C.C. Babcock had been hospitalized for three days, and on the fourth, she was finally allowed to get out of bed and walk around. To her mind, the best part of this was being able to go to the bathroom on her own.
"If there is one great equalizer in the world." she thought to herself, "it is the bedpan."
She shuffled awkwardly that first day to the bathroom, her sense of balance not what it used to be. She attended to matters, and, as she stood at the sink, washing her hands, she looked up into the mirror. She had to grasp onto the sink to keep from swooning as she studied her image. She had two black eyes, her right cheek was bruised and swollen, and she sported a neck brace.
"Oh my God..." she sighed as she gazed in the mirror. "I look just as bad as I feel...."
As she walked haltingly back to her bed, the thought occurred to her that Niles and Maxwell had seen her in this condition. C.C. Babcock was not used to being seen in anything but her professional persona – elegantly dressed and perfectly made up. She crawled back into her hospital bed feeling both physical and emotional pain..."oh, geez, why did they let them in when I looked like this...."
A bit later, Dr. Kemel sat by her beside to chat.
"How are you feeling?" he asked kindly.
"I feel like hell, what did you expect?" C.C. asked petulantly.
Dr. Kemel knew to expect her moods and continued benignly.
"Do you have any physical complaints? Do you hurt anywhere? Tell me what you feel."
C.C. lay still for a few moments and tried to concentrate.
"My head is a mass of sharp daggers stabbing into my brain, and it's worse when I move," she told the doctor.
"That's understandable," he smiled, taking her hand. "Imagine an egg. The yolk is surrounded by fluid. Much like the brain. It is surrounded by fluid between itself and the skull."
C.C. tried to concentrate on his accented English and his strange analogy.
"When we opened your skull to operate, much of the protective fluid was lost. So when you move, your brain is bouncing about your skull without cushion," he said, looking pleased with his explanation.
"Oh, lovely." C.C. replied, picturing those 'this is your brain on drugs' commercials. "When will it get back to normal?"
"Your head is regenerating fluid as we speak, and within a few weeks, you'll have replenished the protective cushion. In the meantime, we can give you medication to help alleviate the pain."
"Well, then, lay it on me, doc, because my head hurts like a son of a gun."
Dr. Kemel made notes on C.C.'s chart.
"The nurse will be in presently with some medication. In the meantime, do you feel up to some visitors?"
"Sure," C.C. sighed, figuring Maxwell and Niles must be tired of hanging around this Third World hospital. "Send them in."
"C.C.," Maxwell said as he approached her bedside, "the doctors say you'll be ready to leave here the day after tomorrow."
"I'm sure that pleases the both of you," she replied dryly. "I'm sorry you've had to stay here as long as you have...however long it's been." She tried to concentrate, but she wasn't sure how long she'd been in the hospital.
Niles stepped forward and stood at the head of her bed.
"How are you feeling, Miss Babcock? Can we get anything for you?"
C.C.'s defiant exterior melted somewhat as she looked at him.
"I'm OK, thanks. Just thirsty right now...."
Niles dashed from the room and returned a few minutes later, bearing a glass of ice water with a straw. He held it for C.C. as she sipped.
"Ahhh..." C.C. sighed after a prolonged drag on the straw, "that feels so good." She paused then looked up at Niles. Their eyes met. "Thank you." A beat. "Scrubbing Bubbles," she added as an afterthought.
Glancing at Maxwell she said: "Why don't you go home? I'm OK and I don't want to ruin your Christmas. There's nothing you can do here."
"You're not ruining anything," Max assured her, "and we'll all be home in plenty of time for Christmas. Besides," he added with a mock sad face, "I thought our visits were making you feel better."
C.C. felt agitated and angry. "Why did this have to happen? I'm screwing up everyone's holiday." She felt guilt in addition to her physical pain. Christmas was just another day to her, but Max had a family.
"Miss Babcock," Niles said, reaching out and taking her hand, "as much as you like to think so, time isn't standing still for you. Christmas will come and go whether you're here or at home." He paused, then added softly, "it just won't be a holiday until you come home." He cleared his throat and spoke with a new definiteness. "So just get used to it and let us know when you decide to get your well-padded toochis out of this bed."
"Scullery maid," C.C. hissed.
