Chapter 6

An Unexpected Visitor

Christmas came and went, and soon December had given way to January. New York now resembled a winter wonderland with the crisp, white snow covering the city and the naked trees lining the avenues. It had been a particularly sunny winter, but to Niles it made no difference… ever since C.C. had gone away to the sanatorium and consequently resigned, his life had become rather empty. There was a part of him that simply couldn't go on without her, and knowing that – even if she got better – she wasn't coming back, was the reason behind the hollowness in his chest.

Visiting her at the hospital had been impossible at first, but then – just when he had hoped he might be able to see her again – she had sent her resignation letter with an explicit command of them not visiting her for the time being. He just couldn't understand why! Surely she wasn't mad at him, was she? She had only said she needed time to recover, but four months had gone by and there weren't any news from her. He had called Noel on many an occasion to check on C.C.'s progress, but the professor was reluctant to tell him anything about her treatment.

It was hard... letting time go past and not being able to see her. But everything had gotten incredibly worse after that day in the city. His mind hadn't been able to rest – that woman looked and sounded so much like C.C…. but she was too sick to be her! As far as he knew, C.C. had suffered a mental breakdown, she wasn't sick with some terminal disease like that woman in the wheelchair.

He had tried to put those upsetting thoughts to rest, but to no avail. They resurfaced almost every day, making him feel like he was trapped in a room that was progressively devoid of oxygen.

The Sheffields had noticed his sullen behaviour, but had chosen to say nothing about it – they knew what was troubling him, and they didn't want to pressure him into talking about something which they knew pained him.

Not even Max and Fran's wedding had been enough to lift his spirits – that night he had only been able to think about C.C., and about how much he missed her. Granted, Maxwell and Fran getting lost in an island had been a momentary distraction, but now a days his thoughts only revolved around the blonde woman.

As a matter of fact, Niles was thinking about her while he went to get the mail. He absentmindedly browsed through the many letters that had just arrived to the mansion – most of them were addressed to Maxwell, but he always checked if there was something for him. Part of him wished that one day he'd get a letter from her, telling him that she wanted to see him again. Of course he knew it was just a stupid fantasy, that it would never happen, but a man could dream…

Just when he was about to take the post to the office, Niles noticed a strange envelope at the end of the pile of letters. He almost gasped when he realised it was a letter from C.C.'s hospital; had she finally decided to see them? Niles turned dropped the rest of the mail over the side table and examined the letter in his hands. It didn't take long for him to realise that that letter wasn't meant to any of the inhabitants of the mansion – it was a letter directed to Noel Babcock.

He supposed it had been mistakenly posted to the mansion, and that the right thing to do was simply sending it to Noel, its true recipient… but could he really waste this opportunity to see how C.C. was doing? Could he, really? The Babcocks had maintained an almost unbelievable secretiveness about how C.C. was progressing, so maybe this was the only chance he'd get to discover if the producer was truly going back to her old self or if she still needed treatment.

It was decided then…

Niles carefully opened the envelope – he could simply seal it again and then mail it to Noel once he had read it – and retrieved a piece of paper from its insides. It contained a handwritten letter, so he went back to the kitchen for his reading glasses, took a shuddering breath and began to read.

Needless to say, the butler felt his breath catching in his throat when his eyes scanned the few lines written in it:

"Mister Babcock,

The results from the lasts tests are showing your sister is responding well to chemotherapy – her cancer is slowly receding. Given that she's halfway through her treatment, it's imperative to start looking for a bone marrow donor. However, she still has a long way to go – the type of cancer she has is extremely aggressive, so we need to act quickly.

On the downside, she is in a lot of pain and her low weight is still a matter for concern.

Apart from that, her spirits are high. Our little day out last Christmas Eve was exactly what she'd been needing.

I hope to see you soon.

Doctor Gregory Wilson, oncologist."

Niles felt like his legs were going to give out underneath him, and he staggered to the kitchen counter, clutching at the surface for support. He couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing – he refused to. He opened and closed the letter several times, as though hoping that somehow, something would be different when he read the letter the next time.

No such luck; the words were there, and they were staying. It wasn't a sanatorium he'd taken her to. It was a specialist hospital dealing in the treatment of life threatening diseases, and clearly her doctor had been in on C.C.'s plan to keep them all in the dark.

She had cancer...all this time, she'd been suffering from cancer...

That meant it had been her, that day out in New York, when he'd kept telling himself over and over that it couldn't possibly be her because she wasn't that sick, despite evidence which could point to the fact that maybe it was her. Niles wanted to kick himself. C.C. had been that sick – was still that sick, by the sound of things – and he'd recognised her but not chased after her.

He could have found out about this a whole lot sooner if he had! And he wouldn't have had to do it by illegally opening someone else's accidentally posted mail, either. He would have found out that she'd been lying to him – to everyone – for all this time.

He could have asked her why she hadn't told anyone – why she clearly wanted to go through this with as little help as possible. Well, part of the answer was obvious in that it was Miss Babcock, but she had allowed her brother to help, so why not her friends, too? Did she not trust them enough?

