Chapter 34. Author's note - the title is a quotation from Keats's "Ode to a Nightingale". For those of you who like poetry, I have included a link on the side of a particularly good reading of it. Also: this story has suffered a drop in popularity recently. So please let me know what you think. The support means the world to me! Finally: sorry for the delay in the release of this chapter. As you will be able to tell, it was a difficult (but important) chapter to write, so it took me a while...
David led Nightingale into a medium-sized room complete with a long table and several chairs. He half-pushed her into a chair across from two men, both of whom were staring at her with wide-eyed, curious expressions.
She sneered to see the way they were looking at her. It was not a lascivious, lecherous look that she was used to from her clients, nor was it the respectful gaze one would give to their equal, but it was something else entirely.
They were staring at her as though she were some exotic animal, something beautiful and foreign but vicious. Something that was being brought out by a handler for their pleasure of viewing.
As she sank down into her chair, her eyes fell on the other occupants of the room. The rest of David's team was sitting with her, each one looking even more unhappy than she felt. Caroline, sitting on her left, was staring down at her hands. In all the time Nightingale watched her, Caroline did not blink even once.
And Nicholas and Pierce were sitting on Nightingale's right, wearing matching expressions of sorrow. The whites of Nicholas's blue eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and Pierce's chocolate-coloured eyes were ringed with red.
Nightingale felt more pity for Pierce than she did for Nicholas, for Pierce was wearing an expression of grief that made him look nearly indistinguishable from Michael. The striking similarity between the brothers made pity well up inside Nightingale till it stabbed at her throat and pricked her eyes.
"Nightingale?" asked David. He tapped her on the shoulder and introduced her to the men before her, who she found out were both government officials and whose names she forgot the moment they were spoken.
"So, let's get started, then," said one of the officials. His smile and his cheerful tone fell discordantly over the sorrow and grief in the room.
At a glare from Nicholas, the official quickly sobered up as he started on the first question for Nightingale.
The debriefing proved to be long and miserable. Immediately, the officials launched into questions that asked her to detail the raid, with special emphasis on Clarence's death. What little happiness had returned to her from seeing Robin quickly vanished until she was regressed to her previous bitter self with every question.
And she answered every question without a hint of emotion in her voice. She answered everything they asked her in a flat voice with not even an inflection that would betray her unhappiness. She gave all her answers staring straight ahead, focusing on a spot on the wall between the heads of the two officials.
Her apathy began to faded quickly, however, to be replaced with a growing anger, at what was said at the end of the debriefing:
"You're the perfect candidate for a government agent," said one of the officials sitting across from her. Nightingale looked up as the man went on, staring into Nightingale's eyes, a musing expression on his face. "Multilingual, extremely intelligent, physically capable. You're what we look for."
Nightingale's mouth opened but before she could speak, the second official continued.
"Detective Beckett noted that you're almost" - here the official squinted at a tablet before him, evidently trying to discern something David had recorded - "eerily talented with a gun."
Once again, Nightingale tried to speak, but the first official spoke over her. This time, the official seemed to speaking more to his colleague and less to Nightingale.
"And, you know, there's a vacancy on Detective Beckett's team. Nightingale, with her high commendations from him, would be the perfect-" he started.
This time, Nightingale managed to speak. And when she did, her voice was positively glacial. Absently, it reminded her of David and she wondered how much he was rubbing off on her.
"I think you're missing one of the major problems with this...idea," she said, allowing a sneer to curl her lip on the last word. Backtalk, rudeness, sneering. It all felt so liberating. Free as she was, she would never have to be polite to anyone ever again if she didn't want to.
Both officials turned to her in perfect synchrony, the way their heads turned like two wind-up dolls making them appear comical.
"I beg your pardon?" asked one, while the other said, not quite as eloquent as his colleague, "What?"
"You've missed the most important part of your plan," she said. When they gave her mystified looks, she smiled, the expression practically hurting her face, and said: "Me."
She heard a ghost of a laugh from behind her. Without turning, she could identify the laugh as David's. From no one else would she hear such a bitter, sardonic laugh. Well, from no one else but herself or David, and she was sure she had not laughed.
"Your whole plan rests on the fact that I'd go work for David if you told me to," she snarled. Her lip curled and she could tell from the expressions on their faces that she must have looked formidable. "And I won't do it. I'm my own mistress now, and I won't do anything I don't fucking want to."
