Chapter 9
The coffee was starting to lose its warmth underneath his hand, but Niles couldn't bring himself to drink any of it. He'd intended to, when he'd first gotten in line to buy it, and had then sought out a table to sit and try and relax while Miss Babcock took her bath. But the longer he'd been there and had sat there thinking about everything that had just happened, the more he wondered if he'd ever feel like eating or drinking anything again.
His body felt entirely numb with the shock of it all, but his stomach was in too much of a knot to not feel and it squeezed tightly enough to make him want to cry out. It got worse every time he imagined that first sight he'd had of Miss Babcock, asleep in her bed, looking like she could be the unwell shadow of the woman he'd known back in New York.
His hand twitched involuntarily, and he closed his eyes and tried to breathe. It was like the knot was becoming so tight in there that it was ripping him apart. And it all came from knowing that she'd been here, throwing up and struggling to go through even the most basic of motions by herself, for all that time!
How could it have gotten to this?! How could C.C. Babcock, the most formidable producer on Broadway, have gone from the towering figure she'd been, to not even being able to wake up in a hospital bed without losing her breakfast? Were things really that bad? Every sign pointed to yes, and even the ones that would normally be telling him to think positive thoughts now seemed to be quietly agreeing with his fears and turning in the direction he'd hoped to stay away from.
He wiped at his eyes, opening them and blinking a few times to let them clear. He couldn't let it happen. Miss Babcock might've gone away so that no one else would find out, but he had. And now that he knew, he couldn't just slip out the door and hope for the best. Wilson had told him what he could do; he could help her, simply by being himself. Getting her to open up and to have people around her during her treatment...
Why she hadn't done that already in the first place, he didn't know! How on Earth could she have thought it would be a good idea to go through this practically on her own? What was she so afraid of, when it came to anyone from her life in New York knowing? Why run off and not even tell your friends what was happening?
If he stayed and helped – as he wanted to and as Wilson had suggested – he hoped that he could ask all of this and more. He hoped. It was tentative, and as vulnerable as a newborn. He wasn't sure it had much of a chance of getting answers back. It was all well and good hoping, but actually asking the questions and receiving the answers was something else entirely.
It didn't seem like Miss Babcock would ever give him answers to something so personal. Why would she? He was just the butler who'd been the irritating thorn in her side ever since she'd started working for Mr Sheffield. And just when she'd thought she'd shaken him, he'd turned back up.
Turned back up, watched her vomit, and had then asked to help her take off her clothes. Oh, God, why had he ever thought that was the right way to go about it...?!
He wouldn't be surprised if Cameron or Wilson came into the cafeteria, sat down with him, and actually ended up telling him that it wasn't going to work and that he needed to leave. The doctor might have been confident and that had given the butler hope at first, but he'd had time to think since then. And Niles knew C.C. Babcock – it would take a huge slap of a wake up call to get her to agree to something she didn't want to do, even if it was in her best interests.
Niles sighed and put his cup down, knowing deep down that he probably wasn't going to taste a drop of it. He wasn't thirsty, at any rate, and he knew forcing himself to drink wouldn't help his restlessness. If anything it would add to the nervous energy that he seemed to radiate since the moment he'd found out she was gone. Perhaps he could get himself a nice cup of tea instead – he still had some change on him and he wasn't sure just how much more time he'd have to kill until Wilson came to get him again.
If he got him again, that was…
He wouldn't blame Miss Babcock if she didn't want to see him – he'd done nothing to warrant her trust during what probably had to be the hardest, most painful moment in her life. Still, he couldn't help hoping.
With yet another tired sigh, Niles got to his feet, dragged himself to the nearest bin and tossed his now lukewarm, undrunk cup of coffee into it. He then made his way to the counter where he ordered and paid for a cup of chamomile tea. He seldom drank chamomile, but he couldn't think of anything better for his frayed nerves. He certainly relished in the soothing, warm feeling that spread inside him as he gently sipped at his beverage.
He was halfway through his drink when he spotted Wilson at the cafeteria's entrance. Niles didn't want to get ahead of himself, but the obviously smug smile practically glued to the oncologist's features felt like a promising omen.