It pained him to think that she'd been going through this all by herself for so long without a word in the direction of the mansion, but it pained him even more to think that he'd gone for so long without knowing the truth, and that she'd looked him in the face, told him a lie and left him to worry for however long it would take for her to get better.

If she ever did, which was very much an unwanted thought in his head that he didn't allow to stay for long, due to how unwelcome it was.

There was only one call for it. He had to get back to the hospital, and properly talk with Miss Babcock. Demand answers, as best as she could give them in her current state, and get the details filled in from Dr Wilson.

Now that he knew the truth, they couldn't keep him out of that place if they tried.

He took some moments to regain his breath. The revelation on that letter had knocked him for six, and if he was to drive to that hospital he needed to be a little more calmed. Niles folded the letter and tucked it inside his jacket pocket – if C.C. asked how he had discovered about what was truly happening to her he'd simply show her the letter. She might get angry at him for opening her brother's letter, but honestly, that's the last thing he cared about.

For all he knew she could be dying! Now it all made sense: her strange mood that morning four months ago, the phone call with Noel, her smashing the window and refusing to go to the hospital...

It was a lot to take in at once, but he had to be brave. Miss Babcock, however wrong her actions had been, was being brave right then, and if he wanted to convince her to allow him to be there for her he had to show bravery, too.

He decided not to tell the Sheffields about what he had just found out, so he simply left a handwritten note saying he had had a personal emergency and that he'd be back in some hours, and left through the back door.

The road to the hospital was the most anguishing 45 minutes of his life. He couldn't stop thinking about her appearance back when he had seen her that day in the city – he had only seen her from afar, so how would she look in person? He already knew she had no hair and that she was extremely underweight, but what else would he see?

Would her eyes give away just how tired and in pain she was? Would her voice break when she talked about her condition?

Would she cry?

He shook that thought out of his head while he pulled up the driveway and looked for a space to park the car. He supposed visiting hours had already started, and if that wasn't the case then he'd simply wait until they did.

He almost didn't know how his legs carried him all the way to the front desk, where she spoke with a nice receptionist who gave him the number of her room. It was in the fifth floor – room number 55. The woman had also told him that the producer was in the middle of a chemotherapy session, so she might not be awake when he got to her room.

He had had to swallow a lump in his throat when the receptionist said so.

He had to admit the hospital was beautiful. It had everything its patients could need, but he doubted that C.C. could make use of its facilities when she was so weak...

The walk to her room felt almost eternal, but he eventually managed to get there. He stood there, before her door and pricked his ears – the only noises coming from inside were the faint beeping of her heart monitor, and every so often he would hear the page of a book being turned.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door and after a weak "Come in!" came from the other side, he pushed it open.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. She'd obviously had it shut for privacy, and what was about to come when she looked up from her book and saw that he was there would require it, if they weren't to disturb the other patients and their visitors.

Disturb other people, cause World War Three… who knew? The producer's reaction could vary wildly, and it was putting him a little more on edge than he liked, especially considering he'd come to try and demand answers and needed to present a strong front if he was to do that. He couldn't lose face in front of her, otherwise his quest for answers would come to a halt right then and there, and he'd be removed from the hospital and never know.

Seeing her up close, it was suddenly understandable why he hadn't completely recognised her from a distance; first of all, all her hair had been shaved off, and she wore a light blue bandana to cover her head. Secondly, she had clearly dropped at least half, if not more, of her body weight, and thirdly, she looked paler than the moon.

She was definitely the woman he'd seen that day in the city, and she was definitely as sick as she had been then.

The producer still didn't look up at him. Instead, she turned a page of her book, eyes scanning along the page, "Aren't you gonna say anything, Wilson? You usually have some smart comment to make."

"So I'm not the only one who realises all the fun that can be had at your expense," Niles shot back, causing C.C. to start and drop her book.

She couldn't scramble to sit up, but she pulled herself up as quickly as she could to stare at him, a range of emotions crossing her eyes – confusion, rage, surprise, fear...and something that he would have said looked very much like relief or joy, if it weren't for the fact that it was Miss Babcock looking at him. No, it was probably a misreading of emotions on his part, where she was going through so many at once.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she clearly wanted to demand, and would have done, had her voice been stronger.

"Oh, you recognise me, do you?" Niles quirked an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "This hospital really does work wonders, I must say. It's a pity they can't get their postage right, then, isn't it?"

He took the letter from his pocket and tossed it down onto her lap. C.C. picked it up and began to read, her mouth falling open.

"Shit" that was the only word that came to her mind right then. How on Earth had that letter been mistakenly posted to the mansion?! And why did it have to be so specific about her condition?! There was no sense in lying to him now – both because the letter had already told him everything he needed to know about what she had, and also because her appearance was a dead giveaway of how sick she was.

The producer supposed that he'd want to ask more questions about her condition, too – most people would, after all. C.C. could also tell he was livid, and it didn't surprise her, either – she kind of expected it, to be honest. After all, Niles was a smart man, and he surely hadn't appreciated having been lied to like he had; they might have been enemies, but secrets between them were rare, and hers was the biggest and gravest secret that had ever existed between them.