Both the officials gaped at her, their mouths hanging open, the picture of gormless surprise. Upon hearing another laugh, Nightingale turned her head far enough that she could see David smiling at her.
"But, Nightin-" began one of the officials, seeming to regain function of his voice.
She cut him off. "No! Bobby could order me because he could beat me. And my clients could order me because they could hurt me. But you can't order me, I won't let you!" she growled. Leaning forward in her chair, she slammed both hands onto the table separating her and the officials. They jumped at the sound. "You can't hurt me. I could probably hurt you, come to think of it! So I won't let you order me!"
The officials simply gaped.
"Now, are we done with the debriefing?" asked Nightingale. Raw authority, keener than an electric shock and a hundred times more potent, tore through her. She'd just stood up to someone. Been rude, even.
It was fantastic.
When they nodded, she glared. "Good," she spat. With no further ado, she sprang to her feet and stormed out of the interrogation room, leaving the officials gawking in her wake.
The enormity of what she'd done only hit her when she'd taken a few steps down the hall away from the interrogation room. She'd just been rude. She'd just defied someone. An action like that would have gotten her a severe beating at the very least two days ago. If she'd spoken like that to Bobby or to a client she would have been on the floor, writhing and screaming in agony, faster than she could blink.
But there she stood, perfectly unharmed. And was that freedom? The ability to act without being harmed? To do as you wished without fear?
She shook her head just as she heard a bright, pealing laugh, like the gentle song of a bell, echo from behind her. Whirling around at such a sound of mirth, she saw David walking towards her, head thrown back with laughter.
As surprising as his beseeching pleas to Steel had been, they were nothing to the shock Nightingale had from hearing David laugh.
As he neared her, she could see his face transformed with euphoria. His hazel eyes, the ones that were usually so cold, sparkled merrily. His high cheekbones, instead of making his face look rough, proved the perfect frame for his broad, laughing smile. His straight, white teeth showed in a laugh, instead of clenched with anger.
It was difficult for Nightingale to reconcile the laughing, joyful David with the calm, detached deadly David of the night before.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
"You are," he told her, and smiled.
"Oh?" she snapped.
"Your performance back there. Not only did you impress even me, but I think you made exactly the wrong impression on the officials," he said. The gaiety had not fallen from his face though his smile was gone. It remained glimmering in his eyes.
"How so?" she asked.
He rolled his eyes. "You just gave them an impressive display of your ferocity and the level of dominant authority you're capable of. Both traits are esteemed in agents."
Nightingale smiled sort of half-heartedly, the expression a bit dismayed but also quite happy. "So, that 's what freedom is, then? You mouth off at people and, instead of being punished for it, you're rewarded?"
David shook his head, more than a touch of his usual gravity coming back to him as his smile faded. "No, Nightingale. That's what freedom is for someone like you. Not for everyone," he said. "Those who are less...miraculous are less free."
There was a little pause as both of them fell silent, considering his words. After a moment, Nightingale decided to test her freedom and so she asked:
"David, what happened with Steel?"
David immediately straightened up, any mirth she'd caused him gone in a puff as he turned his head and assaulted her with his customary glare.
"That is none of your business," he snarled. Nightingale immediately regretted asking him, for the happiness that had been so pleasant before had now vanished entirely.
And so, though it burned her to humble herself to him, she went on, in a voice as gentle as she could make it:
"I'm sorry, David. I was only curious."
They stood there in an awkward silence. David shuffled his feet and stared down at them; at the same time, Nightingale took one step towards him before falling back. A touch to his arm would not comfort him, she knew. He would only draw back and shake her off.
"You would think less of me if I told you," he said suddenly, the words tumbling out of his mouth as though he could not say them fast enough.
Nightingale raised her eyebrows. "You're sure of that, Detective?" she murmured.
"Positive," he said. The strain of sadness in his voice touched a nerve in Nightingale. His sorrow at the idea that she'd think less of him moved her. It told her that Robin was right, that Robin had always been right, that David cared more for her than he let on.
There was yet another pause before Nightingale asked, her voice soft and tender and altogether too friendly, "David, are you in love with Steel?"