"Oi, Brightmore!" Wilson practically screamed from across the room. "Get your ass in gear – you're expected up in room 505!"
Niles was up and on his feet before he'd even thought about it – his legs had done the work before his brain had kicked into gear. But when it did, it was immediately overwhelmed with the excitement and near disbelief. Miss Babcock had agreed! She was allowing him to come back – he was going to get to see her! Talk to her!
The thought of talking gave him uneasy pause for a second. Of course…well, that was going to mean he'd need to explain a few things. Like how he'd been able to find her, for instance. How he'd managed to get all the way out here, perhaps…
He didn't want to think too hard about all of that. He couldn't talk himself out of it because of a few awkward questions! Besides, they were ones he'd be more than willing and ready to answer, as long as it meant being in the same room with her. And he didn't want to keep her waiting, either. She was probably annoyed enough as it was already!
Grabbing his half-finished cup and sending it the way of his lukewarm coffee, he rushed to meet Wilson. Together, they made their way back up to the room – one nearly vibrating with excitement and nervous energy, the other radiating enough smugness to power a small country. Neither said much more than a word or two on the way. They didn't really need to chat; all the talking could wait until they'd reached their destination.
The butler's excitement and happiness all but short circuited when they did. When they went through to the bedroom, C.C. was back in her bed, hooked back up to her IV, and looking a dark mixture of extremely ill and extremely pissed off. If the kind of storms that brought acid rain had a face, they would have looked like hers did then.
Any smile Niles had been wearing dissolved upon seeing her, too. His gut didn't suddenly feel as light and trouble-free as it had when he'd first heard she'd wanted him to come back. In fact, his new instinct was to ask if there was anything she needed – anything he could do at all to make her feel better. It was an anxious, nervous instinct. It was in him to want to do things for others, and her especially right now, but he knew he had to rein it in and keep it to himself. It hadn't worked out the last time, and he doubted she'd appreciate him overstepping and doing any more than he'd been asked to do.
Wilson naturally took the floor when they came through. He bowed with a flourish in the direction of the butler.
"Your guest has arrived, ma'am. Shall you be wanting me to announce him in the proper fashion…?"
C.C. scowled at him, "Shut the fuck up, Wilson, before I announce that I want another doctor."
Wilson snapped himself upright, out of his bow, and clasped his hands together. Niles noticed that he didn't look at all worried or even put out by the suggestion that C.C. could request another doctor.
"Now, where would you find yourself if you went off and did a thing like that, hm? You'd be bored out of your mind, wouldn't you? Because you and I both know that nobody else in this place has a stunning sense of humour like I do."
C.C. didn't even blink. It was like looking at a very angry oil painting – the kind that might come with a special trivia card attached in the art gallery, detailing how the subject of the portrait later brutally mauled the artist.
The doctor looked between his patient and the butler. Niles looked back, eyes slowly moving between the others, wondering who'd break the standoff first and how that would get them to the conversation they needed to have…
Suddenly, Wilson slipped his hands into his pockets and turned for the door.
"Anyway, I'll leave you two kids alone – I'm sure you've got a lot to talk about…!"
He was gone before Niles could even ask if he was going to wait outside. The door was closed behind him and the butler felt like he'd been tossed, fully clothed, into the deep end of the swimming pool at school. He wasn't treading water, either – he was rapidly starting to sink.
He hadn't realised that he was going to be left alone – he'd at least imagined Wilson would stay to hear what he had to say for himself! The doctor had seemed the type to want to get in on the action, and to dig up the dirt wherever he could find it…
He could have at least stayed and mediated, couldn't he…? Niles didn't know if he could—
A throat clearing irritably brought his eyes and thoughts away from the closed door. They landed back on Miss Babcock, who had now turned all her current annoyances (as well as her glare) on him.
"So, you were about to explain yourself…?"
Niles swallowed a little under her penetrating gaze. He had been…not "about to" explain himself – that sounded immediate, and implied he'd actually had a plan for coming back in the room.