"Black-eyed Susan," he responded. She winced, thinking of her twin shiners.
Their exchange was interrupted by a nurse who suggested that the patient could do with some rest. Max and Niles took their leave and headed back to the hotel.
C.C., meanwhile, underwent the ordeal of having her head bandages removed. She was surprised to see after the unwrapping that most of her hair was still intact. Intact, but gamy. After her wound was redressed, a nurse gave her a dry shampoo. The next time C.C. saw herself in the bathroom mirror, her hair was lumpy and misshapen, but still there, save for a chunk over her right shoulder. She stood there for some time, examining herself in the mirror. Suddenly there was a nurse behind her, guiding her back to her bed.
"You have such lovely blonde hair," the nurse said as she eased C.C. into her bed. "It should be easy to cover up the hole after the bandage comes off."
C.C. pulled up the covers and sighed. "Speaking of hair, why did they only lop part of mine off?"
"Lop?" the nurse smiled in confusion.
"Lop off, cut, whatever...why didn't they shave my head?" Truth be told, she was actually relieved when the bandages had been removed. In addition to her physical pain, she'd been aching deep inside somewhere, secretly trying to picture herself as a cue ball.
"Oh," the nurse nodded her head, understanding now. "It was a request."
"A request? No one asked me anything," C.C. replied angrily, knowing she'd been in no shape to make decisions when she'd arrived.
"One of your friends, I believe. The yellow-haired man. I heard him talking to the doctor about it." With that, the nurse left, with instructions to C.C. to ring if she needed anything.
"Oh." C.C. was speechless for a moment, which was a rare occurrence for her. "Niles?" she thought. "He bothered to talk to the doctor about something like that?" She closed her eyes, but didn't sleep. What did it mean? An actual act of kindness from the Whisk Broom? She'd grudgingly admitted to herself on the plane that she had feelings for the butler, but could it be he had some for her, too? Her head was aching and spinning. "He hates me," she thought, "he's made that more than clear. And yet..." Exhaustion finally overtook her and she dozed restlessly, dreaming of a butler that manhandled and overthrew many men with guns single-handedly...
Back at the hotel, Max and Niles were preparing to check out, finally. They'd received word that C.C. was well enough to be moved, and transport had been arranged via an Air Force cargo plane. Both men were worn from lack of sleep and stress.
They each packed in silence and then met while the bell boy collected their bags.
"Well, it'll be good to get back home, won't it?" Max said in a conversational effort.
"Yes," Niles responded, his thoughts miles away in the hospital room.
They met C.C. in her hospital room, ready to escort her to the waiting ambulance. C.C. emerged from the bathroom dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and matching fleece pants, thanks to Niles, who had had the foresight to buy them for her from the hotel gift shop. He'd realized that C.C,'s clothes had been cut off of her, and she certainly would not want to return home in an ill-fitting hospital gown.
"What's the matter, were they out of the shirts that said 'I'm with Stupid'?," she'd asked sardonically when presented with the outfit. Immediately after the words escaped her lips, she mentally kicked herself. "What's wrong with me? He was being genuinely nice, and I dump all over him."
"Is everyone ready, then?" asked an attaché sent by the American Embassy.
C.C. sighed heavily, with a head that was pounding. "I guess so."
She was helped into a wheelchair, despite her protests, and wheeled to a service entrance where the Embassy had a limousine waiting. Despite the supposed secrecy of their departure, there were about a dozen reporters and photographers waiting near the exit, all shouting questions and snapping pictures as Niles guided C.C. into the limo, and Maxwell brought up the rear.
Everyone was quiet for most of the ride to the Air Force Base, when C.C. broke the silence and asked "any idea what happened to my luggage?"
"It probably burn—" Max began, but was interrupted by Niles.
"Have you heard any information regarding the outcome of your flight?"
"Not a word," C.C. sighed, vaguely thinking of Randall and Victoria and Hayim. In the back of her mind, the question nudged her – why did she survive and the others didn't?
"We haven't either," Niles responded, casting a sidelong glance at Max. "Perhaps they will notify us once things have been resolved." Niles wisely decided that now was not the time to inform C.C. of the massacre that had eventually ended the hijacking of Flight 181.
