Chapter 1

Meet Your Enemy

Tap. Tap. Tap.

That was the noise C.C.'s feet made as it impacted against the pristine hospital floor. She had arrived barely ten minutes ago, but for the blonde producer every minute felt like an eternity. It was no wonder, though, not when she might receive the news that would completely destroy her life.

She huffed in annoyance and looked between her wristwatch and the closed door in front of her. The haematologist should have called her in already, and C.C. couldn't help but to feel the desperate urge to go and simply kick the door down while demanding to be given her results. Being there in the first place was both anguishing and frustrating, really, but being kept waiting was proving to be more than she could bear.

And to think it had all started a few weeks ago during a backers' party…

Everything had been going smoothly that night – C.C. had socialised with the many backers in attendance, expertly wheedling them into investing in their newest play; she remembered they had gotten a lot more money than usual, but that probably had had to do with the fact Nanny Fine had been there, too, parading her petite body around in a skimpy dress. But it was not like she could complain about her own body, though – after all, she had lost around 25 pounds in the last two months and she looked great! Niles had teased her about it by saying she had secretly gotten a liposuction, but truth was that she hadn't done anything – and she truly meant anything – to lose weight. She had simply gotten thinner, just like by art of magic.

Every girls dream...

Anyway, back to what had happened the backers party; she had been drinking a scotch when she had felt a sharp pain on the side of her neck, and when her fingers travelled to the affected area they had come across a little, swollen lump underneath her skin. She hadn't realised that it was there before so – just to be sure – C.C. had thought about making an appointment with her doctor and get it checked.

As usual, work had gotten in the way and she hadn't make the appointment at first. However, her body had seemed to have a mind of its own and decided to suddenly remind her that she needed to do so by manifesting a myriad of strange and worrying symptoms. After that first episode with the alcohol, C.C. had been unable to drink alcohol without feeling that strange pain, and soon enough she begun to feel it under her armpits, too. Vomiting and abdominal pain had made their appearance a few weeks later – it had been then when C.C. had realised that maybe she did need to see a doctor.

She had made an appointment two weeks ago, and – just as she had suspected– she hadn't liked what she'd heard. After having told her doctor about her symptoms and having been examined by him, he had told her that – considering the symptoms she was experiencing – there was a possibility of her suffering from a type of blood cancer called Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Of course her doctor had tried to soften the blow by saying that maybe it was something else and that she still didn't need to be afraid, but C.C. was simply terrified and no amount of comforting words had been able to calm her down – the only thing that would calm her down now was a confirmation that she was cancer free.

Her doctor had made an urgent referral to a haematologist, and that's how C.C. had become Dr Jacobs' patient. The man had examined her too, and although he hadn't said that she might have cancer, the producer had been able to read the concern in his eyes. It was obvious that whatever it was that she had, it was not good at all…

Jacobs had ordered to undergo a series of test and a lymph node biopsy. The procedure had been carried out with no setbacks, and she had only been administered local anaesthetics. It had lasted around half an hour and she had been able to go home afterwards. C.C. had also chosen no to tell anyone about this mysterious condition, at least not for the time being – after all, she had always preferred to be secretive about her health... C.C. simply couldn't stand being looked at with pity or concern.

And she was finally moments away from knowing what was wrong with her...

She had been a ball of nerves these past two weeks; not knowing what she had was absolutely nerve wracking – hence her basically leaping out of her chair when the haematologist opened the door and asked her to come into his office.

"Good morning, Miss Babcock," said doctor Jacobs. "How are you today?"

She wished he hadn't asked that. It was obviously just something he said to everyone – a throwaway line that was supposed to make patients feel comfortable and give the impression that he really and truly cared beyond what was required for his profession. He'd know how she was really feeling, after having spent two weeks knowing that the days were counting down to whether or not she might be handed a death sentence.

She shut the door behind her, hovering, as though she might consider leaving again. Maybe it would be best not to know, and just take everything as it happened...

"Fine," she replied shortly.

From the tone of her voice, her general mannerisms, and the fact that the doctor would have had patients who'd behaved in the same way before, she knew it was a terrible lie. But she made no attempt at making it sound genuine – what was the point?