Before, when he'd managed to tread on thin ice without falling through the widening crack that was asking a woman who barely tolerated him if he could help her take her clothes off, then he'd had a plan. Of sorts. At least, that's what he'd thought. Now, he wasn't quite so sure. His mind had gone blank, and now that Wilson had skipped out on the conversation, he didn't have anybody to prompt him or give him a nudge in the right direction.
Perhaps it was best that he let her take the lead…? She could give him the prod in the back that he needed to move forward, surely?
Shuffling his feet, he gave his throat a quick clear (the last thing he wanted to do was have his words come out at an embarrassing croak) and tried out his new plan.
"Whe-where did you want me to begin, exactly? I had a, uh…a few things to…to answer, didn't I? Some explanations to give—"
It wasn't the first time he'd seen Miss Babcock roll her eyes, but it was the first time it had vaguely hurt.
"You know what?" she cut him off quick. "Just shut up. Stop trying to yammer out all those words all at once when it's obvious you don't even know where to begin!"
She leaned forward, sighing and groaning like this was the biggest inconvenience of her day. Niles figured it probably was, and he was feeling smaller by the second. He didn't dare say that he felt he had at least a rough idea of where to start because Wilson had caught him up to speed with everything she'd been going through. All the horrors of her illness and the treatments they'd use to make things right again…
He didn't want the doctor to get into trouble, which was a distinct possibility considering he'd practically helped him barge into a hospital, and it would only be made worse if word got out that he was also giving out medical information about his patients.
Of course, the former producer didn't know any of this whatsoever.
"I don't have a lot of patience with you right now. I get it; you're dying to know what's been going on while I've been here. Big whoop, you're gonna find out. But before you even think of opening that big, fat butler mouth of yours again, I suggest you listen carefully to what I have to say. That decrepit old brain with me so far?"
She waited until he'd nodded (biting down on the inside of his lip to keep his mouth shut) before continuing.
"Good, because I'm gonna explain what I have once, and I will not be doing it again. Then, you're going to explain all about why your sorry ass is here instead of scrubbing Maxwell's underwear back in New York and, depending on said explanation, I might decide not to throw you to the curb. Is it clear?!"
"Of course, Miss Babcock!" he immediately replied, nodding vigorously. "Thank you so—"
"Don't even attempt to thank me!" she barked. "I'm not doing this as a favour to you – I'm doing it to make things easier for me. I'm not stupid. Obviously there's an elephant in the room…"
She lifted the hand that was connected to the IV and waved it a little to illustrate her point.
"…and it's also obvious that your tiny, yenta brain won't be able to string a coherent sentence if I don't give you an inkling of what's going on inside my stupid body. So, I'll stick to the basics and if you even attempt to interrupt me or ask a question you'll be escorted out faster than you can say sorry!"
The butler nodded quickly again, not saying a word just in case she chose to make good on the threat right away. They'd gotten this far; he didn't want it all to end again based on a simple mistake. He could do it, too – he knew he could make it through hearing it again without any interruptions. He didn't know if it would hurt less, though, knowing that he already knew. Something about now hearing it from the woman himself made him apprehensive all the same.
He braced himself.
C.C. leaned back against her headboard, looking at him with something slightly more than just rage now. A kind of begrudging, affected acceptance, perhaps. Like he'd just passed a test she'd expected him to fail.
"Hm. Looks like you've still got some sense in there after all – I thought you'd lost it coming all the way out here," she said sharply. "But anyway, back to me – the important part of this story. As you've probably already gotten through that thick servant skull of yours, I have cancer. Stage 4B Hodgkin lymphoma, to be exact. It's blood cancer but it's spreading like a son of a bitch. There's several lymph nodes affected and now I've even got a lovely little tumour making itself at home between my heart and one of my lungs."
There was barely a pause before she narrowed her eyes at him.
"Don't give me that stupid face!" she snapped, waving him off like she could dismiss whatever expression he was supposed to be wearing from the room. "Wilson might be the world's second largest jackass, next to you, but he knows what he's doing and he says it's curable. He's gonna put me through at least eight cycles of chemotherapy to try and nuke this thing from orbit. But if that doesn't work and things go south fast, I'll get surgery and a bone marrow transplant to boot."
