Epilogue: Author's note: A note on names: Colm is an Irish name meaning "dove". That's right. I am incorporating my irishness into this and there's nothing any of you can do about it. Also, it's another bird name! It's also the last chapter which means Inamorata is now finished. Go check out my new work, The Fires of Spring! If you've got any other fanart, feel free to send it to me!

IMPORTANT UPDATE: though it says the opposite on earlier chapters, there IS an Inamorata sequel in the works. Stay tuned.

Nightingale was seated on the sofa, her head lowered, attempting to focus on the tablet before her. After all, it had the latest mission plans from David displayed there - a detailed explanation of the strategy they would be using to bust the largest drug operation in the city.

Not only that, but a message from him flashed on the screen, a warning from him that he was going to pay her a visit to discuss strategy. With a sigh, she went back to the mission plans.

She'd long since forgiven David for his crimes. Or rather, she had not forgiven him, but the pain of his betrayal seemed to pale and fade over time, especially in comparison to her happiness.

The embodiment of her happiness quickly distracted her from her focus as a pair of hands ripped her tablet from her.

"Colm!" she protested, though the seriousness of her protestation was marred by the laughter in her voice.

"No," said the voice, and Nightingale looked up to see that it belonged to a young boy, who was standing before her, glowering down. He looked shockingly imperious for a six-year-old child, with his hands on his hips and an authoritative expression. "You said you'd come home to play with me, Mummy, not to do your work!"

Nightingale was reminded, as she smiled down at her son, how much she adored the little creature. Until Colm had been born, she had never thought that anything or anyone could make her happier than Robin did - but yet her son, that wonderful child, created through the miracle of Michael's science, she loved more than she could ever love Robin.

"I'm sorry, my little dove," she cooed, patting his head. "But David sent me this-"

"Please, Mummy?" he asked. He was a clever boy, she'd noticed, for she watched as he immediately switched from imperious to pleading, knowing that the former would not sway her. His big blue eyes - her eyes - widened as he pleaded, and the expression sat so charmingly on the face that he seemed to have inherited mostly from Robin. "Please?"

Nightingale smiled to see the similarities between her husband and her son. As she opened her mouth to speak, to deny Colm, but was spared the task of telling him she ought to continue her work as someone entered the house.

Both she and Colm looked up, but it was Colm who acted faster. Quick as a flash with an inhuman speed that he could only have come from Nightingale, he shot over to the man who'd just entered.

"Daddy!" he cried.

Robin laughed and scooped his son up into a hug, laughing as he kissed Colm's forehead. "Hello there," he said.

Nightingale, putting aside her tablet, went over to join the two of them. With Colm's head cushioned on Robin's shoulder, Robin leaned over and kissed Nightingale.

"How was work?" he asked. She looked into his face as she always did, committing to memory for the millionth time the features of that face she so loved. And, as she always did, she noted the marks of age that had crept into Robin's face over the ten years they'd known each other.

She had not aged in the slightest, as she could see every time she glanced into her mirror. At fifteen years old, she still looked twenty-one, her perfect beauty stationary and permanent. But all the rest of the world had aged around her, though, most of all Robin.

At fifty-one, his black hair had become increasingly permeated with grey, until his temples were silvered, and his head brindled. His youthful skin had begun to wrinkle just a little, small lines creeping up at the corners of his mouth and eyes, testaments to his perpetual smiles.

But his dark eyes had not lost their youth. They still sparkled with his verve and wit whenever Nightingale's own eyes met them.

"Dreadful," she replied, snapping out of her trance to reply to his query. "I've got to work tomorrow, I'm afraid. Big drugs bust."

Robin sighed and put Colm down. "A shame," he said. "I was hoping the three of us could go see Colm's Auntie Magenta."

Colm, who was playing with Robin's sleeve, paid them absolutely no attention, so Nightingale felt safe to reply.

"I don't think Magenta's house is really the best environment for Colm, don't you?" she said through her teeth, glancing down to make sure the boy was not listening. He'd picked at a stray thread in Robin's tweed jacket and was humming, completely clueless.

"Something to do with her line of work, Nightingale?" asked Robin, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "I thought you'd be the last person to criticize her for what she does."

Nightingale snorted. Grabbing Robin by the hair, she dragged his head towards hers and, laying her mouth against his ear, so close that her lips nearly touched him, she hissed:

"A dominatrix's house is not an acceptable location for a six-year-old child!" For Nightingale knew that taking in taking Colm to see his Auntie Magenta, they would undoubtedly run into one of Magenta's clients, for Magenta had learned how to make money by making people pay to be tied up, whipped, and verbally abused.

"It's something I know how to do," said Magenta, who'd grinned when she'd told Nightingale of her new profession. "And I get paid for it now."

Nightingale had shaken her head, refusing to judge Magenta for her choice of career. However-

"Though I don't judge my sister, I don't want Colm exposed to sex at such a young age," she said to Robin.

Robin nodded as he always did when Nightingale brought this up. "Because you know what it's like," he said.

"Because I know what it's like," she echoed.

"But you don't have to anymore," said Robin, his voice sweet and loving and so tender it made tears spring into Nightingale's eyes. With that, he kissed her cheek and set their son down.

"Come on, Daddy!" cried Colm, grabbing his father by the hand. "You said we could read together when you got home!"

"Off you go, then. Get the book," Robin sighed as Colm bounded off in search of whatever they'd been reading together. Turning to Nightingale, he added, "Trust a child to never, ever forget a promise you made them."

