Title: Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down
Author: Rina (Searider Falcon)
Summary: Every time he thought the day couldn't possibly get worse, it did. A "Fran Gets Mugged" continuation.
Pairing: Niles/C.C. Babcock
Disclaimer: The Nanny and its characters are the property of Sony Pictures, High School Sweethearts, and Sternin & Fraser's Ink, Inc.
A/N: A somewhat belated birthday present for Kate811, who requested a story about C.C. helping Niles when he's tied up at the end of "Fran Gets Mugged". My apologies for the delay and happy birthday, Kate!
Miss Babcock's gleeful cackle bounced against the bare walls of the mansion. Its echo lent a sinister effect to the grating noise that unraveled the last few strands of Niles' frayed nerves.
He heaved a sigh of disgust and frustration. Or as much as one could with his mouth bound and gagged by his necktie and handkerchief. His throat burned from thirst, his head pounded, and now he'd been left at the mercy of evil incarnate herself.
Every time he thought the day couldn't possibly get worse, it did.
"Well, well, dust bunny, cat burglar got your tongue?"
He narrowed his eyes at her, hoping his attempt at a withering glare still conveyed the same gravitas as an unconcealed, contemptuous sneer did. Instead, her delighted smile grew more mischievous.
Before she could continue taunting him, however, a distressed wail emanated from the back of the house. Miss Babcock's head whipped toward the sound, the mocking grin dropping from her face as she realized it came from the office. Her face paling, she fled out of the room with no more regard toward him and his predicament.
He shook his head and counted backward from ten. After all, the thieves offered him a front row seat to see most of what was taken. She made a good pace when panicked, though, as he only made it to six before a deep, dismayed bellow of "What?!" filled the empty halls.
A manic flurry of activity followed as the rest of the household reconvened in the foyer. Mr. Sheffield paced about the room, fretting over and rattling off all the antiques and valuables he knew were taken. Miss Babcock fumed over the loss of all their business files and awards. She issued empty threats of bodily harm toward the responsible party. Miss Fine, uncertain whether to be grateful or insulted at the items from her room they left behind, vacillated between sighs of relief and utterances of disbelief that no one wanted most of her vast collection of Streisand memorabilia. Or her bargain basement costume jewelry. Or the generous portions of her attire too gaudy and loud even for Vegas.
He flopped his head back and stared at the ceiling. With their outcries increasing in volume, he realized his muffled pleas stood no chance of being heard over the cacophony. If only the robbers hadn't been so technically adept in ropework in addition to their chosen trade, such as it was. His arms especially were fed up with the unnatural position in which they'd been strapped for the past hour and his wrists felt like shards of glass were embedded into his skin from his fruitless struggle to free himself from the well-secured bindings. Worst of all, even with three people wandering around the room, he still remained this way.
Mr. Sheffield finally stopped wringing his hands and gathered enough wits to call out for silence. "We need to contact the police. Did they take all the phones?"
"Mmhm," Niles hummed in the affirmative, hoping his boss would get the hint, but he resumed his pacing instead...and not in his woebegone butler's direction.
"Yeah, I tried to call Val but they got them all," Fran said with a pout. "The Barbra tea set and 8-track collection they don't know from, but even Gracie's little pink Barbie phone is gone."
"Really, Nanny Fine? We're in the middle of a crisis and you were gonna call that feather-headed buffoon before the police?" Miss Babcock rolled her eyes as she crossed the room to stand by Niles.
"I needed some emotional support in my time of need! And even she understands how valuable all those-"
"Nanny Fine!"
Mr. Sheffield rubbed his temples. "Can we please stop arguing over this and come up with a way to contact the authorities?"
"Oh! Oh!" Fran squeaked and waved her upraised hand like an overeager schoolgirl. "One of the neighbors! I think I may have seen Caroline Kennedy stop by her mother's old place earlier. Maybe she's still there!"
Both Niles and Miss Babcock snorted simultaneously and exchanged knowing glances at her not-so-sly suggestion.
"Good thinking, Miss Fine. You come with me and C.C., you stay here with Niles in case they try to return," Mr. Sheffield said, too agitated by the current predicament to consider her suggestion as the ploy it truly was. He ushered Fran toward the door. She trotted out the door ahead of him.
Panicked at the thought of being left in this state for an untold length of time, Niles whimpered and groaned in desperation to gain his attention one last time.
He turned to look at him with a stupefied stare and it still took a few seconds for it to register with him. "For heaven's sake, C.C., I thought you already untied him! Help the poor man out!"
Niles blinked back at him in wide-eyed astonishment. How had he not noticed already?
"I thought we should leave the chambermaid as he is...you know, as evidence?" Babcock, of course, feigned a air of innocence.
"C.C.!"
"Ugh, fine."
She watched as he rushed out the door to follow Fran (who was probably already halfway through telling the former first lady's daughter a convoluted version of their tale of misfortune) before turning back to him. He regarded her with extreme wariness as she towered over him and contemplated her next move in unnerving silence. Slowly reaching out, she hooked her index finger under the edge of the necktie, and ripped it from his face with a quick, forceful tug that snapped his head forward.
