Chapter 8

Over the past few months, C.C. had begrudgingly come to accept that life as she'd known it was over. Endless work hours, daily meetings with rich investors, screaming at an army of useless underlings – it was all a memory. Her energy levels had been on the floor (maybe even underground) since she'd first started chemo, and she barely had the strength to get out of bed, let alone be out and about busting her butt for their company.

Well…Maxwell's company, at any rate. Her job had been yet another victim of her illness, alongside her hair and self-sufficiency…

It wasn't fair, that was for sure, but she'd come around. She'd accepted she would have to be MIA for a while if she wanted to live. Making that decision had been harder than she cared to admit, but she'd gone through with it, hadn't she? She'd sacrificed what had once been her life in exchange for a chance to live for more than just a few months-slash-years.

But while she'd always known the road to recovery would be difficult, she'd be lying if she said that she hadn't been caught off guard by the sheer and unforgiving intensity of the treatment. Still, unknowingly or not, she'd signed up for it and all the sucky secondary effects she was currently going through. It had been her choice, and she couldn't exactly bring herself to regret it. What she hadn't signed up for, however, was for a part of her old life – the life she'd fought tooth and nail to leave behind – to come knocking at the door in the shape of an annoying British butler!

There was a reason why she'd left Niles, Nanny Fine and the Sheffields behind: she didn't need anyone around. She didn't need to see their pitiful stares or hear their hushed, worried voices whenever they saw fit to talk about her disease like she wasn't there. She didn't need to be treated with kid gloves by Maxwell and the family, and she certainly didn't need Niles making quips at her expense or delighting in the feeling of schadenfreude.

The only problem with that reasoning, as it so happened, was that the man that had burst into her room only moments ago had been anything but delighted at her misery…

She stirred at her bath water contemplatively, anger simmering and brewing underneath. If she'd been healthier and in the comfort of her own penthouse, she might've smacked her hand down to release some of the tension. Here, in poor health and the discomfort of her hospital room, she could only let it build with her questions. Just why the hell was Niles...not being Niles?! If she'd ever expected him to come through that door – and that was a big "if" – she would've thought she'd see him coming with eyes full of mirth and a mouth full of stupid zingers that poked fun at every part of her treatment!

And yet that hadn't happened…

He'd actually tried to be (and, admittedly, had actually been) helpful.

It was like some sort of sorry clone or doppelgänger had come and found her instead! Why the hell was he being so...nice? And it was impossible to deny that that was what he was being – he'd stuck around to both prepare and help her to the bath, even after she'd given him the greatest ammunition ever by vomiting directly in front of him, and he hadn't said so much as a word in the direction of a zinger! Not about her drinking, or her eating habits – he hadn't even suggested that she'd been nauseated by the presence of human kindness…!

If she had been, she would've been vomiting the entire time he'd been there. He'd been nothing but a great, big pile of kindness and concern ever since he'd found her there, reintroducing her own breakfast to the world. How the hell had he even found her, anyway? What the fuck had he done?! He'd flown all the way to Chicago and somehow made it right to her private hospital room, and no one had stopped him? Asked who he was? How did he even know where to find her in the first place – in the building, or in the state?!

Someone had let him in, both to the hospital and the secret...

Someone who had wanted her to have a few more people around, and who had more than enough authority to let "guests" through whenever they came to the desk. Someone who wouldn't be questioned by the nurses or the reception staff. Someone like...a doctor, perhaps...

C.C.'s eyes narrowed of their own accord. The whole operation stank of Wilson, and if he had his hand in it, he knew exactly what he was doing and who he was letting in. Still, one question remained – how had Niles found out about where she was in the first place?! While meddling in her private affairs wasn't beyond her oncologist, she didn't think he had been the one to contact Niles. The only emergency contact number the hospital had was Noel's, so it was highly unlikely that the doctor had somehow gotten his grubby paws on the Sheffields' phone number. This, of course, drew her to one (worrying) conclusion: Niles had been the one to reach out first.