The producer leaned back against the back of her armchair and heaved a sigh, gearing herself up for the difficult conversation that they were about to engage in. She wouldn't have minded to have this discussion any other day, or rather, any other moment when she wasn't in the middle of a chemotherapy session. But she had no other option but to tell him why she had done what she did right then... C.C. knew he wasn't going to leave without answers.

That was just her luck...

Her gaze travelled back to the butler – he was standing by the door, arms folded across his front and had a deep scowl plastered to his face. She had never seen him looking so angry before, but behind the rage she sensed there was something else... she didn't dare to say it aloud, but she could clearly see concern written in his eyes and, perhaps, pain, too. Much to her relief, she didn't detect even the faintest trace of pity in his features; it was surprising just how much peace of mind that gave her.

"Well, you better sit down for this conversation; it's probably going to take a while," the producer said, gesturing at the chair next to her own.

Niles hesitated. There was a big part of him that, even though it was furious with Miss Babcock, simply couldn't bear to see her so sick. He feared that, if he got closer to her, he'd give in to the almost desperate urge to take her in his arms and whisper that everything was going to be alright and that he was going to take care of her. He wanted to be there for her, he wanted her to let him in, and the only way to do so was by having this conversation – so could he really refuse to sit down next to her?

It was obvious that he couldn't...

The butler crossed the room in a few strides and picked up the fallen book before taking a seat. He couldn't help but notice just how tired she looked... how utterly sick she was. The sight of chemicals going down an IV line and into her veins made him feel like he had been punched in the stomach, too, so he made a mental promise to try and contain his rage the best he could – she was clearly not up for any type of excitement right then, so he had to take care.

"Before we discuss why I did what I did, I will come clean about what I have," she shifted in her armchair to face him. "I am suffering from a type of blood cancer called "Mixed Cellularity Classical Hodgkin's Disease" and it's stage 3, which means it's in an advanced stage. It is also an aggressive type of cancer, and it has affected three lymph node groups in my body. Although the prognosis is good – the 5 year survival rate is 75% – I still have to receive chemotherapy for another four months and then I'll have to have a bone marrow transplant," C.C. fiddled with the edge of the pink blanket that was covering her lower body and casted her eyes away from Niles. "It's bad... but I'll get better – at least that's what Wilson says."

Niles wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He felt even worse for wanting to yell before, that much was certain.

A seventy-five percent survival rate for the next five years.

But what about the other twenty-five percent? That was three quarters saying she'd pull through, and one quarter saying she wouldn't, and even though those odds were far better than none at all, one quarter out of four was still a significant proportion. And then there was the chemotherapy, and a bone marrow transplant, too...he knew she was going to get far sicker from the treatment than she was right then, and then she had to wait and see if a donor even turned up. What if one couldn't be found? What would she do? She couldn't wait indefinitely...

At the same time, he knew that nothing he was thinking about was really that helpful. Survival rates and worrying over how well she would be in the future had no impact on the here and now. And, even though he wanted to get into an immediate discussion about why she had basically lied to his face, made him concerned for the wrong reasons, and tried to keep him from seeing and the others from knowing if she was alright, he knew it would probably make her more comfortable and less likely to throw up a wall if they eased into having a talk like that.

Getting off on the right foot would only help him when he asked again.

And he wasn't going to leave without knowing.

He nodded in reply to her statement, "He seems like a very capable doctor."

C.C. gave a half-smirk, "Oh, he is. He's also an asshole in a number of ways, too, but hey, he knows what he's doing."

Niles smiled, too. By the little he had seen from the clinic, he could already tell this was probably one of the best hospitals to treat her condition, and he supposed that her oncologist would be one of the most capable doctors, too – she was a Babcock, after all, and she'd certainly make sure to get the best treatment her money could buy.

"Then I understand why you two get along, then," Niles said, his brow furrowing slightly. "After all, you two do enjoy making others miserable."

C.C. grimaced. She knew that he was angry under his tranquil tone. She had given a lot of thought to what she had done to him, and eventually she had reached to the conclusion that faking a mental breakdown and then leaving him to worry was more than a little cruel from her part. Guilt had been an unwanted company since she had reached that conclusion, so maybe if they talked things out her conscience would be more at ease.

"Yeah..." came her lame reply.

They fell silent for a few seconds – both were aware of the other knowing exactly what they were feeling, and Niles didn't want to pressure her into speaking. But it was also implicit that he wouldn't leave without answers.

"I suppose saying sorry for what I did is not nearly enough, is it?" she asked, again fixing her gaze on her lap. She was afraid that he'd see the extent of her regret if she allowed him to look into her eyes.

"Not really, no... Why did you do it?" Niles asked.

C.C. shrugged weakly. Truth was that she didn't exactly known why she had chosen him, and she still didn't want to admit she was afraid of being pitied.

"I simply couldn't... well... abide any of you to see me like this," she gestured at herself. "And I... I never thought you'd be so worried about me."

Niles frown only deepened. How could she say that?! How could she even suggest that he wouldn't care if she had a mental breakdown?! Granted, they had been at odds for years, but he did worry for her...