"Blegh!" He spat out the handkerchief and made a face. "Was that honestly necessary, Miss Babcock?"
She pretended to consider his question for a moment. "Yes."
"I suppose I should just be glad you didn't chew it off like a goat."
The blaze in her eyes filled him with immense satisfaction.
"Tread carefully, Turtle Wax. I might just accidentally realize I misunderstood Maxwell's instructions to help you."
He grunted at her. She leaned in and started to hoist the loosened tie up to his mouth again.
"Fine. Sorry. Get me out of this...please," he said, trying not to choke over the fact he just apologized and begged, only to be further distraught by the pure sadistic glee that lit her face.
"Ooo, sorry and please in the same breath from you? Do it again!"
He met her exuberant enthusiasm with sullen belligerence, making it clear he refused to repeat himself.
Shrugging, Babcock made like she was about to leave him again.
He tried a different tack. "Mr. Sheffield should be back any minute. Do you really want to explain to him why I'm still in my current condition?"
"What? Fat, senile, and decrepit? Trust me, Niles, he already knows," she laughed. "Besides, Nanny Fine's going to need at least another twenty minutes to grill poor Caroline about Jackie's estate and John-John's love life. I'll practically be back to my penthouse by then."
"On a first name basis with the Kennedys, are you?"
"Our families vacationed together a few times. Caroline and I also attended the same boarding school. She was a couple years ahead of me, though. So yes, actually, I am."
He rankled at the smugness that infused her haughty tone. Sometimes he managed to forget just how wealthy and well-connected she was.
"Funny, I thought that cute little pack of wild wolves taught you everything you kn-OW!"
Now he could add a three-inch high heel to his list of aches and pains...and it hurt so much worse, too, when he couldn't even attempt to shake it off.
"At least if Miss Fine were here, she'd have untied me ten minutes ago," he murmured, hoping she'd hurry back soon. At this point, she was probably his only hope.
"Whatever. She didn't exactly make the effort while she was whining about all her cheap crap not holding enough worth to be taken."
Well, she did have a point there. Maybe once the kids returned home from tennis camp tomorrow afternoon. If Miss Grace didn't take pity on him, Master Brighton could easily be bribed probably.
"And really," she continued. "I've yet to see any proof that Nanny Fine even knows how to tie her shoes, much less make sense of a knotted mess like this. It's not like I've ever seen her in a pair of tennis shoes or anything. Maybe that's why she wears so many heels."
"Oh, that's not true. She has a fantastic pair of knee-high boots that lace up the back and make her legs look like they go on for days." Knowing it would raise the cranky old bat's hackles, he released a dreamy sigh.
With an indignant huff, she stomped around his chair, finally setting to work on freeing him.
"Anyway, if Nanny Fine wasn't such a pain in the ass, I could've told her how slim her chances are. He's pretty serious about this Bessette girl...much to my mother's chagrin."
"And Sylvia's," he added with a grin.
She scoffed at the suggestion. "Right, like a classless tart like her would appeal to him. Not that she's his type anyway. Hell, I meet more of the qualities he seeks in a woman but I'm not his type either."
Niles raised a brow at that, thinking of the long line of tall, beautiful blondes that graced the covers of many a tabloid with the young bachelor. It galled him to admit it, but Miss Babcock fit right in just fine.
He felt a slight slackening then and he wiggled his hands and arms anxiously, hoping to expedite the process. Instead,the rope's tenacious, vice-like grip reasserted itself.
"Stop struggling against it. You're making it worse! Every time you move, the stupid thing tightens up even more."
He yelped as she gave an impatient jerk.
"God, you're such a wimp."
"Just hurry the hell up already."
"Shut up, meathead, I'm trying. Don't get your little apron strings tied in such a knot...oh! Sorry, too late!"
At last, he felt the bindings loosen once more and willed himself to remain still lest he undo her progress again, a fair challenge when the rub of the cord sent a strong and chilling sensation of needles prickling against his wrists. He heard a sharp intake of breath from her, but her movements gentled somewhat as she continued to work at untying the complex knotting.
"There!" she announced as it finally fell free from his wrists.
Carefully bringing his arms forward, he looked down and blanched as he saw the red, angry skin around his wrists where the rope had rubbed his skin almost raw. No wonder she gasped.
She came around to his side then and started to work on his left ankle. He leaned over to help free his other one, flexing both legs as they released him from the last of his binds. Mindful not to aggravate his aching muscles, he stood up slowly, glad to be past the worst of this living nightmare.
Closing his eyes, he exhaled in relief.
Babcock chose that moment to clamp her talons onto his forearm, though, and dragged him forward like a cavewoman lugging her prey back to her cave.
"Just what the bloody hell are you doing?!" He stumbled behind her, trying not to topple over the rope puddled on the floor, his body not yet reacquainted with its full range of motion yet.
"You need to do something about your wrists," she said, unaffected by his outburst. She pushed him ahead of her and into the hallway bathroom.