The cargo plane that took the trio back to the US was not luxurious, but it served the purpose. There were a few seats, two long benches, and a netted-rope hammock that was suspended from the roof for C.C. to rest in during the flight. She was doing well, all things considered, and was able to sit up and walk for short periods before becoming overwhelmed with fatigue. Headaches still plagued her, and she looked forward to her arrival at Walter Reed where they would at last provide her with more pain medication.
"I spoke to your mother," Maxwell said to her mid-flight. "She's quite worried and sends her best wishes."
"Hope she didn't strain herself," C.C. muttered.
"Your brother Noel wants to come see you when we get to Washington..."
"Maxwell? Do me a favor. Tell everyone I'm OK, but I'm not up to having visitors for a while, OK? I'd rather be left alone for a while."
C.C. sighed heavily. The last thing she wanted was sympathy and pity. She felt like crap, but she'd get over it. No one ever saw C.C. Babcock other than at her best, dressed for success and ready to take on the world. It was bad enough Niles and Max saw her bruised and weak; she'd be damned if anyone else would see her that way.
Walter Reed was another circus, with the press out in force, elbowing one another to snap a photo or shout out a question. Niles protectively took off his sport jacket and gently wrapped it around C.C., shielding her from the cameras.
She was quickly checked into a private room and left to get some rest. Max immediately called Fran to advise her of their arrival.
"Thank God you're home safely!" she exclaimed with feeling. "How is Miss Babcock? Can we come up and see her? The kids have been so worried...."
"She's doing better," Max assured her. "And don't bother coming here, she doesn't want visitors right now. But I'll be home tonight, and I'll tell you all about it."
"Oh!" Fran squealed loud enough to turn many heads in the waiting room, "I didn't know she was doing that good! I can't wait to see you!"
"No, she'll be here until the day after tomorrow," Max explained. "Niles has volunteered to stay here with her until then. I've got work to catch up on....plus I miss you, of course." He smiled to himself, knowing he was purposely needling Fran.
"Yeah, I've got yer 'miss you', Mistah," Fran cackled. "It'll be so wonderful to see you. I've been sleeping with one of your undershirts, just to get a whiff of your cologne, you know."
"Soon you'll 'whiff' the real thing, Darling," Max purred. "I'll fly back up here when C.C. is discharged. In the meantime, keep my side of the bed warm...see you soon!"
"Love you!" Fran drawled.
"I love you, too, Miss Fine," Max sighed.
The limo pulled up slowly in front of the house, trying to weave its way in between news vans and reporters.
"We can try and make a dash for the side door," Max said, peering out the window.
"I don't care," C.C. sighed. She was tired and cranky. "Just point me in the direction of a door."
Maxwell and Niles formed a protective shield around C.C. and the trio pushed through the crowd and up to the front door.
"Home at last," Niles smiled as they entered.
He was almost knocked off his feet by the enthusiastic greetings of Fran and the children.
"Welcome home!" Fran exclaimed as she kissed his cheek for the third time. "It seems like forevah since we've seen you."
The group became subdued suddenly and shyly addressed Miss Babcock, who'd been standing there awkwardly during the homecoming activities.
"Miss Babcock, so glad to have you here, how are you feeling?" Fran asked, taking C.C.'s arm. She looked at the bandage on the lower back of C.C.'s head and felt afraid to touch her.
"I'm OK, thank you," C.C. responded. She would've denied it under oath, but at the moment she was feeling jealous about the warm welcome Niles had received.
"I'm glad you're OK," Grace stepped forward bashfully, "we were so worried. But we didn't talk to the press!" she added triumphantly.
"Thanks, I appreciate that, G...um, Gertie."
C.C. edged forward and took a seat on the living room sofa. Suddenly it seemed like everyone was hovering over her.
"Can I get you anything?"
"What can I do?"
"Would you like a snack?"
The voices all blended into a blur, and C.C. closed her eyes. Niles stepped forward and ran interference.
"I think what Miss Babcock needs right now is some rest. They put her through her paces at the hospital before they let her leave," he smiled.
As C.C. headed upstairs, leaning heavily on the railing, she recalled her time at Walter Reed. So many questions, so many tests. Why wouldn't they just leave her alone?