"Babcock, how did that idiotic thought cross your mind?!" Niles moved closer to her, wanting her to look at him in the eye. "It was cruel of you to mock me like you did, especially when you could see I was worried for you!"

C.C.'s eyes shot to his and her lips hardened into a line. "Oh, so it was cruel of me to behave in the same way you did after you woke up from your heart attack? Remember about that? You know, that time I saved your life and you tricked me into finding Maxwell and Nanny Fine together after I had been worried sick for you?"

Niles felt like he'd been slapped. All the same emotions coursed through his body; shock, and hurt, and anger all at once. Why did she choose to bring that, of all things, up now, when there were more important things to think about? He wanted to argue that what happened when he was the one in the hospital bed had nothing to do with this, with her illness or her lying to prevent anyone from knowing about it, and therefore had no place in the conversation.

But there also came the deep, unshakable sense that she had more than a good point. Where would the retribution be in telling him? In doing things this way, she had been able to get back at him for what was, quite frankly, a heartless and unnecessary act with no real basis behind it. He didn't have to make her walk in on the Sheffields, and yet he'd done it anyway, so why should he expect her to go about things in a method that most people would consider to be the proper way, when keeping them even would be so much more satisfying?

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath, "...I suppose this makes us even, then."

"I didn't do it to even things between us," she replied sharply, snuggling in her chair. She was feeling slightly dizzy... well, it was probably the nausea. "I was merely showing you that I behaved exactly like you did. I had no way of knowing you'd care so much. I mean, I knew you'd take action to get me where I needed to be – that's the main reason why I staged my breakdown in front of you – but I never imagined you'd be so affected by my supposed breakdown."

So it was a matter of convenience? She had chosen him because she knew he'd do something to help her... Niles didn't exactly know how to feel. There was a part of him that couldn't help but be thrilled by her trusting that he'd take care of her while in need; but there was another one that was still deeply hurt. She might not have intended to hurt him in the beginning, but what about the time when he had come to visit? Surely she had been able to notice his concern, yet she had chosen to pretend she didn't even remember him…

"But what about pretending you were sixteen?" Niles argued back, always keeping his voice level. He may be angry, but he didn't want to upset her or make her feel worse than she already did.

C.C. grimaced again. "Well... I just couldn't tell you the truth. I did try to make the encounter as brief as possible, though – I didn't mean to upset you."

Niles huffed out in frustration. He now understood her aim had not been to upset him, but why do it in the first place?! Why the need to hide from her friends, to face treatment alone, to suffer in silence...

He didn't get it.

"Babcock," he said in a soft voice, wordlessly asking her to look at him. "I know that, for once in your wretched life, your purpose wasn't to irk me... but why do you do this to yourself? Why do you want to fight alone?"

Silence was his answer, but it didn't last for long. The producer suddenly shut her eyes tightly, and blindly reached out for his hand.

"Miss Babcock?" Niles asked, worry making him feel breathing was an almost impossible task. "Are you alright?"

C.C. shook her head no. She gulped and fruitlessly tried to sit back up.

"I... I'm allergic to nausea medication... I... I am about to be sick," she said in between breaths. "Give… me… the… bin…"

And that's when Niles noticed it – there was a metal bin just by his left foot, and it was obviously there for her to vomit into it if she needed to. He acknowledged her words and automatically knew what to do – he'd had plenty of practice from taking care of an entire household for so many years. He'd seen countless bouts of flu and stomach bugs, from the Sheffield children and their parents alike.

And each one had a similar result at some point or another.

He snatched up the bucket and handed it to her, just in time for C.C. to noisily hurl the contents of her stomach into it. He flinched as she did so – he hadn't liked hearing it when the family were unwell, either, but this was vastly different. This wasn't just some simple virus that would go away with a few days' bedrest.

This was life-changing.

Life-threatening.

And it made him feel helpless, because what else could he do but sit back and watch?

He had an urge to get up, to walk over to her and rub her back, to ease the discomfort as best he could and to reassure her that he was there, but that would be going too far, and he knew it. She hadn't given him permission to be so close – she hadn't even given him permission to be there in that room, or even that hospital, technically – and anything other than what he was doing right then and there would be out of the question.

She eventually lifted her head weakly from the bin, gulping in deep breaths and still coughing a little. She leaned back in her chair, hugging the bin to her.

"Is... everything alright?" he asked. He felt stupid as soon as the question had left his mouth – things were most definitely not alright – but it felt like the question one would ask in such a scenario.

"Yeah, yeah..." she replied, still trying to catch her breath back. "I'll be fine."

Niles regarded her with what he hoped was a reasonable amount of sorrow. Not the amount he was actually feeling; that might be considered too much. He didn't want her to feel that he pitied her, because he knew she'd resent that. She didn't have to be as brave as she was putting on right then. She was a woman of great pride, but pride always came before a fall.

And he wasn't going to let her fall. He'd catch her long before then.

With her arms clearly busy still hugging the bin, and most likely too weak to lift very far or move without disturbing her IV drip, he took a handkerchief from his pocket, and slowly and gently dabbed away the sweat that had formed on her brow from the effort. She looked up at him questioningly.