Nightingale laughed.

"Are you joining us?" asked Robin when Colm reappeared, a book clasped in his arms.Henry VIII. So that was why the boy's diction had gotten increasingly stuffy over the past few weeks. Robin had been reading with him from a play far too advanced for a boy his age.

"No," said Nightingale. "David's going to be here at any minute. So you two hop to it," she added, waving her hands, herding her two favourite boys into a sitting position on the long sofa.

For her efforts she was rewarded with the same, lopsided smile from the two of them. Robin's smile, in the past, had been enough to make Nightingale marvel at its beauty, but that smile duplicated, on the face of her son, dazzled her into silence.

At that moment, there was a buzz, and Nightingale turned to see that David had appeared outside. Turning begrudgingly away from her family, she made her way out to the landing pad, where David was getting out of his hovercraft.

"Detective Beckett!" she hailed him, approaching,

"Agent Brightley," he returned. As she got closer, Nightingale could see, as ever, that David's face was set in its reserved mask. But more and more did she see in that mask serene calm and not cold anger, as

Nightingale watched as he sprang lithely out of his seat. Together, they made their way back to the house.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" asked David, jerking his chin toward where, through the glass, they could see Colm and Robin sitting side by side.

"Not at all," said Nightingale, turning her head and giving David a smile. She now found it easy to smile at him - with Rose out of protective custody and doing very well as waitress, and her trust in David restored by their work together, much of her anger had faded. "They're just reading. Henry VIII, by Shakespeare."

David nodded. By this time, they had reached to door and David paused, hesitating at the threshold. "I won't disturb them, then," he said.

Nightingale knew the reason for his hesitation. David, for reasons she never wanted to talk about with Robin, did not like Colm.

"So, there's a new tactic?" asked Nightingale, shifting the topic to the one at hand.

"Ah," said David. He removed a tablet from his jacket pocket and held it between them. Together, they leaned over it, so close that their faces nearly touched. "It's a simple modification, really. We'll be entering from the west side instead. Then we'll make our way through this corridor and follow the original tactic from there."

"Sounds simple enough," said Nightingale, not understanding why David had come all the way to her home to relate such a simple message to her.

He nodded, a short, sharp jerk of his head. "It is," he said.

"Very well, then," said Nightingale. "Goodnight, David."

And as he replied, she remembered how in the first nights at the bordello, he'd wished her a goodnight and she'd been thankful for it.

"Goodnight, Nightingale," he said.

They both turned to leave. But after just a second, David called back to her:

"Nightingale!"

She turned, hearing the sharp note in his voice. "Yes?" she asked.

"Are you...are you happy, Nightingale?" he asked. His tone was severe, as though he was trying to cover up the tenderness of the question with harshness.

She looked back at Robin and Colm, who had their heads bent over the book, practically mirror images of one another. She smiled as she turned to David. "Yes, I am," she whispered.

"Then you should know that I...I still love you, Nightingale," he said, and every word was so full of bitterness that it sounded as though the sentence had been ripped from him against his will.

"David, I-" she began.

He cut her off with a wave, that silent, commanding gesture, so full of authority that Nightingale was powerless to do anything but obey. "No. I still love you, after ten years, but that doesn't matter," he said. When his eyes met hers, they were calm but not icy; rather he looked serene.

"I don't-" she started again.

This time he overrode her with gentility. "It doesn't matter because I got married, Nightingale. I found someone else."

Nightingale could barely speak, so astonished was she. "You...got married?" she said, unable to reconcile his personality and his nature as being congruent  with marriage. "To-"

"To Caroline," he said.

"Caroline?" murmured Nightingale.

"Caroline. Two weeks ago," confirmed David. Now his jaw was set defiantly, as if daring her to challenge him.

Which she did. It was in her nature - and David's - to contest authority. "And when were you planning on telling the team?" she snapped at him.

"We weren't. We're still not going to tell Nicholas and Pierce. But we - and Caroline begrudgingly - trust you," he said. His tone, most surprisingly, was not grudging as he'd said Caroline's was. It was full of warm, genuine praise.

"Why?" asked Nightingale.

David smiled, a small quirk of his mouth. "Because we saw what you have with Robin and Colm, Nightingale. And we have a son. We want that with Steel. After ten years, he's forgiven us for what we did. And I may not love Caroline, but she is the mother of my son and I think that I can find...peace with her."

Nightingale sighed.

"But don't think I love her, Nightingale," said David, and the coldness in his voice was back. "Don't ever make that mistake."

"But you can find peace?" she asked, approaching him and trying to dodge the frigid look he was sending her, as though it was something tangible with the ability to wound.

"Yes," he said.

"Then I wish you many happy returns," she said, and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," he said.

"Now come along. I'm sure Robin and Colm will be delighted to see you," she said. Before he had time to protest, Nightingale took David by the hand and led him into the house.

"Look who showed up!" declared Robin, smiling at his friend.

"Hello, David!" sang Colm, smiling brilliantly at David.

David smiled back, somewhat awkwardly, as Nightingale led him to the sofa and sat him next to Colm. He looked less awkward, however, when Colm patted him on the arm.

Looking down at them, Nightingale smiled. David looked, if not happy, at peace. Serene. So, with a smile, she sat down cross-legged on the floor before her son.

"Now, Colm," she said. "Won't you read us something? I'm sure your Father and David would love to hear it."

Even David smiled as Colm began, in his high, birdlike voice:

"'I feel within me a peace about all earthly dignities, a still and quiet conscience...'"