She paused to take a breath. It seemed that even explaining all of this was making her tired.
"The treatment's aggressive, and it's making me feel like shit, which I'm sure you've been just dying to hear about," she told him angrily. "So I don't have the time or the patience to deal with any crap from anybody. Least of all you."
Niles ignored the barbed final remark. He had made it, but it had still hurt, like hands were closing around his neck and there was nothing he could do to stop them from cutting off his breathing. Even hearing it again hadn't stopped it from being the worst news of his life – worse than he'd imagined it could be, back when he'd been in New York and hadn't had the faintest idea of what was going on all the way out here.
He still didn't understand it, though. How could she have possibly stood to go through all of this alone? How was she sat there talking about it like it was nothing, and if anything he was the actual problem she was facing?!
It didn't seem right. She was so unwell – so much more unwell than he'd had any idea of before, and she needed someone there to see her through it.
He also wanted to say that he was sorry. He wanted to go back in time and somehow find a way to prevent any of this from even happening in the first place. But neither of those were open options; the latter was physically impossible, and the former would most likely get him kicked out of the room. She'd hate it if he'd even tried – she'd not told him that he could speak yet, and she'd hate him apparently being so moved and affected by something that was happening to her. She'd think of it as pity, which he knew was something she'd never been able to stand. That was the last thing she ever wanted. Besides, none of this was about him. This was her cancer, her treatment, her life that they were talking about.
And now that he knew what he knew and had seen her in the flesh, the last thing on Earth he wanted was to have to leave and never come back. Despite the pain and the dread, he knew he couldn't handle not knowing what was going on.
"So there ya go," she said. "A nice little résumé of what's been going on around here. But now it's your turn to cough up. So, kindly tell me, you massive pain in the ass, how the fuck did you find me and what the hell are you doing here?!"
Niles could feel, not for the first time, his insides seizing up. She wasn't pulling any punches, was she? She went straight for the nitty gritty – the very core of the issue at hand that he so desperately wanted to not talk about. It was childish of him, of course. He knew there was no way in hell he'd be allowed to stay for longer than ten minutes if he didn't explain himself, but the problem was that he didn't exactly have an explanation.
Well, he kind of did have an explanation about how he'd found her (an admittedly creepy, more than a little stalky explanation, at that) but where the reason for him being there was concerned, he simply had nothing. Nada. He didn't fully understand what had compelled him to drop everything back in New York to try and break into her hospital. Him being worried about her was definitely behind it, but he wasn't sure she'd appreciate it (or believe him) if he said that. It wasn't like them – they didn't "do" worrying about the other. It wasn't their thing.
But now wasn't the time to try and decipher what the hell was going on with him. He didn't have the time nor the inclination to do so – especially when he'd already tried (and failed) to do it countless times since Miss Babcock had left New York. He'd have to wing it.
"Well…you see…when you…when you left New York, we were naturally very confused––"
"No shit, Sherlock," she said, rolling her eyes. "I bet Maxwell threw a hissy fit, didn't he?"
'That's the understatement of the century', Niles thought to himself, but he kept that to himself. Miss Babcock didn't need to know the full extent of Maxwell's anger – unwarranted anger – at her. It wouldn't be fair.
"Of sorts, yes," Niles replied. "He was upset."
"Niles, come on, we both know how Maxwell is when he actually has to do things for himself," she said. "You don't need to sugar-coat it: Maxwell probably was – and still is – furious with me. I'm a big girl, even if I don't look like one right now – I can handle the truth just fine…"
Niles felt an uncomfortable heat creeping up and settling nicely in his cheeks. He hadn't meant to come off as condescending. He'd just wanted to spare her what he'd thought would be an uncomfortable conversation. In hindsight that probably wasn't his call.
"I'm…I'm sorry. You are right – he really was furious," he eventually said. "The workload overwhelmed him, I think. But anyway, he has essentially barred anyone from even mentioning your name, and if someone does…"
"It gets ugly real fast," she completed.