Skidding to a halt in front of the sink, he scowled at her, but she ignored him and instead began digging through the drawers.
"How could you let this happen? And why the hell didn't you try to fight back harder?" she spat at him as she slapped a few first aid items on the counter and yanked his right wrist under the faucet to run cold water over the burn. "Why would you just let them take everything and do nothing to stop them?"
Temper flaring into a raging fire, he stood straighter and pinned her with a resentful glower. "Oh, gee, I don't know. Doing what they wanted just seemed like the sane and sensible thing to do when they outnumbered me four to one and two of them aimed guns at me!"
Her head snapped up, eyes widening as they met his. Her ire dissipated in an instant as a myriad of new emotions crossed her face. He saw a healthy dose of shock, to be sure, but also perhaps a little anger or fear, and something that, on any other person who wasn't C.C. Babcock, appeared to be...concern?
They remained that way for a long moment, her too rattled by his admission and he somewhat taken aback by her reaction, before the extended eye contact became too much for her and she looked back down at his hand.
With a pluck at his sleeve, she nodded for him to place his other one under the tap while she uncapped a small tube of Neosporin. Turning his arm over, her nose wrinkled as she assessed the full extent of the rope burn and patted his skin dry with a clean washcloth. She continued her work in silence, tending to his wrist with surprising gentleness. After squeezing a dollop of ointment onto the injury, she carefully spread it across his wrist before placing a wide strip of gauze around his wrist and wrapping tape around it to hold it into place.
Shutting off the faucet, she held out her hand for his other wrist to repeat the process. The light brush of her fingers in combination with the cool ointment on his skin soothed him. His eyes fluttered closed as tension in his body finally eased for the first time since he found himself staring down the barrel of a handgun hours earlier.
"I still don't understand how you let it get this bad. Granted, you have a hide like a geriatric elephant, but didn't you feel the rope doing this to your skin?"
The lack of accusation in her voice almost impressed him. He opened his eyes and shrugged.
"Panic and adrenaline are a funny thing, Miss Babcock, but you're right. Next time I'll be certain to request a fine silk," he said with a slight, amused smile.
"Silk's okay but personally, I prefer a nice soft leather when I'm ti-."
Her breath caught and she froze, the realization of her accidental confession a little too late for her to backpedal. Too startled by the admittance himself, this time it was he that stared back at her, his mouth slightly agape and hardly able to process neither her words nor the unlikely sight before him: a flustered Babcock with a rosy flush coloring her cheeks. She gazed down at his half-bandaged wrist and refused to look at him.
Seeming to come back into herself a few seconds later, her right hand darted out to grab the tape. In her obvious rush to extract herself from the awkward situation as swiftly as possible, she took a lot less care this time to finish tending his injured flesh. He sucked in his breath as she wound the tape around the gauze a bit too quick and just a little too rough, but to her credit, she flinched when she realized that.
Still unwilling to meet his eyes, she gestured to his wrists. "Um, so...anyway. There you go."
He watched in a daze as she fled the room, slamming the door behind her. Not that he had enough wits about him to pursue her anyway as he considered what she said.
Unbidden, his traitorous imagination providing a picture he never wanted to admit was beyond enticing to him. A slightly breathless C.C. staring up at him through lowered lashes, both challenging and imploring him at the same time. Her wrists lightly bound and held above her head, her chin tilted upward in a show of defiance that actually only served to present the long column of her throat to his eager lips.
He saw himself leaning over her, trailing fingers down the soft skin of her exposed forearms, watching her shudder and arch into him in response. Of hovering his lips just above the pulse point of her neck, so close he'd feel her whimper of need almost more than he heard it. Of that whimper turning into a low moan of approval when he...
"Niles? Niles!"
He blinked back into the present as Fran's distinctive voice cut through his lust-addled fog followed by sound of the front door closing. The click of her heels passed by the bathroom door to head toward the kitchen, and he said a word of thanks for small favors. He was in no state to face anyone right now. He couldn't say whether the displeasure that sliced through him came from the interruption, though, or if it was with himself for yielding to such an improbable daydream itself in the first place. With a vigorous shake of his head to help clear his mind of its lingering remnants, he took a couple deep breaths and reminded himself he'd been through enough this evening. No need to add this nonsense to it as well.
Although...
Maybe he could use it all to his advantage anyway. He could sweet talk - or guilt trip, in actuality - the family into taking on some of his more arduous chores in the name of aiding his recovery for a few days at least. Turning toward the bathroom mirror, he tried a few long-suffering expressions sure to pull at one's heartstrings.
As for Miss Babcock, well, if he suffered, then so should she. He didn't intend to let her forget this anytime too soon. He knew he certainly wouldn't.
His practiced pout transformed into a sly leer as considered the many possibilities.
"Oh, Miss Babcock, is that a new leather briefcase? What took you so long? Got tied up at the theatre this afternoon?"
Laughter was supposed to be the best medicine, and he couldn't think of anything better than to have the last laugh...and if this new knowledge fueled a fantasy or two as well, then that provided its own brand of palliative care, he decided. In fact, he felt better already.