Niles climbed the stairs one step behind her, lest she fell. He tried to be subtle, but C.C. knew what he was doing. She was too tired to complain, though; it seemed to take all her concentration just to hold on to the banister and work her way upstairs.
She entered the guest room and sat down on the bed to catch her breath and get her bearings.
"Naturally, we'll have some of your belongings brought over from your apartment...your landlord was kind enough to give us a key, since your purse was left behind." He still didn't think it wise to mention the inferno that was the end of the hijacking.
"Any excuse to paw through my underwear, eh, Hazel?" C.C. replied in a half-hearted attempt at humor.
"Trust me, Miss Babcock," he responded, "if I was that interested in your undergarments, I could've visited the special order department of Gotham Tent and Awning long ago."
"Well, I'm only sorry that Joe Boxer doesn't have a Jane Boxer division for your shopping convenience," C.C. snorted as she rose and headed towards the bathroom. "I'm going to freshen up...."
"You'll find a nightgown on the back of the door that Miss Fine left for you," Niles called to her. "I'll leave you to your toilette. If you need anything else, just howl. No need to wait for a full moon."
C.C. used the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and splashed some water on her face. She glanced at the so-called nightgown left by Nanny Fine. Hot pink, and mostly lace. "For heaven's sake," C.C. thought, "is that all that is on her mind? Seduction?" She left the nightie on the hook and longed for her own well-worn, flannel pajamas. As she started to leave the guest bathroom, she noticed a hamper in the corner. She ambled over and peeked inside. Right on top was a man's T-shirt. She lifted it out and inspected it.
"Doesn't smell bad," she thought to herself, sniffing the armpit area of the shirt. "In fact, it smells like... Niles." She paused for a moment and decided it was her head injury that was making her irrational...she slid the T-shirt over her nude form. It almost hung to her knees, but it felt comfortable. And the smell of after-shave seemed....well, comforting. She climbed under the covers of the bed, thinking to herself, "what in the hell has happened to me...wearing some man's dirty undershirt?"
C.C. fell into a restless sleep, her dreams haunted by her Walter Reed experience. The endless questions...she was sitting in a room with a woman. The woman wore a white jacket. She was showing C.C. pictures on cards and asking questions.
"What is this?" the therapist asked, holding up a picture of a wristwatch.
"A watch," C.C. replied.
"And can you tell me where you wear a watch?" the smiling therapist asked.
"Here," C.C. replied, pointing to her wrist. "By your...pulse."
The therapist wrote something down on a chart, which aggravated C.C. "Does that mean I said something wrong?" she wondered. "Why won't they tell me? Tell me if I'm OK, tell me what I need to do...?"
"What is this?" the therapist asked, showing C.C. a picture of a slice of watermelon.
"It's..."C.C. said, concentrating intently, "red inside, with seeds...green on the outside..."
"A watermelon?"
"Yes, yes, watermelon, that's it."
C.C.'s medication finally kicked in, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Max and Fran were in the kitchen, sharing some late-night cheesecake.
"How is Miss Babcock, really?" Fran finally asked.
"Pretty well, considering what she's been through," Maxwell replied. "Her doctor at Walter Reed gave me the name of neurologist on 29th street that specializes in traumatic head injuries. He feels that she needs further therapy there."
"Really?" Fran said, idly poking at the graham cracker crumbs on her plate. "What does he mean, 'further therapy'? What's wrong with her? I mean, she seemed pretty much OK...."
"I'll have to look at her initial test results...Niles has the folder...something about some cognitive delay..."
"The poor thing," Fran commiserated, "She's going to stay here, right?"
"Of course," Max replied. "We told her, well, insisted, before we left Walter Reed that she would stay here during her recuperation. "We'll hire a private nurse if necessary, but I have a feeling...."
"What kind of feeling?" Fran asked when Max's voice trailed off.
"I can't say for sure, of course," he said with careful deliberation, "but I believe Niles will be more than willing to minister to C.C."
"Niles?!" Fran snorted. "The two of them are like cats in a sack."
"Again, I could be wrong, but while we were in Turkey I got the impression that our Niles had feelings for our blonde Ice Queen."
"Well," Fran said, rinsing her plate and stacking it in the dishwasher, "if that's true, I thank heaven she's here to recover, because I've really gotta see this!"