But how?! How had he managed to track her down?! And maybe more importantly, why had he tracked her down?! Judging by his behaviour towards her, it was obvious he wasn't there to gloat – which, mind you, was the most un-Niles thing that he could possibly do…

She'd be damned, but she needed answers, and she fully intended to get them. The die had been cast, as it was; she couldn't hide from her old life anymore when a big, fat annoying part of it had literally come knocking! She'd be lying if she said the thought of kicking him out hadn't crossed her mind, but what good would it do? It wasn't as if he'd simply let go – he was too much of a yenta and C.C. was sure his current curiosity must have been physically painful for the butler.

Again, she could feel the anger rising in her. She hadn't signed up for this! As hard as it was for her to accept it, she wasn't strong enough (physically or emotionally) to deal with any kind of stress. Her focus had to be on getting better, not on dealing with a butler-shaped crisis and what the consequences of him knowing the truth would be.

First the idea of him absolutely delighting in her predicament had come to mind. Now it was this whole nicey-nice "empathy and worry" crap he seemed to have going on, and clearly would keep on going with. When he got into one of those moods, it was impossible for him to just let it pass by; he would always turn it into a parade and show it off to everyone. The man couldn't have been a bigger drama queen if they physically gave him a crown and sceptre...

The Sheffields would've noticed it happening again in a split second, back in New York, that was for sure...

Hold on just a second.

Something like that was a huge possibility, actually.

So…if Niles knew about this, then did that mean that other people did too?! The man might've had the softest footfall in all of Manhattan but he was a strong contender for the title of Biggest Blabbermouth! What if he'd already been going around telling everybody her business, back in New York? Had he immediately relayed everything back to the Sheffields so they could make of it what they would? What would Maxwell have said? What would he be thinking right now?! If Maxwell knew, did that mean that Nanny Fine knew as well?!

C.C. groaned lightly at the thought, letting her head drop heavily into her hands.

"Oh, God, please don't let it be true..."

Knowing her own personal luck with the Big Man Upstairs, she didn't even know why she bothered. There wasn't a single thing on the planet that Niles knew about that Nanny Fine didn't end up knowing soon after. The two were peas in a pod. And they were neck and neck in the competition for that whole "Biggest Blabbermouth" title, too!

If Nanny Fine knew about it, that meant the whole Fine family would've known about it within hours, at the most. So, depending on which day Niles had told the nanny, half of Queens could know about her stupid situation right now!

She groaned again, a little louder this time, and wondered if there was any possible way she could bargain with God to make her luck change. She doubted it very much – this whole shitshow was probably His idea of a practical joke and she suspected He was having too much of a good time to do anything to help her situation. Or maybe it was His way of making her pay her dues – either way, He wasn't making it easy.

By the look of things, she'd just have to bite the bullet and deal with it. How she was going to deal with it? Well, that was a good and still unanswered question, but C.C. was confident she'd come up with something. She always did.

She let out a breath, releasing it from her lungs in one go. It was just a quick little way of calming herself down and focusing back on what needed to be done. In this case, that was actually having her bath instead of just sitting there and moping!

Luckily for her, everything was within reach already. Obviously, whomever had come to prepare the bathroom before knew that the occupants wouldn't be in great shape to move around much. So, she grabbed a loofah and the soap and went to town on every part of her body that she could comfortably reach. She'd nearly considered – as a force of habit, most likely – grabbing the shampoo as well. But at the very last second, she'd reminded herself that there was no point. It had deflated her to even think that she wasn't going to need it again for a very long time (and she stuck to thinking that she would eventually need it again), but she'd pushed the thought aside and had just gotten on with what she could be doing.

That was best, wasn't it? Doing what she could and not worrying about what she couldn't?

Bathing was...certainly a much faster process without her hair, anyway. And that was the last thought (light or dark) that she allowed herself to have on the matter. She was done; she didn't need to go through the list of hows or whys.

She pressed the call button next to the tub and waited. It almost felt unreal that there had been a time when she hadn't felt too sick, feverish or exhausted to get out of a simple bathtub by herself. Those days were behind her now. As were all the times she'd tried to insist on doing it herself once she'd arrived at the hospital...

It didn't take long for Cameron to come through the door.

"Everything okay?" the nurse asked as she came over.

"Yeah," C.C. replied, closing her eyes briefly to combat a sudden dizzy spell. "I'm done in here."

"Alright. Do you need me to help you out?" asked the nurse.