As the doctor seated himself at his desk, he pulled a file – her file, she knew – out from a drawer, and gestured to the seat in front of him.

"Please take a seat," he said. "I'm sure you're anxious to hear your results."

Yeah, 'anxious'. No kidding. It was something akin to having one's insides clawed out over the course of two weeks.

And yet now, when she was mere seconds away from hearing what the doctor had to say and what could be done about it, the less she wanted to know. She could barely register her feet moving in the direction of the chair, and suddenly she found herself sitting, hands clasped, with the doctor heaving a breath like he was about to give bad news.

Just like he was about to give bad news.

She was almost certain she shouldn't be able to hear her own heartbeat like she was, or feel so cold in a room that was perfectly warm.

Oh God...

"I'm afraid I have to tell you that it's not good news," Jacobs frowned deeply. "You have been diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and I have to tell you that..."

C.C. didn't hear what he'd said next. Everything seemed to blur out and her own thoughts took over.

Cancer...she had cancer...

Part of her had realised that whatever it was that was wrong with her had to be bad, but she had never expected this... she had never expected to be given what she felt like a death sentence at the age of only 35.

The producer could feel her breathing quickening, her heart galloping in her chest and her hands were trembling – her expression, however, remained impassive. She wasn't willing to show the slightest bit of fear or sorrow, and she knew this was exactly how she was going to start behaving around people from then on.

Not to get her wrong, she was scared out of her mind, but she couldn't and wouldn't bear the pitiful looks. She would show no weakness. In her life she had come across with few people who'd suffered from grave conditions such as cancer, and what she did remember clearly, were the poignant and pitiful looks ill people received. She had never imagined they would someday be directed at her...

"Did you hear what I said, Miss Babcock?" the doctor said slightly more forcefully, starting C.C. out of her thoughts.

C.C. shook her head no – she might have been able to keep somewhat calm and collected until then, but her voice had gotten lost and showed no signs of wanting to return any time soon.

"I said that you'll now need to see an oncologist – I can recommend you one if you want. Once you've chosen your oncologist, they will be in charge of planning your treatment. The oncologist will determine the staging of your cancer and then will decide the best course of action for you to take."

C.C. nodded again, snatching her file from Jacobs' hands. She just wanted to leave, go somewhere where she could get absolutely wasted and forget about the horrors that were to come – she knew that she was going to have to undergo chemotherapy, or radiation therapy or both...

Either way it was absolutely terrible.

She could almost see herself in a few months time; she'd a weak, bald sick woman, withering away in a hospital bed. She could also see the pitiful looks of her family, the Sheffields, of Niles...

No… she wasn't going to let that happen. Not to her.

"Anything else I should know?" C.C. asked rising to her feet, ready to head for the door. She couldn't believe she still had to go to work after this.

Jacobs was somewhat surprised by her cold and detached behaviour – most of his patients, especially the ones who came alone, broke down the moment they were told about their condition, but Miss Babcock seemed to be almost undisturbed by it. He supposed it was a reaction out of shock and that when the news had truly sunk in, she'd crumble down – just like everyone else did. From the little he knew the woman he was certain that she wouldn't appreciate any type of comforting words and that, perhaps, it was better to let her deal with the news however she preferred.

"Well... apart from that, no," he stood from his chair, walked to the woman and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry you have to go through this, Miss Babcock."

C.C. flinched. Those words... those horrible horrible words... she didn't want people to feel sorry for her! It had only been five minutes, at most, and she was already being pitied?! She knew people felt compelled to say so, it was expected of them, but she resented it.

"It's fine," she replied in a clipped voice, shrugging so that the doctor would get his hand off her shoulder. "I'll survive."

Not wanting to hear his reply, the producer opened the door and strode out of Jacobs' office. Right then she didn't care about being polite or even saying goodbye to the man who had just handed her a life-threatening diagnosis, she only cared about getting out of there and heading towards the mansion, where work would keep her from thinking about this for now.

She didn't want to think about her... her cancer – Jesus Christ, even thinking about it made her feel sick to her stomach – at least not for now. She'd deal with it when she got to her penthouse, and maybe then this nightmare would start to feel a little more real than it did right then.

