Immortality

Chapter Seven - Deserts of Vast Eternity

Chapter Seven - Author's note: Sorry for the extremely long delay! But when you read this chapter I am sure you'll understand why it was so difficult to write! Please let me know what you think of it.

Nightingale did not weep long. She was too used to concealing her tears, too used to curing herself of them, too used to hiding the emotions that naturally swelled inside her breast, restless and roaring. It was never with Robin that she hid her feelings; no, that had been a practice in the bordello that she still used when it was required now.

Now she stood and straightened her body as her soul curled in itself, folded itself end to end until it was as small as a pebble but heavier than her entire world. Her eyes burned with tears she had dried too fast. Her breath came and went slowly, but it was not the serene rise and fall of a contented breast. It was the resigned calm of a miserable heart.

She rose and regarded herself in the mirror. She saw there what she always had; the face of a beautiful woman. She had only begun to like that beauty for the way she saw it in Colm; she had seen the way his eyes were a perfect replica of her own, how he had the curve of her chin, and the oblique, fey slant of her lips.

It astonished her how little it had taken her to hate her own face once more. Her own child had barely made her like her own figure. Now, it had taken but this reminder of the bordello to make her want to claw at her own flesh, to scar her spotless skin and rip her shining hair and put out her shimmering eyes.

Nightingale turned away from the mirror. She went about straightening her back until she stood straight as a rod, tightening her sinews until her posture very nearly hurt her. She took a deep breath and it caught in her throat.

She breathed in again and this time she felt her breast heave with it. Then she blinked once, twice, a third time, ran a hand through her hair, touched her lips, and reached out her hand to open the door.

She was not quivering, as she could have been. Nightingale had perfect control over nearly every inch of her own flesh and not a single part of it would break rank when she truly focused upon it, but her hands were often an exception to this rule.

"Clenched hands means anger or sadness," Robin had once said, and he had taken her shaking fist and gently unfolded her fingers. "White knuckles means you are clinging tight to something you love."

And then he had taken the hand clutching his sleeve and kissed it.

Nightingale found her way back to the team in perfect silence. She entered the room without making a noise, but she still found three pairs of eyes fixed upon her the moment she appeared. Nicholas and Pierce, for the differences between them, wore a remarkably similar expression of concern. It was an emotion that would have touched her had she been able to feel it; now she could feel little other than the heavy emotion that had settled about her heart.

Caroline was no where to be seen and David was staring directly at her. She wanted to either shrink from the gaze or be swallowed up in it. 

She did not approach him, not right away. With a feigned need for her tablet, she picked it up from the table before winding her way slowly about the table. By the time she had reached David she had discarded the tablet and instead opted to stare out the window. She not look directly at him, not with those eyes upon her.

Instead she stared out over the city. David's eyes dropped to his hands and now Nightingale's flickered to his face, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw and his aquiline nose. But the moment she looked at him he looked up and their eyes met.

He said nothing. He watched her with an intent gaze that was so very scorching that even in its concern it was not gentle. His weight shifted and for a moment Nightingale thought he meant to reach for her.