Chapter Thirty-Five - Author's note: did you know this story has a sequel? It's titled "Immortality" and I update regularly (I promise I do!). Want to see more of Nightingale and David? Check it out on my profile!
Nightingale awoke some time later to feel someone entering the room. Though the footsteps were quiet, her heightened senses did not miss their approach. Opening her eyes, she looked up to see Robin standing above her.
"Well, this is awkward," said Nightingale, her words an echo of Robin's from what seemed like so long ago.
Robin chuckled and sat down on a chair next to the bed. He dragged it close so that he could pat her forehead as she rolled onto her side so she could see him better.
"Here I am, in one of your beds, talking to you after I've fucked one of your friends. How terribly awkward," she said, voice turning sardonic at the end.
"Only awkward for me, Miss Nightingale," said Robin. "You've got no understanding of the sexual norms of humanity. So, for you, your...promiscuous behaviour is not...deplorable."
Nightingale looked up at Robin, propping herself up on one elbow. She was curious about what he meant. Never had he seemed so at a loss for words. Usually, Robin was overflowing with bombastic verbosity. But he'd struggled with the last sentence.
"Has my behaviour been deplorable?" she asked. From no one else would she have accepted such a judgement of her character, but from Robin she would accept it tamely.
"Perhaps by human standards. But we cannot judge you by human standards. Not about this. Not yet," said Robin. "Sex has been your currency for five years, Nightingale. So it's understandable that you'd use it in ways that seem mystifying to us humans."
Nightingale nodded. As always, Robin's voice rang with wisdom. "Besides, you encouraged me into this," she added. "This...promiscuitity."
"I did. But I'd no idea you'd get so far with David so quickly," laughed Robin, his delightful laugh rippling like a sweet song. "The poor man must've been practically dying from lust to have been so enthusiastic."
Nightingale snorted. "Tell me about it," she muttered, more to herself than to Robin. "Where is the dear detective, by the way? He did what Bobby would have not-so-affectionately called a 'fuck-and-dash'."
"What a charming turn of phrase," said Robin, sarcasm heavy in his voice. "And David's downstairs, by the way. And in quite a foul mood, too. When I got in, I hadn't even opened my mouth before he turned his back and flipped me off rather rudely."
Nightingale rolled her eyes. "He's emotionally challenged, that one," she snapped. David, even after he'd fucked her with his attraction to her all too clear, could not even confess to his feelings for her. Indeed, he had not even spoken to her since.
"Like you, perhaps?" ribbed Robin with a delicate humour.
"Not like me. I'm rather proficient at showing my feelings, Mr. Brightley," she returned.
"So I can see," he said, gesturing with one hand to her body, which they both knew was stark naked under the sheets.
Nightingale and Robin sighed in unison.
"What were your reasons for chucking yourself at so many men?" asked Robin.
There was another pause, during which Nightingale heaved another sigh, this one seeming to come from the bottom of her soul. Her eyes wandered downward, following the line of Robin's jacket to the smooth, dark pattern of the bedspread.
"I went after Clarence because when he touched me in the lab, it had felt good. All my life, men had touched men and it had felt horrible. But he...it was different. So I pursued him," said Nightingale. She looked down, unable to look up into Robin's face. "I was originally going to seduce you, you know. But since you refused me, I went after the next best option, which was Clarence. But you were always my first choice."
"And David?" he asked. "Why him?"
"Dumb fucking curiosity more than anything else, I'd say. I'm not like other people, Robin, I don't know what sex is supposed to be," she said. "But it was also because you advised it. I wouldn't have done it without your blessing."
He reached down and lifted her face up, his long-fingered hands under her chin, pulling her face up so that she would have to look into his face. And when she did, she saw his sweet eyes alight with kindness.
"I expected you to say that," he said gently, with an accompanying chuckle. "Though it is gratifying to hear your...devotion to me." His sentence ended with a tinge of self-mockery.
"Oh?" said Nightingale. "Got me all figured out, then, Robin? Tell me, because I don't have a fucking clue about me."
"Yes, I think I have figured the mysterious Nightingale out," said Robin. He stood, getting up from his seat by the bed, and came to sit next to her on the bed instead. "I had quite a bit of time to think today and I've finally got my answer."
Nightingale sat up. She watched as Robin blushed and turned his face away. Looking down, she saw the reason for it. The sheets had fallen away, exposing her breasts. Smiling softly, she covered herself and was pleased when Robin looked more comfortable.
"My solution is this: you're a child," he said.
Nightingale would have protested in outrage had she not agreed so wholeheartedly with him.
"You've spent all five years of your life living in the bordello, being raped my more men than I think both of us could count on our fingers," he said. His voice took on the air of gentle explanation with a tinge of mocking. "You've got no sense of what monogamy is, and even if you did, why would you ascribe yourself to it? You've just got your liberation - including your sexual liberation - so why the hell would you ever limit yourself to one man? You're trying to discover, trying to make up for every lost feeling you've ever had. You're not being selfish, or - dare I use the word before you - whorish, but simply curious."