"Please," C.C. said. "But before you do that, I need you to go get me a fresh pair of pyjamas – I puked all over the set I had on before…"

C.C. lazily gestured over at the discarded heap of clothes that lay next to the bathtub, just where she'd left them when she'd first removed them. In any other circumstance she'd at least have made an effort to put them in the hamper, but as it was she could barely sit on her own, let alone walk all the way across the room to the hamper and back to the bathtub. She knew Cameron didn't mind – she always made sure to remind her about it when C.C. got upset or insisted on doing things she simply wasn't well enough to do on her own – but it still made her feel…like less of an adult. Like she wasn't being self-sufficient anymore.

That weighed on her a lot heavier than she liked to admit, but she supposed it was what it was. She didn't get to choose what side effects she suffered from any more than she got to choose having cancer in the first place. It was a fact of life, and until the worst of the chemo's side effects had cleared up, she supposed she'd have to rely on other people's help to function.

"I'm on it," the nurse said. "But I think it'd be best if I got you out and bundled up in a towel first before I get you some clean clothes."

C.C. nodded, as much as she could without feeling nauseous. She totally got what Cameron was trying to do; making sure that she didn't catch a cold or anything like that while she went on a hunt for some clothes.

"Alright. We can do that..."

She preferred saying "we". She might've been having to rely on other people, but it did make her feel a tiny bit better to think that she had an input and a say in what was going on. The thought of losing all control because of this disease felt like a nightmare to even consider, and she was already having to deal with enough as it was. Cameron probably understood that. She certainly didn't say anything about it as she grabbed the fluffiest, warmest-looking towel she could find from the set and came over to slowly help C.C. up and out of the water.

It took some effort, as everything had seemed to once she'd started her treatment, but with Cameron's help and gentle encouragement she managed to plant her feet on the floor. Well, the bath mat on the floor that prevented patients from slipping, anyway. Wrapping the towel around her while she was connected to an IV line was easier said than done, but they made it work. The towel wasn't as tight around C.C. as she'd normally have liked, but it was far better than freezing her ass off while Cameron went to find something a little more permanent to wear. And besides, the thing was warm and fluffy, just as it had looked when the nurse had picked it out. It made her a bit more comfortable while Cameron walked her over to the plush leather armchair in the corner, where she got her to sit and try to relax.

"Here we are," Cameron was clearly trying to stay as cheerful as possible. "Now, I'll go get you those pyjamas we talked about."

C.C. nodded faintly by way of reply and let the nurse get on with her task. There were very few people out there she was willing to blindly trust, but her nurse was definitely one of those people. She was sure that if Cameron was allowed to run the world for even few hours, at least fifty percent of the world's problems would be solved within the hour. God knew she made C.C. life existence at the clinic a lot more bearable…

When this shit was over and done with (and C.C. kept telling herself it would) the producer had already decided she'd send Cameron off to some exotic paradise to show her appreciation for what she'd done for her. The woman deserved every good thing on this Earth, in C.C.'s mind. So did Wilson, if she was honest, but she didn't think she could bring herself to appreciate his work right that moment – the bastard had been too much of a pain in the backside that day for that to happen.

She needed to have a talk with him before even thinking about letting Niles back into her room. This was not something she'd ever wanted or agreed to, so she wanted to know exactly what had gone through Wilson's twisted mind when he'd decided to blatantly disregard her wish for privacy. She'd been clear about not wanting anyone, especially her family or the Sheffield household, to know about her illness. No matter how many times he cleaned her penthouse or helped clean up her puke, Niles was still Niles – she had no reason to trust him or let him in when she was at her most vulnerable. She didn't want to be lulled into a false sense of security, only for the butler to then pull the metaphorical rug from under her feet.

"Here we are," Cameron said when she eventually returned, carrying with her C.C.'s favourite baby pink pyjamas, some underwear and a pair of warm flannel socks. "Let's get you dressed, kiddo."

The former producer let a soft chuckle make its way up her throat. Cameron had to be the same age as her, or only a few years older, but she was always doing stuff like this; calling her "kiddo", and saying things like "How about we don't do that?" whenever C.C. looked like she was about to do something other people might think was bad or wrong for someone in her condition. Though, if she was being fair, Cameron did also use that last one on Wilson, too.

