A/N: Well, I told you to never count me out when it comes to this story. lol
Chapter 12
Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it. I'd like to be my old self again, but I'm still trying to find it….
The air of the Sheffield mansion was suffocating. C.C. struggled as she drew a deep, shaky breath that did not quite fill her lungs as she glanced back down at the paperwork in her hands. She groaned to herself as she reread the same paragraph for the third time without retaining a word of it. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she rubbed her throbbing temples roughly. She rolled her neck from one shoulder to the other, desperately searching for relief from the aching pain hammering away at her skull. Not even the distraction of her work could shake the overall sense of uneasiness that coursed through her body. Something was not right. She had never felt so out of place at the mansion in all the years she had worked for Maxwell Sheffield. Like a stranger in a strange land, she thought to herself…
"Are ya feeling okay, sweetie?" Fran's voice pierced through at last.
As if to soothe herself, C.C. clung tightly to the black silk scarf around her neck. She sighed bitterly as she rose suddenly to her feet, drawing troubling looks from both Maxwell and Fran. She had to get out of the office, somewhere far enough to where she would no longer be susceptible to Maxwell's concerned side-glances and Fran's sickeningly endearing "sweetie," "honey," and "dear."
"I'm fine," was her clipped reply as she fled the office as quickly as her weary feet could carry her.
C.C. wasn't certain when the kitchen had become her trusted route of escape, but she accepted it nonetheless. At least the kitchen could provide her with sustenance and perhaps a remedy for her pounding head.
"C.C.," came the simple but questioning greeting.
At the sound of his voice, C.C. relaxed her shoulders, not having realized how tense her body had been. She shook her head, reluctant to meet his eyes for fear of the concern she knew would be written there. Before she had the chance to retreat, however, Niles had crossed the expanse of the kitchen floor and had taken hold of her shoulders, as if to steady her.
With his arms nearly enveloping her, C.C. nearly gasped, feeling suddenly as if the air had just been pushed back into her lungs.
"Are you okay?"
C.C. should have been annoyed with the question. She should have pulled away and told him that of course everything was fine. But the warmth and gentleness of his voice soothed her, enraptured her completely.
With two fingers, Niles tilted C.C.'s head back tenderly. She looked up at him with partially hooded eyes. Meeting his gaze at last, a familiar, yet recently elusive, whisper began echoing within her. Home.
"Can I get you some tea?" he offered.
C.C. crinkled her nose but grinned softly.
"If you must."
He chuckled, knowing how much she missed her coffee but grateful that she had finally listened to him lecture her about how the caffeine wouldn't have been good for the baby. She eyed him uncertainly as he worked to pour her the herbal tea that she didn't care to try and learn to pronounce but that he had assured her would be good for both her and the baby. C.C. would never admit it to him at this point, but she had already found that she was growing quite fond of the taste.
"Have a seat," Niles offered as he handed her the freshly filled mug, "And do tell about the most recent target of your wrath."
C.C. laughed softly as she took a careful sip of the tea. At the sound of his returned laughter, C.C. felt herself relax even further.
"Better?" he asked her quietly.
Home.
She nodded and placed a soft kiss onto his cheek.
"Better."
Home.
To be continued