"Indeed," he said, nodding. "So, when some of your mail got to the mansion, he was livid. He wanted to toss it in the bin, but I offered to take the mail to your home instead. Since Marcelo had already told me you were gone, I took the liberty to go up to your penthouse to just deliver your mail and––"
"Oh, come on!" she snapped. "If you really want to stay here, I strongly suggest you think twice before trying to bullshit me. The letters were just an excuse – you went in there to snoop, as you've been doing for weeks now. I know you've been sneaking into my apartment – Marcelo saw you in the security cameras and let me know. So, while we are at it, maybe explain that shit too – did your maid instincts kick in when you heard about how my home was empty and gathering dust? Or maybe your inner yenta just couldn't resist the chance to snoop about, unchecked and unbothered?"
Niles could've taken off into the sunset on those words alone. Fuck. He was done for. She knew about the whole thing and had known this whole time! She knew what he'd done and where he'd been and she'd probably gotten an in-depth report on it all from Marcelo! How could he possibly have thought he'd get away without being noticed? He should've remembered that she'd have cameras everywhere in her building!
Fucking hell, he couldn't believe he'd been so stupid! So naïve! He could feel the heat of her accusations burning him to a crisp, turning him to charcoal from the inside-out. And oh God, it really did all sound awful when it was read back to him like charges! Which it very well could have been if she'd decided to take the legal route! He'd been trespassing in her home, and it was only the knowledge that it was his own stupid, bumbling self that had probably saved him.
Not that it felt like he was being saved now, when he thought he could happily hurl himself out of the window at the mention of what he'd done! She knew. And she had guessed his intentions without so much as a single hesitation. He'd known it was wrong, too, but he'd kept on doing it. Why was he such an idiot?! He could've stopped whenever he'd wanted if he'd just thought and behaved like a normal person, and maybe come out of all of this unscathed, and what had he chosen to do? He'd kept on popping along like a happy little weirdo, cleaning her apartment as though he had any right! And for what?
Even he wasn't sure of the answer to that. But he owed the former producer about a thousand apologies.
He closed his eyes painfully, "It was…admittedly, a little of both. I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"Damn right, you'd better be sorry!" C.C. snapped, folding her arms. "You're lucky I chose not to involve the police in this little stunt!"
"I only went there to snoop at first!" the butler blurted out.
That silenced the room, and the lengthening lull eventually started to make his stomach clench.
"I mean, um, to look around. Not snoop. I kept going back because…well," he swallowed, clutching at any straws that presented themselves in his head. "Well, we already said about how Mr Sheffield gets – he was making it terrible over in the mansion! Getting worse every day with his mood swings, and the cloud we were all living under just felt more unpleasant at every given moment…! I was glad to get out of the house!"
Niles stopped, his face falling at what he'd just declared. Oh God, that made it sound worse, didn't it? That was her home he was talking about, not some park down the street where people walked their dogs! He'd made it sound like he just wandered in whenever he wanted a few quiet moments away from everyone else!
"N-Not just to get out of the house!" he shouted his correction. "I um, I did it because, uh…well, you see, it…I did it because it all felt wrong in the house once you'd left! Going over to yours to clean at least felt normal in comparison. It made everything else feel a bit more normal as well!"
He ducked his eyes away from her gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. It suddenly felt like it was developing its own humid ecosystem back there, and he had to wipe it away before it left precipitation on his collar. His hand felt clammy against his skin, and somehow that made the whole thing feel just that little bit worse. Like his own body was working against him to declare how pathetic he was.
"So, that's that. That's the reason I kept on going. It was weird around the mansion and I had to find something to do to take the edge off," he gestured directly at her. "Seeing as my actual home entertainment system had gotten up and walked itself out."
C.C. blinked at him, eyeing his frame as it cringed so hard it practically turned in on itself and made him into a human shrimp. She wasn't sure she could quite believe it – he really looked completely taken over by this. She'd been totally convinced he'd never give a rat's ass about her going, and yet he was stood there acting like everything had fallen apart when she'd gone!
