared in Nightingale at hearing her number. "Nightingale," she snapped at the woman.

Her aggression had absolutely no effect. It was only David's words confirming her own that made the woman back off. Once they had passed the security (though the agents were still following them), David put one hand under her elbow.

They walked through a long, high-ceiling hallway, though even its magnificent splendour, with its fountain and its majestic statues could not distract her from a nervousness that had wormed its way into her belly and was scratching at her innards.

When they reached a set of tall doors, David turned to the guard before them.

"Detective Beckett to see the Council," he said.

The guard nodded and held open the door.

Before entering, David turned to Nightingale. He squeezed her arm in the single most comforting gesture he'd ever given her.

"Good luck, Nightingale. Just remember what I said. You are brilliant, Nightingale, and know that," he murmured.

She smiled very sweetly and nodded. It was only the professionalism David had told her was so important that prevented her from kissing his cheek equally sweetly.

"Thank you, David," she whispered. "And good luck to you, too."

With a tiny smile, he went into the chamber.

"Inamorata," said one of the guards who had followed her.

She stiffened immediately. "I didn't hear you because you didn't use my name," she growled without turning around to face the agent.

"Nightingale," said the agent.

Now she turned. "Yes?" she asked.

"If you would please come this way," said the agent. Without any further ado, she was led into a small antechamber. It was distinctly less ornate than the hallway, but with the same dignified feeling. The room was divided into two parts by a waist-high partition. On either side of the partition was a door that led, presumably, into the Council chamber.

"Take a seat," said the agent, gesturing to a chair. Then, all six of the agents withdrew, leaving Nightingale to sink into the chair.

But she was not alone for very long. Nightingale was soon joined by Caroline, who led a man into the room on the other side of the partition, and then departed.

Nightingale craned her neck to get a good look at him. From her seat behind the partition, she could see that he was attractive, far too attractive. Even Clarence, gorgeous Clarence, was not that beautiful.

But the moment the man noticed her attention, he smiled ruefully.

“Try not to drool,” he said, sneering a little.

She sneered right back as she glowered at him. “In your wildest dreams, sweetheart. Who are you, by the way?”

The man smiled and approached her, holding out his hand.

“Steel,” he said. Nightingale flattered at being able to shake hands like a normal human being with this man, took his. His palm was warm, nearly warmer than his azure eyes.

“No last name?” she enquired, though she thought his first name was ridiculous enough.

His rueful smile turned bitter. “No,” he said. His hands shook slightly as he lifted one leg of his trousers to reveal-

“You’re…” said Nightingale, astounded. Steel was wearing an identity anklet. It was the twin of the one about her ankle, though his was a size larger to accommodate the girth of one of his lean legs.

“An Inamorato,” he snapped harshly. “Surprised?”

“Yes,” she breathed as she peered over the partition. “I didn’t know they existed.”

“We do, actually,” he growled. “We’re far less common than Inamoratas, but we exist for the pleasure of men and women of the West Continent.”

His voice acquired a bitterness at the end that Nightingale had heard so often in her own tone.

“And how didn’t you know that?” he growled at her, eyeing her as though she were quite foolish. “Where have you been living, if you’ve never heard of an Inamorato? A hole in the ground?”

Nightingale smiled tersely, even a little smugly as she backed up enough that he could see her leg over the partition. She savoured the look of shock on his face as he saw the matching manacle about her ankle.

“I’ve been living in an Inamoratas’ bordello, Steel,” she said, her voice sickly sweet and cold as ice. “That’s rather like a hole in the ground.”

Steel gaped. Then, snapping his jaw shut, he smiled. “That’s why you’re so beautiful.”

“I could say the same of you,” she retorted, though there was a wisp of a smile on her face, too.

“Tell me,” he mused, one eyebrow arching a touch as he regarded her. “You’ve really never heard of Inamoratos?”

Nightingale shook her head. “Never. My bordello is entirely female.”

Steel cocked his head, his already large eyes widening even further with curiosity. “Mine is entirely male, but I know of Inamoratas.”

“Then your owner is kinder than mine," she fired back, remembering how Bobby would rage if any Inamorata so much as breathed a word about the outside world.

“I would doubt that,” he said, a flash of pain echoing in his eyes. Shaking his head, he smiled and asked, “What’s your name, Inamorata?”

“Nightingale,” she said.

His eyes widened. “No,” he said.

“What?” she asked, reeling back at the shock in his lovely eyes.

“You’re Nightingale? The famous Nightingale?” he asked.

“Nightingale of the York Bordello,” said Nightingale, bowing as her tone turned mocking and acerbic. “Class-A whore, at your service.”

“You’re practically famous in the bordello business,” murmured Steel.

“So Bobby tells me,” she retorted.

Steel smiled. “And yet they've chosen you to be the speaker for all Inamoratas. Interesting."

She arched her eyebrows. "Then what are you here for, Steel?" she enquired, making up for her rabid curiosity in the Inamorato by putting too much reserved politeness into her tone.

"I'm here to testify, same as you," he said. "Though I'm really only on display. Agent Bure - Caroline Bure, that is - made it clear I'll be doing very little talking."

Nightingale wondered how many other Inamoratas - or Inamoratos - David's team had dealt with before her. Feeling oddly jealous, she eyed Steel, who simply smiled blithely at her. Opening her mouth to speak, she was interrupted by the door to the Council chamber opening on her side.

Nervousness exploded inside her, though she would not let it show. Lifting her head high and squaring her jaw, when called, she marched over to the door.

"Goodbye, Nightingale," called Steel.

She turned to look at him, to stare into his beautiful azure eyes. They were given no other opportunity to say goodbye as, with her nose in the air and strut in her step, Nightingale stepped into the Council chamber, the thought of freeing Rose giving her strength.