The response she got from him was violent in its vehemence. Disgust clouded his face and revulsion curled his lip as he jerked back from her, as though her very question caused him pain.
"No!" he exclaimed. "Never! 'In love' with Steel is something I could never be!"
"But Sparkle and Glitter-" began Nightingale, trying to soothe the look of wild anger that appeared on David's face. But he cut her off quickly.
"It's all well and good for them. But the idea of feeling that way about Steel-" he stopped himself, practically gagging with disgust. Nightingale could tell it was not bigotry, not the idea of loving a man, that made him gag, but something else.
So, confused as she was, she did not question him further. She simply laid a hand on his that, as she had expected, he shook off.
"Come on," he snapped, taking her by the elbow and shaking his head as though to throw the idea out of his head. "Let's go."
In retribution, she snatched her elbow out of his hand. "I won't go, unless I know where," she told him, defiance ringing in her voice once again.
His lips twitched upwards as though they wanted to smile. "We're going to Robin's, if that pleases you, Miss Nightingale," he said. And though he tried for condescending contempt in his tone, he did not quite achieve it.
"Oh? And then where?" asked Nightingale as she fell into stride next to David as he strode down the corridor.
"He's offered to let you stay there until you...sort things out," said David. As he said it, he snorted disdainfully.
"Indeed I have," said Robin, appearing at Nightingale's shoulder as if by magic. "I am at your service, my lovely Nightingale, as long as you wish."
She smiled and, in full view of David, grabbed Robin and planted a kiss on his cheek. It earned her another snort of disdain from the detective but a rather charming blush from his friend.
"You're too charming for your own good," Robin teasingly upbraided her as she took his hand, slipping her fingers between his and squeezing his hand tightly.
"You act like I'm not aware of that," she returned, smiling as brilliantly as she could.
David rolled his eyes at their affection and Nightingale could not blame him. They must have been nauseating in their interaction. But she didn't care about that.
No one spoke as they left Headquarters. It was utter silence as the three of them climbed into the hovercraft - with it being wordlessly decided that under no condition was Robin to sit in the front seat of David's hovercraft - and perfect quiet as they passed over the city.
Nightingale realized she must have been in the debriefing for a lot longer than she'd thought, for the sky was beginning to darken.
After what felt like hours of silence, David spoke.
"You know, it would be an honour to have you on my team, Nightingale, if you chose to accept it," said David softly. As usual, his voice had a tinge of awkwardness, as though it were difficult for him to unbend his pride far enough to make such an offer.
While she smiled at him, Robin piped up from the back seat, his voice irritated, "Oh, no you don't! You're not getting Nightingale involved in your bloody government! You're already bad enough to put up with when you're on a case, so I don't want another of you!"
"Robin," Nightingale chided. "I'll make that decision for myself."
When she turned around, any joking in Robin's face was gone and he looked utterly serious. "I know you will, but you've seen how dangerous it is. You can't blame me for wanting you to stay away from it when you saw how it killed Claren-"
"Do not use the death of one of my colleagues as your justification for keeping Nightingale out of it," growled David, spitting the words through his teeth.
"I will do anything I can to keep Nightingale out of danger," retorted Robin, placing a hand on her shoulder. The warmth of his hand was pleasant and so Nightingale turned her head to kiss it. "Perhaps you won't, but I-"
The hovercraft slammed to a stop midair. David whirled around on Robin, twisting in his seat until he faced his friend. His eyes glinted with anger. "And I won't use the death of someone she cared about to manipulate her into making a decision not out of the freedom everyone worked so fucking hard to achieve, but out of fear!" he shouted.
Nightingale's eyes darted between the two men as they glowered at each other, both looking ready to tear the other's throat out.
It was only a beep from behind them - which Nightingale determined to be the honking of an angry driver stuck behind them - that made David turn back around and put the hovercraft in gear once more. Now, the silence that hung about them was not meditative and companionable as it had been before, but stony and miserable.
When they touched down on the landing pad outside Robin's enormous condo, David immediately sprang out, not waiting for Robin and Nightingale to follow before marching imperiously towards the entrance.
"You think I'm letting you into my house after that delightful little display in the hovercraft?" asked Robin, his dark brows arching.
David paid him absolutely no attention as the stalked straight through the door and into the living room. He threw himself down on one of the obscenely long sofas and glared up at Robin.