He indicated to her arms with his head, "You looked a little occupied."

She hesitated, as though expecting for a punchline, but in the end she smiled weakly.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Butler Boy... thank you."

Now it was his turn to smile. There was still hope that she might agree to him accompanying through her ordeal, and although she was severely weakened by her disease, the fiery woman he loved so much was still there.

She was fighting, fighting hard – cancer was not going to win without her giving one hell of a fight.

He took the bin from her hands, left it by the side of her armchair – just in case she needed it again – and sat back down on his own chair. C.C. had closed her eyes, and she wrapped herself with the warm, pink blanket that had previously been covering her legs.

It was obvious that she was not up for any more serious discussions – at least not when she was in the middle of a chemotherapy session. She was tired, and anything he had to say could wait for a few more hours.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked.

"A glass of water, and – if you don't mind – could you read for me?" C.C. indicated with her head at the book he was holding. "I am rather tired, and seeing as you love to hear the sound of your own voice, I wondered if you could do that for me."

He took the book in his hands, giving her an unimpressed look as he pulled it closer to him and set it down on the arm of the chair.

"Alright, I'll do it," he rose from his seat, heading for the bathroom. "And I'll let you have that one, too; it wouldn't be fair of me to expect a great exchange of wordplay after what you've just been through."

What she was still going through, he thought to himself as he grabbed a glass from a shelf above the sink, and filled it with water. But this was good – a good sign. She was asking him to help her, even if only in a small way. Maybe this would make asking to help her through it easier; he could come again to visit, after all, now that he knew she was here. He could bring her things from her penthouse if she were to ask, and he could bring her more books and music, too. If she named it, he would do it.

Whatever it took to help her get better again.

He returned with the water, setting it gently in her hands to make sure she didn't spill any, or drop the glass. He then returned to his chair, picked up the book, and began to read from the open page.

"More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy," he paused, and looked up at C.C.. "Really? Pride and Prejudice?"

She gave a vague movement, which Niles realised was a very weak shrug, "I read it in high school, and I've been wanting to read it again ever since. But too many things came up, and seeing as I have the time now..."

She trailed off into silence, then shook her head lightly, and made an ushering motion with one hand, "Just keep reading, Hazel."

Niles frowned. She was bored here, and stuck with it, too. That only further encouraged him to try and bring it up. Maybe he could suggest coming to read to her more often? And when they'd finished Jane Austen, they could move on to something else? Ideas were beginning to seem endless, but he decided to not distract himself with it too much as he started to read again.

It didn't take long for the woman to fall asleep, Niles had only read fifteen pages when he noticed she was no longer awake. Her breathing was slower, more paused, and her tense features had relaxed.

Good. She clearly needed the rest.

Niles grabbed the bookmark that she had left on the table by her armchair, placed it on the page he had last read to her and closed the book. He brushed his fingers against the cover – he remembered C.C. telling Maxwell about how much she loved the novel... and having been able to read it to her had made him feel strangely warm inside.

He lowered it onto his lap and his gaze travelled to the sleeping woman. Now that the air had been cleared and that she had actually allowed him to help and read for her, Niles couldn't help but feel that she now might be more open to the idea of him coming to visit. Not to get him wrong, he was planning on coming regularly even if C.C. hadn't exactly said she wanted him there, but he wanted to be more than just a visitor.

He wanted to help her, to hold her hand through the worse, to keep her entertained when the monotony of life at the hospital got the best of her...

Niles, after having noticed that there was part of her body that the blanket didn't cover, stood up and grabbed a second blanket, which he carefully placed over C.C.'s frail form. It was hard to see her like this – tired, broken and in pain... in some months her illness had turned her into a mere shadow of what she had once been, and even if her personality was still the same, he couldn't ignore the fact that her cancer had changed her.

Once the producer was properly wrapped up, he sat back down on his chair and simply observed her sleep. There was something incredibly soothing about the faint noise of her steady and tranquil breathing... perhaps it was because being able to hear it meant that she was alive.

He could feel his fears rising to surface once again – what if she didn't make it? What if her treatment wasn't enough? What if he lost her? Would he be able to go on? There was a big part of him that knew the answer was a rotund no.

"You are going to make it, do you hear me?" he whispered, giving in to his desperation and delicately clutching her hand. "You are going to win this war."

Much to his surprise, the woman stirred in her sleep, and tightened her grip on his hand – actually, she pulled it to her and laid her cheek on it, as though it were some kind of pillow. His heart gave a jolt as she snuggled against his skin, and his breath hitched slightly – though luckily not enough to wake her. He stayed exactly where he was, not willing to risk moving too much and disturbing her.

Her body might have been underweight, but her skin was as soft as ever, and he couldn't help but run one finger gingerly over her cheek. However much of her was registering his touch didn't seem to complain, giving a small but relaxed-sounding moan, and the producer slept on. The butler smiled softly, glad that, despite everything that was going on and the treatment she was receiving, C.C. seemed to be resting at least for the moment, and wasn't disturbed or made worse by his presence.