The journey to the mansion was even more stressful than normal. The traffic was at its usual level – horrible – and it only added to the frustration and other feelings inside that just made her want to scream. She tried listening to the radio, but she couldn't focus on anything that any station played, so she ended up switching it off. The silence in the car wasn't any better, but at least it was constant, unlike the continually changing ads and songs and DJs proclaiming how wonderful the day was outside and how all the listeners should just take a moment to appreciate being alive.

Yeah, that was exactly what a woman who had just been diagnosed with cancer wanted to hear, thanks very much WABC. Really appreciate it.

She hadn't calmed down by the time she'd come clear of the traffic and found a parking space outside the mansion. Trying not to deal with it was proving too difficult, but she had to keep it under wraps. There was no way she was going to let either the Sheffields or their insufferable excuse for a servant know what was going on.

She couldn't stand the thought of pity. She had never been pitied in her life, and she wasn't about to start accepting it now. Especially not from them.

Not that she imagined the butler would pity her, anyway.

The only thing she could imagine resulting with her demise was a rather large going away party that he volunteered to do everything for.

No. They had to remain in the dark over this. And she had to pick herself up and just deal with it. She was an adult – she could handle a thing like this. It was only one day of work, and then she could figure everything else out later.

She approached the front door and rang the bell. Soon enough, Niles appeared.

"You're late this morning," he observed. "Did your broom catch an ill tailwind and send you all the way to Midtown?"

The producer simply glared at the butler, but didn't respond. She just wasn't in the mood to engage in any type of banter today.

"My, is old age finally taking its toll on your hearing?" he tried again, following her into the kitchen. "And here was I thinking that your kind had an outstanding auditory range!"

Much to his chagrin, he was only met by her silence – as a matter of fact the producer didn't even look up from the cup of coffee she was preparing. The lack of acknowledgement from her part was both upsetting and strange; trading insults as normal people trade pleasantries was their version of normality, and for some reason his favourite sparring partner seemed to be unwilling to partake in their usual games.

He frowned. What was going on with her? Maybe she was upset about Mr Sheffield and Miss Fine's relationship? No… it couldn't be that, there had been no new developments in that regard. Maybe it was something else? Had someone angered her?

Niles leaned against the kitchen counter, carefully observing as she prepared herself breakfast – which was odd in itself because it was usually he who made it for her after she got to the mansion every morning.

His eyes traced her fragile figure – after Mr Sheffield and Miss Fine had begun dating, the blonde had earned an obscene amount of weight. The only thing she had done had been eat, but in the last months C.C. had lost a more than noticeable amount of pounds. Now she was even skinnier than before Fran and Max had gotten together, and her weight seemed to drop with each day that went past.

The odd thing was that she hadn't changed her eating habits, that much he was sure. She still ate every meal, indulged every once in a while and never said no to a piece of his cheesecake. He had been getting slightly worried about that recently...

Maybe this extreme weight loss had something to do with her awful mood?

And it was then when he noticed it – his close scrutiny of her figure resulted in him spotting something he hadn't seen before: a stitched cut just behind her left ear. It looked fresh, too. How had she done that?! Had someone hurt her? He walked to her, worry written all over his features.

"Babcock what ha-"

"Shut up," the producer interrupted him and pushed him out of the way.

She took her plate over to the table, seated herself, and started to eat. Hopefully Niles would do as he was told for once and stay silent. She wasn't in the mood to hear from him right then, if she ever was. She just wanted to eat in peace, and then get to work as soon as possible. Playing any little games was the last thing on her mind.

Though something in her mind suggested that, just before she'd silenced him, he looked concerned. But he couldn't possibly have been about to ask her if something was wrong – that wasn't the way they worked. No, he was probably about to say something he thought was clever, like "Babcock, what happened? Did someone forget to shove a stick with a slab of meat on the end through the bars of your cage this morning?". That would be more like it.

He didn't care enough for anything else. Not that she wanted him to. And not that she'd let on even if she thought he did.