Did…did that mean that he'd actually missed her while she'd been there at the hospital? It sounded that way, even though she didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of figuring out why! This wasn't how they operated – this was Niles she was thinking about! They didn't "do" missing each other. Not normally, anyway.
But then again, there was nothing normal about any of this, was there? She'd been screwed over for the idea of a normal life ever since she'd gotten those test results back, so why shouldn't that also mean that Niles had taken refuge at her place simply so he could feel like something had stayed the same?
And there was something weirdly touching about it, even so; the thought that even the man who'd been her worst nightmare had been affected by her not being around…
That thought stirred her stomach like she'd just stepped out onto a rickety rope bridge crossing the space between the sides of a deep, deep canyon. She took a leap back that would've had her signed up for the Olympics in no time, planting her feet firmly on solid ground. Familiar ground. From there, it didn't feel quite so bad or awkward to cut the butler some slack. He had come all that way, after all, and in a sense he had done her a favour by taking care of the penthouse.
"Yeah," she said, nodding a little stiffly. "I figured it'd be something like that. I should've known that a servant with more mop heads than hobbies would get his kicks out of cleaning out my apartment…!"
Her words (but especially her zinger) were like a breath of fresh air for the butler. Not to get him wrong – he still very much wanted the Earth to swallow him whole and would rather have never had this conversation, but he could tell her anger had relented. The softening in her tone would have gone unnoticed to the untrained ear, but it wasn't lost on him. Nor was the fact that she'd actually insulted him back.
To anyone else, an insult would have been indicative of the conversation going South, but when it came to them, zingers were as good as any compliment at best, and a simple olive branch at worst. It was still too early to tell if she had forgiven him, but it had definitely lightened the conversation and their mood.
"Well, as I've said before, what kind of zookeeper would I be if I didn't take care of your cage?" he joked back, both testing the waters and relishing in going back to an age old rhythm he'd believed lost forever.
Miss Babcock's reaction was merely the arching of one eyebrow.
"Is that the best you could come up with?" she replied. "Your repertoire is getting as ancient as you, Brillo Pad. But let me stop you right there before your decrepit little brain gets side-tracked – you still have to explain how you got from spending your days slaving away in my apartment like the world's ugliest Cinderella, to being here."
Niles' smile dropped. She was right, he had yet to explain himself. He fully intended to, of course, but he'd just gotten a little bit carried away.
"Of course, of course…" he said. "I foun—"
"Why don't you sit down before you go on?" she cut him off, gesturing towards one of the armchairs opposite her bed. "This will take a while, by the look of things, and I'd rather your old carcass didn't collapse on the floor out of sheer exhaustion. After all, when was the last time you spent more than ten minutes not sitting on your ass?"
The corners of Niles' mouth twitched in surprise, and his entire body perked up. That had sounded like a definite zinger to him, and that could only have meant good things, couldn't it? Zingers were their communication tool, and communication meant progress. And in this case, progress meant letting him stay. He didn't thank her for it – that would've been far too much and would've dropped the ball on how they talked to one another. But he was grateful, and slightly warmed and relieved, even if he wouldn't ever give her that kind of ammunition!
"I don't know," he replied airily. "When was the last full moon? It must've been about then because I spent the night following you around, cleaning up your shed hair."
Without another remark, he took the seat that she'd pointed to. It was nicer, to be able to sit down and talk. It actually made him feel welcome. Like any other visitor she might have to her room.
"Anyway, you were wondering about how I got here. I, uh…might've found your acceptance letter to here, while I was busy changing your bedsheets."
Even as the words came out he was starting to cringe again. How had he managed to do so many stupid, wrong, and incriminating things recently?!
"I-I, um…"
It made him squirm to even think about what he'd done, but the former producer didn't even look angry. Which was, truth be told, a nice change of pace even if it was also a bit odd, considering it was obvious what had happened and anybody had a right to be angry about that.
"Oh come on, Niles! You've been going into my apartment for weeks now, you tracked me down half way across the country, and we all know you're the World's Biggest Yenta competition's reigning champion – I think we're a little past being shy about it!" she said. "It's okay; you can say it. You read the letter."