Either way, it was all part of the nurse's sweet disposition. It would've been perfect, if she were to treat child patients...

C.C. near-bitterly thought there wasn't much of a difference between treating very young children and treating her, in her current state. It wasn't as though she was self-sufficient after any of her infusions. She needed help with everything, from bathing and dressing to the simple task of walking, she vomited randomly and without warning...she even often needed to be encouraged to eat...

But, whatever. It was temporary. She just had to get on with it and let the treatment help her get over it. This time, that meant letting Cameron help her with the little things she'd normally do herself. Like getting dressed in her favourite pyjamas. Which took some work these days, because she often needed help to stand, but still counted in her mind as something so ordinary that it almost made her upset to think she couldn't.

Again, whatever.

Once they were on, Cameron helped her complete "the look" with a fresh bandana and got her hooked back up to her stand, before helping her back into her wheelchair. C.C. tried not to think about it being the whole "simple act of walking" that she needed help with, but it was hard when the reminder that she couldn't manage it by herself was right there and playing out in front of her.

"Here we go," Cameron then declared, wheeling her at last back into the main part of her room.

If C.C. had been smiling at all (unlikely, but there was still a slight possibility), it dropped the moment she saw Wilson making himself at home in the armchair next to her bed. He was practically reclining in it, like a king, comfortable and secure on his throne. Smugness was basically coming off him in triumphant waves, too, which only brought the words "annoying" and "arrogantly premature" to mind.

He grinned at her as the two women approached, and C.C. gave him her best unimpressed look in return.

"Someone is obviously pleased with himself..."

"I'm delighted with myself, thank you very much," her doctor replied, never losing the smirk. "Aren't you? 'Cause you should be."

"Wilson, if I had the strength to get out of this goddamn chair on my own, I'd have already punched you in the mouth," C.C. said.

"Luckily for me, you have the same energy levels as a three-legged turtle, so I'd say I'm in the clear for now," he retorted with a wink and got to his feet. "And speaking of that, let's get you into bed – I gotta check how that fever's doing before we do anything else."

"Fine," said the producer. "But you can bet your sorry ass you and I are having a little chat about Brillo Pad afterwards."

"And I can't wait! Now, come on, off to bed!" Wilson said to the producer.

C.C. merely glared at her doctor as Cameron helped her to her feet and back into bed. Had she been in less of a bad mood, she'd have given a pleasant sigh upon lying back down on her comfortable bed and fluffy pillows, but her mind was too wrapped up in her own annoyance at Wilson to do anything else but sulk. She didn't even change her expression a little bit as Wilson grabbed a thermometer from one of the nearest tables and approached her bedside.

"Cosy?" he asked, looking her over as she sat there without so much as a glimmer of happiness on her face. He didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Alright. Let's take a look at the number on that fever..."

C.C., as irritated as she was, obliged and let him put the thing under her shirt to take her temperature. She waited as patiently as she could, holding the thermometer under her arm to keep it in place, before the doctor at last took it back out, humming to himself thoughtfully as he read the numbers.

"Hmm, well, it's better than it was, that's for sure. Looks like you might need a little more Tylenol to give it that extra kick up the old you-know-where, though," he turned to Cameron. "If you wouldn't mind doing the honours and going to get said Tylenol, Nurse Cameron...?"

C.C. couldn't see his expression from where she was, but she did see Cameron roll her eyes.

"I would've done it without you batting your eyelashes at me," the nurse replied, heading for the door and walking out. "You're not a Disney Princess."

Wilson hurried after her, calling out.

"I'd make an incredible princess and you know it!"

The door to the corridor outside closed in the distance, and Wilson took one last look between there and his patient before scurrying back to his seat and getting comfortable again, leaning his elbows on the arm and looking directly at C.C..

"Okay, now we've got a little time to kill. Wanna talk about our new guest?"

C.C. bored holes through him in return, the anger and frustration starting to boil underneath her skin again.

"You mean the intruder you just let wander into a hospital where he wasn't invited or wanted?"

Wilson feigned a look of extreme hurt, slowly clutching at his chest like he'd been wounded somehow.

"What are you trying to say? Are you saying I'm the reason that fine man, who is now probably enjoying our equally fine hospital cafeteria coffee, decided to come all this way to see you?"