Niles, meanwhile, stared at the back of her blonde head in frustration. What was going on with her that morning? Had something happened that she just didn't want him to know about? It was unusual, at best, for her to turn up late without either calling first to say that she had to be somewhere else, or forgoing breakfast to rush straight into the office and apologise profusely to Mr Sheffield before immediately starting the day's work. And even then, she'd still find the time to engage in their zingers, even if only one or two before she opened up a file to read a contract or when he brought her a cup of coffee.

This woman was different, and not in any way he particularly liked...

He watched her carefully, looking for any other signs that something was definitely wrong. He'd already noticed the weight loss, and now that scar behind her ear...what could that possibly be? Had she accidentally hurt herself and had to go to the hospital to get it seen to? It didn't seem like that much of an issue if so. It wouldn't be enough to put her in this much of a sour mood, anyway.

No, it had to be something else. Perhaps Mr Sheffield knew...

"Is there something you need, Minute Maid?"

Her snapping voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he realised he'd been stood there basically staring at her for several minutes. She'd finished her food, and was now sticking him with an impatient glare. He shook his head, answering her question.

"Then would you mind either doing your job and cleaning this up, or at least shuffling your decrepit body away so I don't have to watch it staring at me?"

Niles glared back at her. What on Earth was going on with her?! The air around them was tense, and he didn't exactly know why, but he felt a foreign and unexplainable sense of dread seeping into his pores, intoxicating his very soul. They held each other's gaze for some seconds that felt almost like hours, but the spell was broken by the sound of her phone ringing. The brief moments he had been able to look into his eyes, however, had been enough for him to realise that there was something terribly wrong – the sadness in the back of those baby blues told him so.

"What?!" she barked into the phone, but her scowl soon morphed into a slightly more relaxed expression when her brother's voice came from the other end of the line. "Noel... yeah, I left you a message..."

C.C. left the kitchen in a hurry, heading for the terrace. She knew that, although she wanted to face this thing alone, it would be impossible to keep it a secret from everyone. She needed at least one person she could trust to know about it, and the most logical option was her brother. She had left him a message just before she had left for the doctor – you know, just in case she received bad news.

The terrace was deserted, luckily, and much to C.C.'s relief she spotted Maxwell walking out of the office in that very moment, following his new girlfriend to God knows where – she was alone.

"How are you doing, sis?" Noel asked, "It's unusual for you to ask me to call at this time."

"I have cancer, Noel," the producer blurted out. She figured there was no sense in delaying telling him so, not to mention she didn't have the strength to have a normal conversation just then.

There was a long, painful and tense silence at the other end of the line, and C.C. could only hear her brother's hitched breathing.

"W-what did you just say?" he stuttered.

"I have Hodgkin's lymphoma..." C.C.' voice broke, but she refused to cry. Not yet, and not there. "I was diagnosed this morning, and I need you to come to New York."

"Of course I will!" Noel said, "I'll take the first plane there. What... what are you supposed to do now? Have you seen an oncologist? Do you know the stage?"

"No, I haven't seen one, but I have to. I was so upset I left the doctor's office before he recommended me one. And as for your last question, I'll only know after I've seen an oncologist."

C.C. leaned against the glass doors, taking deep, calming breaths to remain composed. This was far more horrible than she had ever imagined...

"Don't even bother, C.C.," Noel said, starting her out of her musings. "I will take care of everything. I have a colleague of mine that is a well-known oncologist, so he will be able to recommend me a good doctor in New York."

"Would you do that? I... I..." C.C. sighed, "Thank you. I don't have the strength to do anything right now... I just want to go home and lie down until this goes away... I know it won't, though."

The producer didn't know it, but a certain butler had just sneaked into the terrace and was eavesdropping on her conversation. Niles had only caught the last bit of her conversation, though – What did she mean? Until what went away? Usually when she mentioned wanting something to go away, it was him. But this sounded serious – far more so than anything else he'd ever heard her speak about.

She sounded so afraid, and yet so resigned at the same time, too...

He couldn't help but wonder why. Surely if something was wrong, she'd tell someone. Well, she was telling her brother right now, whatever it was, but the butler would have thought that Miss Babcock would at least tell Mr Sheffield if something was wrong as well, first and foremost because he was her employer and would need to know if something was going to affect how the company was run.

"Yeah...it's gonna be rough for a while," she sighed audibly.