They paused for a moment as Nightingale considered Robin's words. Every syllable of his words rang true, seemed to echo with verity.
"I'm sorry if that sounded crazy," said Robin, with a little laugh. "But I-"
"No. You're completely right," said Nightingale, her voice almost vicious with vehemence. "You're absolutely, completely right."
Robin smiled at her, that lovely, soaring smile.
"And did you make an predictions for my future, Mr. Brightley?" she asked, cocking her head and trying to match the brilliance of Robin's smile.
"I did indeed," he said. "I've a hypothesis for your future."
"Tell me," she purred.
"I'd like to hear it from you, first," he said, patting her cheek affectionately. The warmth of his fingers was wonderful and Nightingale wanted nothing more than to embrace him, but she refrained.
Nightingale paused to collect her thoughts before she went on. "I'm done with my...discovery, as you call it. I've had enough of it. Now, I want one man. Just one. I tried to sleep with Clarence because I was curious and frustrated, I slept with David to see what the hell it was like, but now I'm done with that."
Robin nodded silently.
"Besides, you never asked me about the most important person," said Nightingale, touching Robin's hand.
"Oh?" he asked.
"You never asked why I slept with you," she said. "That I did because I...love you."
Robin looked down at her. He was silent, patiently listening to her. His face was inscrutible in the way David's usually was. She wondered, yet again, if it was something Robin had learned from David in their years together.
"David asked me in the bordello if I loved you. I told him I didn't know what love was," said Nightingale. She ran her hand along Robin's arm, feeling the rough texture of the tweed of his jacket under her palm. Then, grasping his hand, she gave it a squeeze. "I still don't. But I do know that I love you. I didn't love Clarence, and I certainly don't love David. As much as I care for him, he's too vicious and brutal for me."
Robin laughed softly. "Are you sure, Miss Nightingale?" he asked.
"Yes," she told him. "I've now come to terms with the delicate issue of monogamy, and I've decided who I'd like to be loyal to. Provided he'll have me, of course." The tone she affected at the end was shockingly similar to Robin's, what with its gentle self-deprecation.
Robin's laugh was louder this time. "Of course I will, Nightingale. You know I'm terribly fond of you."
Nightingale glared at him. "Terribly fond" was not the answer she wanted.
"Silly Nightingale! Do you really need me to say out loud that I love you?" asked Robin.
Nightingale sighed. "I suppose not."
They both laughed softly before Robin spoke. "I have something for you, by the way."
Nightingale's eyebrows rose. "Oh?" she asked.
"I picked it up on my way home from the Heath Complex," he said. He moved to stand, but Nightingale pulled him back down.
"How was your father?" she asked.
Robin grimaced. "That's another story for another time," he said. "My father and I don't get along. It's a long and complicated relationship that I wouldn't care to get into now. Now, here, I'll show you what I found."
Nightingale sat up as, at a word from Robin, the room was infused with a gentle light. It was dim enough to retain some charm, but bright enough that Nightingale could see the thing Robin was bringing towards her.
Sitting on a perch in a smallish cage was a bird. With its drab brown plumage, it would have looked like nothing special to an ordinary person. But to Nightingale, who had never seen an animal before, the creature was miraculous.
And then it opened its beak and began to sing. Nightingale paused for a moment in rapture to hear a voice more beautiful than her own, even one more lovely than Robin's. Once the bird closed its beak and the song ended, Nightingale looked up at Robin.
"Go on. Take her out of the cage. She's quite tame," he said.
Nightingale reached forward and, opening a small door in the side of the cage, tentatively sticking her hand inside.
She gave a little laugh as the bird obligingly hopped up onto her fingers. It stared at her with wide black eyes before giving a little chirp.
"What is it?" she asked, managing to tear her eyes away from the bird to gaze up at Robin.
"This, my dear girl, is a relative of yours," he said, laughing softly. His laughter intensified when she gave him a mystified look. "She's a nightingale."
Nightingale laughed and looked down at the bird. The bird chirped again. "Hello there, little one," cooed Nightingale, shocking herself with such a nauseating display of affection. "Aren't you pretty?"
She must have not been the only one who noticed her behaviour, for Robin gave a most unnattractive snort of laughter.
"Silly Nightingale," he said. And, fully clothed, he pulled back the covers and crawled into bed next to her.
With a sigh, Nightingale let her head flop against Robin's shoulder. And there they sat, the three birds, a strange family of sorts. Nightingale sat there until, sinking into sleep, she felt Robin lift the nightingale back into her cage and then, as gently as he'd handled the bird, tuck her into bed.
There was a soft hand that swept her hair back from her face, and a pair of lips that kissed her forehead, and then Nightingale drifted into sleep.