All of that was practically an insult in C.C.'s eyes and she glared at him in return. She knew damn well that she'd never given Wilson so much as a hint about where he could get in touch with Niles. Or the Sheffields, either, otherwise known as "telling Niles by proxy"!

"Oh, don't give me that crap! I know you couldn't have called him to come here – you don't know enough about him to do that," she flung back at him. "But you let him into my room and back into my life, when I specifically shut the door on him and everything else back in New York!"

She didn't get it, still. How any of it could've happened. Just how the hell had Niles found her there, when to go any further would've been to go to the ends of the fucking Earth? And then when he'd managed to track her down to the specific – supposedly "anonymous" – hospital where she'd checked herself in without a word in the direction of Manhattan, she'd suddenly found her own doctor working against her too?! Practically giving the butler a signpost in her direction?!

She needed to know why. And she wasn't going to let Wilson get one of his little quips in before she was done telling him, either!

"What the hell did you let him in here for?! Out of everybody in this entire stupid world, why did it have to be him?"

"Now, now, there's no need to fly off the handle, especially in your condition," Wilson replied with a pointed look – he liked their games, but he was still her doctor, and he couldn't allow her to overexert herself. "And I let him in because I still think you need support––"

"I have support! My brother!" C.C. protested.

"Who can only come once a week or so, depending on his schedule," Wilson said. "How could I possibly forget?"

C.C. didn't appreciate the sarcasm in Wilson's words, even if deep down she knew he had a point. While C.C. would never put her brother's support in doubt, Noel had an extremely busy job. He couldn't just drop everything to come visit her, no matter how much she wished he would. She would never hold that over his head – it was his career, and the last thing she wanted was to be a burden to him. At least he called often enough, nearly every night, and they would often talk for well over an hour…

But it wasn't enough.

C.C. wouldn't admit to it, but she'd begun to feel lonely. She'd never been a social butterfly by any means – God knew she could count her real friends with the fingers of one hand – but that didn't mean she didn't enjoy from social interaction. She actually did, and while not having to deal with slimy Broadway executives and prissy actors was certainly a serious advantage of being away, she longed for the hustle and bustle of the office and the people in it.

She never allowed herself to linger on those thoughts. She'd made her choice when she'd left New York behind – it made no sense to try and cling to something that simply didn't exist anymore. Life was going on without her, whether she liked it or not. It wouldn't do her any good to waste her time wishing for something she simply couldn't get back. That was, of course, easier said than done. Try as she might, the quiet days spent alone and cooped up in her room were taking a toll on her – there was only so much she could do to ignore the biting loneliness that weighed on her.

Still, isolation was a lower price to pay in exchange for her own mental peace – she'd rather be alone than face the fallout of her friends and family finding out about her condition. She didn't want their pity. She didn't want to be a burden. And she certainly didn't want to be treated with kitten gloves for God knew how long just because her stupid body had decided to go haywire!

Niles' presence in her room directly threatened everything she'd worked for. He was the absolute last person she'd wanted around in her current state, and the fact Wilson even entertained the notion that Niles would be the company she secretly craved was risible. Support was not a word she associated with the butler – he'd dedicated the past fifteen years of his life to making her as miserable as she could be. Not exactly the type of qualities one would look for in a supposed "support system".

"Well, even if Noel can't be around as much as we'd both like, it isn't like Niles is a decent replacement – I told you, we hate each other! We––"

"Last time I checked, people who hate each other don't hop on a plane and fly to another state just to check on each other," Wilson deadpanned. "Nor do they try to sneak into private hospitals just to see one another."

The statement poked around like an inexperienced dentist looking for an exposed nerve. It found it.

"You don't know the kinds of lengths that man would go to make me miserable!" C.C. snarled, brushing off any possibility Wilson was suggesting of a kind, caring butler waiting with hope in his eyes outside the door. "He's switched out my Chapstick for glue before now!"

Wilson let out a breath that mixed an equal helping of anger, frustration, and impatience. One hand flew into his hair, raking through it messily, before he ended up with both on his hips, walking slowly towards the former producer. He didn't care about the whatever had happened before – that wasn't important. What mattered was happening right there in that moment, and he wasn't gonna let C.C. automatically push away the first person who came to see her. Not even if it was clearly her go-to step where hurt feelings and emergencies were concerned.