Robin snorted and rolled his eyes. As disturbing as the argument they'd had over her had been, Nightingale could not help but smile. She could imagine them as children quite easily at that moment - David, sitting somewhere and brooding moodily at some slight from Robin, as Robin stood glowering at him with his hands on his hips.
"Well, feel free to make yourself at home, Nightingale," said Robin, turning to Nightingale. As she watched he glanced at his wrist, evidently checking the time. "I'm off to the store, and then I'm going to pay my damned father a visit at the Heath Complex. I'll be late. Don't wait up," he added, with a meaningful glance at David.
Nightingale was about to make some witty reply, but Robin came forward. "Though I might be angry at him right now, that doesn't change things. Remember what I told you before," said Robin as he leaned forward to kiss Nightingale's cheek.
"What, that I ought to fuck him before deciding it's you that I love?" she retorted.
He smiled a touch ruefully. "Bingo," he said, and tapped her on the nose.
"But it's not fair to David to-" she began, but Robin cut her off when he laughed.
"I'm not suggesting you take him by force, Nightingale, nor am I suggesting you use your fabulous powers of seduction on him. All I'm saying is that, should you two want to sleep together, you ought to give it a try," he said.
Nightingale sighed as Robin took her head in both his hands and kissed her forehead. Then she watched as he got into the hovercraft next to David's and, in a rush of air, he was gone, jetting into the sky and out of sight.
Giving a sigh, she turned around and sat down next to David. Though, considering the length of the sofa, they were not seated close together at all.
When he looked up at her, she regarded him carefully, looking for any marks of affection in him.
"What are you still doing here?" she demanded.
"I'm here to supervise you. And before you get defensive," he added, rolling his eyes. "It's for legal reasons. You've not got 'person' status yet. You don't have a last name, or a social security number, or anything that natural-born citizens have. While the paperwork for all of you is going through, you're to be kept in government custody."
"Then why am I not in custody?" asked Nightingale.
"You're special. You're the hand-picked representative of the Inamoratas. And so it's been decided that you can stay here, as long as you're supervised," said David.
"Supervised? What, will you have to watch me at all times? Will you and Robin take turns standing over my bed while I sleep to make sure I don't wreak havoc on the fucking city?" growled Nightingale.
David looked up from where he'd been examining his hands with such intensity that Nightingale suspected it was due to a desire to not look somewhere else. "Oh, I'm sure Robin will be able to handle the night watches by himself," he snapped.
"And that upsets you, Detective?" Nightingale fired back.
"Not in the slightest," he retorted.
Nightingale laughed scornfully and sprang up. Turning her back on David, she went to stand at one of the huge windows. The darkness of the room allowed her to see the darkling sky better. However, reflected in the glass, she could also see David staring at her.
"Stop behaving like a child, Nightingale," he sniped at her.
She whirled around. "I'm-" she started, though she knew full well her behaviour was childish.
"No. You're a person now, Nightingale, start acting like it," he said coolly, his contempt wrinkling his brow and curling his lip.
"Fuck you," she retorted. It wasn't a very creative retort, but it was the best that she could come up with.
"That's another thing," said David. Now he stood and paced toward Nightingale, a glower in his eyes. He would have looked frightening if Nightingale had not known no harm would ever come to her when he was near. "Perhaps you'd like to start showing some gratitude, too."
Nightingale's mouth opened in outrage. "Gratitude? Are you-" she began, indignant anger rising in her like something tangible, surging up through her throat until it practically gagged her.
"You do know how much we've all done to save you and your sisters?" snapped David. "Do you? Clarence died because he was helping all of you, and it was damn lucky the rest of us weren't all-"
Nightingale couldn't hear any more. She just could not bear it. So, with a snarl, she planted her hands firmly on his chest and shoved him. He staggered back a few steps.
"Don't you dare try to guilt me with Clarence's death," she snarled. "You know how much I cared for him!" She stalked forward and shoved him again. This time he did not stagger but backed away, threat in his eyes.
"Don't you dare touch me," he warned.
Nightingale, angry as she was, obeyed him. Having been touched when she hadn't wanted it had been her experience for the past five years. So she she just glowered at him.
"Fine," she snarled mutinously, and she turned her head to the side and glared at the floor instead.