That made him feel more secure in what he suddenly realised he could actually want; if they could be like this without any problems, then there was a greater chance that he would be allowed to come back – that she would want him to come back. He could read to her again, and maybe bring her more things to do – playing cards, movies for her television, puzzles, music...the list of things seemed endless, really.

He was so caught up in imagining what he could do that he didn't hear footsteps at the door.

"Am I interrupting a beautiful and tender moment?"

Niles turned his head in the direction the voice was coming from, feeling a bit like a deer caught in the headlights. He knew who the man standing at the door was – it wasn't the first time he'd met Dr Wilson, but it was the first time that he saw him while knowing his true field of expertise.

The oncologist had a knowing smirk plastered to his face, and he made no attempt to hide it as he made his way towards the armchair. Just behind him came Nurse Cameron, who seemed rather surprised to see him there.

"Well... I... she..." Niles stammered, looking between the oncologist and Nurse Cameron.

"My, you were a lot more articulate when you thought I was a psychiatrist!" Wilson said, pushing a chair towards C.C.'s so he could sit down to comfortably remove her IV.

"I am sorry about that," Nurse Cameron piped up. "I did not agree with the ruse, but seeing as Dr-"

"Oh, please, Cameron!" The oncologist scoffed. "It was hilarious! It was better than most of my soaps."

"It was unethical!" Cameron retorted, passing a pair of rubber gloves to Wilson.

"And that is important because...?"

The nurse frowned. "God, you are unbelievable…"

The noise around her must have interrupted the producer's sleep, for Niles could feel her stirring and letting go of his hand so she could stretch. Losing the contact with her skin was rather depressing, but he figured he might get another chance... maybe... if the odds were in his favour.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Wilson said. "How are you feeling?"

"Just peachy, thank you," she muttered. Niles chuckled under his breath. There was still fight in her, even if she was exhausted. "What time is it?"

"Four thirty," her doctor replied. "Time for this thing to come out, too."

C.C. slowly sat up, rubbing the bleariness from her eyes as she did so. Her head was throbbing, but she felt well rested. She extended her hand at Wilson and the doctor swiftly removed her IV, covered the spot with gauze and scrambled to his feet, ready to help C.C. back to her bed.

Cameron went to help, too, but Wilson stopped her. "Don't worry, Cameron, Grandmamma will help me."

"Grandmamma...?" C.C. asked confusedly, her voice still heavy with sleep as she looked around, only to spot Niles in the chair next to hers. The butler looked startled, like someone had just volunteered him to do something dangerous without his knowledge and only told him about it five minutes before he was due to do it. And, slowly, as her mind began to clear a little, she began to understand what Wilson was saying. "Oh..." there was a hint of a question in her expression. "You stayed?"

He wanted to say "Of course", but something stuck in his throat when he went to speak. Maybe it was her implication that she had expected him to leave. He nodded, and he saw her features soften.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Feeling his heart swell, Niles chanced a smile, "The pleasure was all mi-"

"Ah, I am sorry to interrupt you," Wilson said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But are you going to help me move her or not?"

Niles glanced back and forth between the doctor, who was looking at him expectantly, the producer, whose face suggested that she still wasn't fully awake yet, and the nurse, who was keeping back and giving him a sympathetic look. She knew that he felt a little bit put on the spot. It wasn't like he'd meant to be holding C.C.'s hand when the doctor walked in, after all, even if it had been nicer than he could have imagined. He would have had to pull away. Eventually.

And Wilson was taking full advantage, both of the position he had found them in, and his stunned silence.

"Well, Grandmamma? We're waiting," the doctor insisted, pulling back his sleeve and eyeing his watch with interest. "Time's a-wastin'."

Steeling himself, Niles rose from his chair, and moved to help Wilson lift C.C. from hers. He slipped an arm around her back, a pain growing in his chest as he realised how light she was, and that the point his hand was resting on was her protruding spine, and together he and the doctor walked C.C. towards her bed.

The woman not only was slightly confused from having just awoken, but she was also exhausted and weak due to her treatment. Nile supposed having strong chemicals pumped into one's system would be, at least, tiring. C.C. was able to lie down on her own once they got her to her bed, but Nurse Cameron did help to tuck her in. Niles almost couldn't believe his eyes – in the many years he had known C.C. Babcock, he had never seen her look this weak before…

The producer could barely keep her eyes open, and she vaguely reminded him of a rag doll when he noticed how effortlessly the nurse and doctor moved her around while checking her vitals and getting her settled in bed. She was soon hooked up to a heart monitor and to another IV bag – Wilson said that those were the much needed painkillers – and Niles could only observe them work as he gingerly took a seat on the chair next to her bed.

"At what time do visiting hours end?" he asked Wilson.

The oncologist checked his watch. Visiting hours had already ended, but considering what had gone one between those two and how concerned Niles looked, he could allow them an extra hour. "Well, you can stay for another hour, but then you must go – after all, our mutual irritation here does need to rest."

"But now it's time for her to have dinner," Nurse Cameron cut in, opening the door to allow a young nurse wheel in a cart carrying her dinner.