She couldn't get through this with barely anybody at all by her side, no matter what she thought. And whatever she thought of Mr Brightmore, he'd still come all that way to see her anyway. That had to mean something, didn't it?

"And yet, he still showed up here wanting to see you," he told her, trying hard not to raise his voice. Dear God, it was hard. "Did you ever think that maybe he's sorry, about whatever it was you two had going on? That maybe he wants to make sure you're okay?"

"I don't care if he wants to know!" she shouted back. "He doesn't get to just waltz in here and demand anything from me after everything we've been through!"

Wilson's hands reached for his hair again, but paused at his face. He didn't think he'd ever had such a difficult patient, and he'd had people physically attack him before now! Dealing with those kinds of patients was a walk in the park compared to convincing C.C. Babcock that maybe someone cared about her!

He wiped his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and pursing his lips tightly before he even tried to continue.

"I know he doesn't get to demand it—"

His patient glared at him, "Then why are you rooting so hard for him?!"

"I am not rooting for anybody!" Wilson yelled, the last thread of patience finally snapping. "But God forbid I want you to actually have some kind of support around here!"

He took a minute to catch his breath and sighed, shifting on the spot as C.C. watched, waiting. Listening, too, he hoped. The fact that she wasn't arguing back at least gave him some hope for that.

"Look," he said levelly. "I obviously can't say if this Niles is exactly what you need—"

"He's not."

"But he wanted to see you, and you need interaction," Wilson continued, sidestepping the little comment. "Kick him out if you want – be my guest, it's not like I can stop you. Stay alone, if that's what floats your boat...!"

C.C. looked...like she was still considering the notion, even if she wasn't completely sure all of a sudden. He was about to – with any luck – hammer his point home for her.

"But if I were you, I wouldn't be making a snap decision like telling him to get out again. If I were in your position, I'd be looking for anybody who gave even a hint of a damn about me!"

He tried not to be too loud catching his breath back after all that. Somehow, he thought it might undermine the authority he currently had. And he knew he had it. He hadn't put a foot wrong that whole time; he'd been too fired up by his own determination to get her to face the facts.

Meanwhile, C.C.'s face was the battleground that held the World War Three of emotional conflict. The doctor didn't have to be some sort of supernatural empath to work out the sides, either. Logically, she knew he was right about everything. Allying that with her buried, desperate need for connection with another human being, you had yourself a strong argument. Unfortunately, the other side consisted of her hurt, anger, and stubbornness. Each of which had the same presence in her mind and her decision making as a bear would have a presence in the real world. And each of them were just as difficult to wrestle with and come out unscathed.

But Wilson would be damned if he gave up now, when he already knew he held the high ground.

He stood firm until he heard his patient huff out a breath mulishly. Her angry expression remained firmly in place – she had her pride, after all.

"Fine. Tell him he can come back whenever he wants," she turned away from Wilson, muttering irritably. "Might as well get his laughing over with, anyway...!"

Wilson wasn't going to let that little comment spoil his hard-earned victory. He'd rarely had to fight so hard to simply get one of his patients to see other people. And besides, beating C.C. Babcock in a battle of resolution was always something to celebrate. It practically came with its own certificate. Or it would come with all the bells and whistles of honour that it was due, if he didn't first have to remind her how ridiculous she was being.

"Yes, we might as well," he said, completely straight-faced. "After all, a man who'd come all this way to make fun of a cancer patient probably wants to cram in a few more horrible deeds while he's here. Maybe once he's finished with you, he'll find some orphans to laugh at. Or go on a spree of puppy-kicking."

"You had better get out of here before I change my damn mind," his patient replied, not even turning to look at him.

Wilson didn't push it. He knew when it was best to walk away, where Babcock was concerned. In her own way, she'd admitted defeat – there was no sense in him sticking around and practically rubbing it in her face. More than he'd already done anyway. Instead, he left in silence and smiling to himself. After all, having gotten Babcock to even consider the possibility of opening up to the butler was no small feat!

Now it was up to Niles to get through to, quite possibly, the toughest nuts to crack Wilson had come across in his whole career.