Was that a shakiness in her words? She was hiding it well, but some of it still slipped through to Niles. She might have not told him what was going on, but they knew each other well enough to know when they were hiding something bad, or trying to disguise how they were feeling. It came with working in the same place over so many years.

"No, they don't," her voice suddenly turned almost sharp. "And they're not going to, either, so don't get any ideas."

Now this didn't sound good at all. The "they" she had mentioned could refer to two groups: either the Sheffields, or, as was more likely considering whom she was speaking to on the phone, Miss Babcock's own parents. Niles knew that she wasn't particularly close with either of them, despite an attempt on her father's part a few years ago, but what could possibly be so bad that she didn't even want them to know about it?

Whatever it was, if it was so terrible she was limiting herself to telling only one person, then why on Earth did she clearly want to go through it by herself?

"Alright… I'll try not to worry and let you take care of everything," the producer sighed again, opening the glass doors and stepping into the office. Her brother was truly a blessing – he was going to find her a doctor and a good hospital where she could be treated, two things she knew she couldn't do given her current emotional state.

"Thank you, Noel. I'll see you tomorrow…"

C.C. hung the phone with Noel and carelessly dropped it on the green leather sofa. Now that the voice of her brother had disappeared, the silence in the empty office was almost deafening, and the blonde could only stare blankly at the floor.

She was dying, and she was terrified.

How had this happened? How could it be that only a week ago she had been feeling completely fine and now her brother had to look for a good oncologist that would eventually arrange the details of what her treatment would be and where she would receive it?

The diagnosis was crushing, and C.C. didn't exactly know why, but now it felt a lot more real than a few moments before. The producer looked around her, taking her time to gaze around the place she had worked in for the past 14 years – this reality, her reality, was about to change, and for a very long time she would not be able to even step a foot inside the office. The place that had almost felt like home would be foreign in mere weeks, probably, and she'd venture into a new and painful chapter in her life.

In a sense, there was a part of her that wished to not feel anything, just like when she had first been told she was sick, but the more she thought about it, the more anguished she felt. The room was suddenly feeling very small and devoid of oxygen, and the waves of pain and sorrow – those which had not reached her until then – were hitting her without mercy. She felt as though she were in the middle of one of those furious storms, whose unforgiving gales battered the seacoasts and destroyed everything they came across with... the news were like a hurricane, and it had finally reached her, leaving only ruin and chaos behind.

C.C. looked at her reflection on the panelled glass doors that gave to the terrace. Her reflection was the one of a beautiful woman who – although slightly skinny – had an enviable hour-glass figure, shiny golden hair and beautiful and feminine features. In a few months that would be gone... in a few months she'd be nothing but skin and bones.

She reached out and rested her hand on the glass panel, as though trying to engrave her appearance on her memory. She could feel her walls, the walls she had so carefully built over the years, tumbling down, and after giving a furious roar, she smashed her hand against the window.

And the pain broke loose...

She began to cry, not caring that she was bleeding profusely or about what Maxwell's reaction would be when he'd discovered that she had broken his window. She was falling apart, brick by brick, pebble by pebble… and she didn't care.

"Miss Babcock? What are you doing?!"

Within a matter of seconds, C.C. felt herself being pulled gently away from the glass, which crunched under her heels as Niles tugged at her shoulders and guided her towards the sofa.

Of course she should have known the butler would be creeping around outside. It was just her luck that she'd broken the pane of glass right where he could hear it. She'd never hear the end of it, either – all the ammo he could now use against her like "Did you get startled by your own reflection?" and "It's a pity reflective things don't come with little warning labels like "Objects reflected may be uglier than they appear"."

Not that any of this seemed to occur to him just then. He'd made her raise her hand up to try and stop some of the bleeding, and was checking it in the light. When C.C. went to pull her hand away – she didn't want his help; she didn't need it, and if she was going to die a little thing like a cut hand wasn't exactly going to make much of a difference – he held her arm still.

"I know it hurts, but I need to check that there isn't any glass in there," he told her, firmly but calmly. "Now hold still. I can probably patch it up if it's not too deep, but if you've gone and done yourself some grievous bodily harm, I might have to drive you to the hospital. What the hell did you think you were you doing, anyway?"