"Don't ever touch me again, Nightingale," he said. "Don't ever!"
"Don't talk to me like that," she replied, spitting the words at the face that was now close to hers. "Besides, you didn't seem to mind it when I embraced you this afternoon," she added, and she meant it to sting.
It must have, for David flinched like she'd hit him. They stood there for a few moments, glaring at each other. Robin's recommendation came back to Nightingale as she stared into David's face, grudgingly admiring the glint of his cold hazel eyes, studying how soft his eyelashes looked when they were so close, how smooth his lips appeared.
Nightingale shook her head and tried to look away, but a hand caught her face.
She was about to make a snarly reply, to tell David that if she couldn't touch him then he'd damn well keep his off her, but her words fell silent as she saw how he was looking at her.
Then, with something violent flaring in his face, he leaned forward and kissed her mouth. There was no gentle preamble before the kiss as there was with Robin, no soft bumping of foreheads or caressing of cheeks. David leaned forward and kissed Nightingale like he was attacking her.
She immediately responded, twining her arms around his neck and pushing herself against him, desperately trying to compare this experience to the ones she'd had with Robin, even the one she'd had with - she shivered to even think the name - Clarence.
When he drew back, Nightingale could not resist a saucy smile and a matching tone as she said, "But, Detective Beckett, I thought I wasn't to touch you!"
He ignored her jibe as he kissed her again. Nightingale flinched a little as he brought his mouth back to hers. A kiss from David wasn't like a kiss from Robin. David's was hard and forceful and hungry and more than a little toothy. Robin's was gentle, a sweet promise of later intimacy.
When David tangled his fingers in Nightingale's hair and pulled her head back hard, hard enough to hurt, she retaliated by dragging her nails down the back of his neck.
There was a little intake of breath from him and he drew back once more, but this time it was to grip her face in his hands. Nightingale closed her eyes as he planted firm, passionate kisses on her cheeks, her lips, her throat.
"Mmm," she said, and hugged him tightly. At the sound of her voice, he guided her legs around his waist, hitching her up so that she was clinging to his body, her arms round his neck and her body cradled in his arms.
Their bodies slammed back against the glass and Nightingale could feel the smooth, cool texture of it against her back as David pressed her up against the window. It was such a contrast to the warmth and vigor of David's body.
He seemed to tire of the kisses they exchanged there, and so he quickly pulled her away from the glass. He seemed to be confident in where he was going as the pair of them lurched through Robin's house, for he was able to guide them up a flight of long, winding stairs, and into a bedroom, all the while not pausing for breath.
The room was dark, but bright enough that Nightingale could see David as he undressed. From the place where he'd pushed her back onto the bed, she could see, for the first time, what he looked like naked.
He was no muscular beauty like some of her clients, but he had a lean frame and not an ounce of fat. When he bent to pull of his trousers, she could see the sinews and muscle of his back twist and stretch under his smooth skin.
Springing up from the bed, Nightingale slipped smoothly out of her own clothing. From practice, she was fast at it, and so, in a matter of moments, she stood undressed before him.
He did not pause, did not even hesitate to admire the body that for so long Nightingale had thought held no appeal for him, before he grasped her face in his hands and kissed her. His strong arms circled her and brought her close to him.
There they stood, skin to skin. David's body was hot against Nightingale's as he slowly moved his mouth from hers down her neck, leaving a trail of heat all the way to her chest, the spot between her breasts, where she cradled his head to her.
And then, with a snarl, he picked Nightingale up and threw her back onto the bed. She barely had time to catch herself before he was upon her, between her legs and kissing her lips and throat and everything else his hot, greedy mouth could reach.
"Nightingale," she heard him snarl as she, leaning up from where he'd pinned her to the bed with all of his strength, kissed his shoulder. She had little time to marvel at the delicate texture of his skin, in such stark contrast with the rough, calloused hands that were moving over her body in a motion far too rough for a caress.
She ignored his voice for a moment, exploring the feeling of his body beneath her lips. But when he pulled on her hair again, the feeling of pain sending heat surging through her body, she sank her teeth into his neck, giving him a little nip hard enough to shock but not enough to hurt him.
"You," he growled in her ear, but he did not sound angry. That sound was one of vicious pleasure.