Inamorata

Epilogue - The Dove

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.