C.C. didn't respond, she simply shrugged and resignedly allowed him to take care of her injured hand. The cuts weren't too deep, she could tell so, but she was bleeding a lot – the dizziness she began to feel told her so.

The butler didn't insist on getting an answer to his question just then, he was more worried about her hand to think about the reasons for her to idiotically destroy a window with her hand. The British man helped her stand up, guided her to the stairs and they made their way up to his room. She had her hand wrapped in a dish cloth Niles had given her, but as soon as they got to his room, Niles handed her a towel.

"Press this over your wound until I get something to clean it up," he ordered, looking for the first aid kit. He noticed, with no small amount of worry, C.C. didn't exactly seem interested in stopping the blood flow, but he had to act quickly, and reprimanding her would only slow things down. He carelessly retrieved some gauze, alcohol and bandages from the kit and then took the woman to the sink. She yelped in pain when he forced her to put her hand under the stream of warm water, but it allowed him to clear some of the blood and carefully remove the shreds of glass that were still in her wound.

"Now, I know you usually prefer to drink this stuff, but I trust you'll bear the burn," he said, unscrewing the cap of the alcohol bottle and pouring a generous amount on her open wound.

C.C. saw stars from the pain, but she endured it like the big girl she was. She'd have to endure a lot more in the months to come, after all. She merely moaned when he applied a second dosage of alcohol before drying the wound and bandaging it the best he could.

The butler gave his handiwork a once over and nodded, satisfied.

"You'll be ok, but I think we better go to the hospi-"

And it was as though an alarm had gone off inside C.C.. Going to a hospital?! With Niles?! No way! For one thing she wasn't willing to step a foot inside one until it wasn't absolutely necessary, and secondly, because she'd perhaps have to mention her condition – or worse, some dumb doctor would let it slip.

"I am not going to the hospital," she spat.

Niles' mouth hardened into a line, "So you're just going to let it be, hm? I can only do so much, you know – what if there's still glass in there that I've missed? What if it becomes infected because the alcohol wasn't enough? What if it needs stitches, Miss Babcock?"

He had some good points. But that didn't matter. If some doctor slipped up in front of Niles, the plan of keeping everyone out of her private business would be well out the window. Nanny Fine would know the minute the butler stepped through the door, which meant that Maxwell would know within the hour, which meant that they'd all be there around her with that godawful look of pity in their eyes and that was the last way she wanted anyone to ever look at her.

No pity. No feeling sorry for her. She'd been too strong her entire life for that, and there was no going back now.

"Oh come on, Niles, you know it's not gonna need stitches," she scoffed. "They're not that deep!"

"How can anyone tell that for sure?" he argued. "I'm not a doctor, and neither are you. And that doesn't take away the fact that that glass is thin and I could have easily missed some!"

"And if I feel a sharp pain in my hand later I'll know and I'll go to the hospital myself!" she snapped. Fat chance, she thought to herself. The injury she'd caused herself was fine, and she knew it –she'd be in a hospital soon enough, anyway. "But I don't need anyone to take me, and I especially don't need you!"

The woman flounced out of his room, tossing the bloody towel in which her hand had been wrapped to the floor. She didn't need this, she didn't need anyone to be looking after her now – not when she'd soon be confined to a hospital room and need to be constantly looked after by doctors and nurses.

For now, she just needed to be alone.

Niles could only watch her go in stunned silence. Nothing about her behaviour made sense to him... the unwillingness to banter with him, the phone call with Noel, smashing a window with her hand, refusing to go to the hospital... it simply didn't make sense.

He only knew that, whatever it was that was troubling Babcock, it had to be bad. And he'd be damned if he didn't find out soon enough.

AN: Well... not surprisingly TheCrownedLioness and I have come up with a new story! I know we have "After All" in progress, but we promise we'll update both stories regularly. I (L) am a week away from finally finishing classes (I am a teacher) and next week H will be on winter break! As for those of you who are wondering about my (L) other stroy, "Little Talks", I'll be uploding the new chapter this week!

Anyway, we hope you enjoy our work and please we'd love you to review! It makes us really happy and encourages us!

H&L