"I don't want to eat," the producer groaned, grimacing when the smell of her meal creeped into her nostrils. She was not hungry, and after having vomited she didn't feel like having any more food.

Wilson frowned. "Babcock, you can't refuse food, even if you fear it might make you sick again! What part of 'your weight is 90 pounds and dropping' do you not understand?"

"I understand all of it, I just don't care," she grumbled, trying to turn over. When the attempt proved fruitless, she resolved to remain lying there on her back, an irritated noise emanating from the back of her throat as she glared sleepily at the ceiling.

"Well, that's a pity, because it just so happens that I do," Wilson took a step forward and lifted the plastic lid off her dinner, pushing the table towards the producer so the food was within reaching distance, if she sat up. "And, seeing as I am the doctor and you are the patient, my caring outranks your not caring, and you have to sit up and eat for me, okay?"

C.C. made a noise that sounded like "pfft", and Wilson actually genuinely appeared unamused for once.

"I'm not leaving – no one is leaving – until you eat something," he told her, folding his arms. "My shift isn't over for another six hours; I can wait."

"It won't do you any good; you'll be driving back to wherever it is you sit and write out those cheap lines you think make you a comedian long before I touch that plate," her voice was adamant, if still groggy.

"You know, for someone so sick, you're awfully verbal," Wilson replied. "Some of that energy would be better spent eating and creating more energy, so that you could talk to us better and we could make you better, don't you think? You take a couple of bites, and happy days, everybody wins!"

C.C. glared at her doctor – this was not the first time they had argued about her reluctance to eat after a chemo session, and knowing her oncologist, she was aware that he'd stay right there with her until she had eaten her meal. Wilson and her were similar in a number of aspects, one of them being an almost infuriating stubbornness and a ferrous will to do things they rather not be doing just to spite others.

"Fine!" the producer snarled, slowly sitting up and taking her fork in her hand. "I'll humour you so I don't have to listen to you anymore."

Wilson smirked, knowing he had accomplished his purpose. However, he wasn't about to leave before he had seen C.C. swallow down a few bites of her meal. He knew his patient was prone to doing what she wanted despite the medical advice telling her otherwise, so he wanted to make sure that she had, at least, eaten a quarter of her dinner before going back to his office.

"That's what I like to hear – I told you I can be insufferable when I want to," Wilson said cheerfully as he perched on the side of her bed.

"You are always insufferable, even when you aren't trying," she glanced at Niles – who seemed to be rather amused by the verbal exchange between doctor and patient – and smiled. "That's something you two have in common."

"Then I should thank him, really," Niles spoke, casting one of his lopsided grins. How she had missed those grins… "It gives me peace of mind to know that someone has been pestering you for me."

C.C. rolled her eyes at him, but she had to supress a smile of her own. In a sense, Wilson had been a replacement for Niles – sparring with him hadn't been as fun as sparring with Niles was, but it had been a good enough substitute. Of course, now that he knew about her condition, she supposed that the butler would want to come and visit her regularly, which meant that she'd again be able to exchange witty insults with him.

And, if she was being honest, that made her happier than she had been in months.

She wasn't sure what did it exactly, but something about what she had just thought made her appetite pick up a little more. Her stomach rumbled audibly as she took more bites, causing her to send a warning glance at Niles, as though daring him to say something about the noise, and she had to eat more in order to make sure both the sound inside her and any potential sound outside that he made would be silent.

Before she knew it, she'd practically cleaned her entire plate.

Wilson gave her a somewhat patronising smile, "There. That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

C.C. pushed her plate away and leaned back against her pillow, pouting slightly, "It was easier than listening to you, I guess..."

He might have been right, but that didn't mean that she was going to admit it any time soon. He'd been irritating enough for just those few seconds in which he'd insisted that she ate – God only knew how much worse it would get if she said out loud that yes, she had been hungry and needed it! How helpless and pathetic would that have looked? She still had her autonomy, and she was going to exercise it as much as possible before her illness took too much of it away and suddenly everyone was making decisions for her.

She was dreading that day. But for now, she felt a little better, having food in her stomach and the doctor and nurse probably about to leave to go check on some of the other patients.

That would leave her alone with Niles. Which, as awful as it would have sounded before, didn't seem so terrible considering they hadn't seen each other in so long...she'd missed him, and they still had things to catch up on.

"Alright," the oncologist said, turning for the door. "Now that my mission here has been accomplished I must go. I still have to check on the other patients – you know, the other, lesser mortals that, unlike you, do need emotional support and tell their family and friends about their condition," Wilson gave her a rather smug look as he opened the door and walked out.

Nurse Cameron soon followed him out, carrying with her the remnants of C.C.'s dinner.

The producer could feel the blush creeping to her cheeks – they hadn't talked much about her reasons to keep this a secret, and honestly she really didn't have the strength to do so right then, either. She supposed Niles would eventually want answers, but tonight – after having gone through a six-hour-long chemo session and having vomited once – she simply couldn't do it.

Niles knew so, too. He could see the tiredness in her eyes, the exhaustion... they could discuss this when she was feeling slightly better. Besides, there were many other things he wished to know – and he also wanted to ask her if she wanted him to come back again to visit tomorrow.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"I am feeling okay, I guess," she replied, snuggling under the covers. She could feel sleep trying to claim her once again, but she didn't want this talk to end... not yet. "The worst is yet to come, though."

Niles tried not to show the amount of sorrow her words caused him, but his voice wobbled a bit when he spoke. "And... and what is yet to come?"

"More nausea, for starters – I assure you the food I just ate will be in the bin in a few hours. Then the neuropathy, the feeling of having been run over by a truck and, well, I guess that's it. Luckily, I am no longer dreading my hair falling down – I took care of that problem myself," she said, taking off her bandana and setting it on her bedside table. "I shaved my hair before it fell by itself."

His eyes followed her hand as she lay the bandana on the table, and then travelled back to her face. Part of him did so very much want to weep at seeing her so ill and tired-looking, knowing that there was a slim chance it would be the last state he ever saw her in, but he was resilient in not letting her know about it. She'd only resent it, and he didn't want to leave just yet. He also wanted there to still be a chance he could come back tomorrow, and upsetting her would almost certainly guarantee that he wouldn't be allowed to visit any more.

The only problem was, he wasn't quite sure where to take the conversation. It was obvious they couldn't have the one he had come to have just yet – C.C. wasn't well enough to handle that kind of pressure. But how would he keep it going? Did he follow her comment about her hair? How could he do that so naturally? He didn't want to slip up and accidentally say something offensive.

Not when the doctor had given him permission to stay for a little longer, and he hadn't yet asked about coming back the next day...

Seeing her without hair was something he never thought he'd see, though, or even ever have to think about. Neither did the producer, if the straightforward but somewhat resigned way she spoke gave any clue as to how she was feeling. He did wonder about how she felt having to do it – having to part with something she'd had her entire life, something that was such a part of her it was practically a trademark of her looks...something that many people would describe as beautiful, and could only enhance the beauty of the rest of her...

He shook that from his head. Now wasn't the time to get caught up in daydreaming like that. Time was running short – he'd have to leave soon, and it was clear that C.C. could barely keep her eyes open. She'd need to rest, digest what food she could before the next wave of nausea hit, and conserve energy.

He nodded and rose from his chair. It was better to say nothing in that situation. Knowing C.C. like he did, Niles knew she'd appreciate his silence more than any comment that he could come up with.

Niles went to turn off the light so C.C. could rest more comfortably, but he left her bedside lamp on so the room wasn't completely in the dark.

"Thank you," she muttered, relaxing against her pillows.

"You are most welcome," he replied, chancing a smile. It was obvious that the woman was comfortable around him, and that was a motive for celebration, really.

"It was nice of Wilson to let you stay," the producer slurred, slowly losing the battle to remain conscious. "But you must come on time tomorrow – visiting hours begin at 11:00 o' clock."

Niles felt his breath catching in his throat. She wanted him to come back... C.C. Babcock actually wanted him to visit her! He had to make an almost inhuman effort not to reach out for her and stamp a kiss on her lips – she was letting him in, little by little, and maybe this was a start that would result in him being able to accompany her during her treatment.

He so wanted to be there for her...

"I promise I'll be punctual tomorrow," he eventually said.

"I know you will," the drowsiness in her voice made it increasingly clear that she was about to fall asleep, and she was more than happy that Niles was going to be the last person she saw before falling asleep. "Niles, do you think you could read for me a bit more? Maybe until I fall asleep?"

He was feeling so giddy, it took all his willpower to reply calmly to her request, "Of course."

With a smile, he picked up the book again and retook his seat. In the space of just a few hours, that chair had become the most comfortable seat he'd ever sat in, and he resolved that that place was where he would sit for all of his visits, however many in number they ended up being. It delighted him to know that it would be at least twice.

Clearing his throat overdramatically and feeling pleased when he saw C.C. smirk out of the corner of his eye, he began, "In a hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health..."

He only read a few more paragraphs before he realised that C.C. had drifted off, and he closed the book again, leaving it on her bedside table. He considered switching the lamp off, too, but figured that C.C. might want to be able to see what she was doing if she was woken in a few hours by her nausea, and would only lose precious time fumbling for the switch before she made it to the bin. Thinking of that, he moved the bin closer to her bed, too, so that she wouldn't have to go so far.

Upon finishing this, he had originally turned to leave, but got caught up in watching her sleep again. He couldn't help himself, really – she looked so peaceful, despite the illness raging in her body. He liked to imagine that she was dreaming. Of what, he didn't know, but he hoped it was happy.

As happy as he felt walking out and closing the door behind him, knowing he'd get to see her again the next day.

All he had to do now was think up some excuse for his absence to the Sheffields.

AN: Hiya! Thank you for your reviews, they are truly an encouragement and a cause of great happiness for us! In response to Kelly's review: Yes, you are correct! C.C. Babcock is one hell of a fighter. We expect you are enjoying the story and, as usua, we'd love to get your reviews!

H&L