She had to tell him that. There wasn't any point in letting him bottle it up when it was so obvious! She just couldn't believe she'd been such a dumb, idiotic cretin and had forgotten the damn thing herself! No wonder he'd managed to track her down – the letter would've told him exactly where to find her, right down to the room number and the name of her doctor! She couldn't have left him any more clues behind if she'd dropped a fucking trail of breadcrumbs along the way!
"Yes, I did," Niles confessed, looking down at his lap. "And I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have."
"Well, I'll be damned! I never thought I'd live to see the day when you'd actually apologise for being a snoop," she said, the corners of her mouth turning into a small smirk. "But as I said, we're past the point of being shy about this – I fucked up by leaving the letter somewhere you could lay your grubby Yenta paws on it, and you fucked up by being the world's biggest gossip. Now, come on, what did you do when you found out where I was?"
'Panic, that's what!' Niles thought to himself. The knowledge of what was going on with her had left him reeling and had probably pushed him to act a little recklessly (hence his presence there). But he wasn't going to tell her any of that. Sentimentality wasn't their thing, and he knew it would only make things awkward for the both of them. He'd just stick to the facts and metaphorically sidestep mentioning how discovering she was ill had made him feel like.
"I actually called the hospital," Niles said. "To…to make sure you were still here and not…uh…"
"Dead?" she offered.
Niles nodded – he could have killed himself for putting it so bluntly, but just as she'd said, he was past the point of being shy about what he'd done. He had to face the consequences of his actions, even if it meant looking like a tactless oaf.
"I…I didn't know how bad it was," he tried to explain himself, still not looking at her. "I…well…I—"
"Niles, it's fine," she snapped. "I won't give you grief for assuming something that's completely plausible, given the circumstances. I'd have done the same thing, except that I would have actually answered the fucking phone once I'd called! You phoned yesterday, didn't you? And you hung up when I answered the call! You creeped me out, you idiot!"
The butler felt all the blood drain from his face, which he had a sudden urge to let fall into his hands and just groan. Shit, he had done that, hadn't he…? The list of creepy, weird things he'd done in the span of under two months just kept getting longer!
He had a problem. He must've done. Why would he keep on doing things like this otherwise?! Perhaps he should've just handed himself into the police right then and had done with it!
He at the very least had to get Miss Babcock to stop looking at him like that – he hadn't meant to come off like a pervert. It was only him, just as she'd always known him. Nothing had changed in that regard. He wanted – perhaps rather desperately – to let her know that. To show her that he'd keep everything as normal as possible, even in a place where absolutely nothing else was.
And there was only one way he knew how to do that.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to do that," he told her. "It's just that I was rendered catatonic by the sound of your voice and had to lie down to recover from the shock and terror of it."
The former producer narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head a little.
"You really are lucky that I can't move from this bed, or I would've kicked your ass already," she said. "But if that really was you on the phone, that means you opened up that rarely-seen wallet of yours and fought your way through the dust and the moths to find the cash to buy a last-minute plane ticket all the way over here. What did Maxwe—"
The rest of C.C.'s question dropped out of her mouth. Fuck. Shit, she'd forgotten entirely about Maxwell and the others! If Niles was there, that had to mean he'd told them something, didn't it?! He wouldn't have lied to them about this – told them some sort of an excuse! Would he? He hadn't mentioned them at all. Maybe he'd told them something had come up with a friend? Some kind of emergency?
Oh, even she didn't believe that one! Not one of the butler's small, perfectly swept social circle lived out this far! And even if they had, Nanny Fine would've gone snooping to figure out who it was that was getting the short end of the stick. And what if Niles had been cornered, or put under pressure until he'd caved like the poorly made soufflé his body resembled? What if they'd made him show them the letter?! What would Maxwell say about it if Niles had told him everything?
Jesus Christ, this was all her own stupid fault! She'd run off without making sure she had the letter with her and now that one mistake had snowballed out of control! How the hell was she gonna get out of it if—
"Miss Babcock, are you feeling alright?"
Her name being called loudly in the quiet of the room snapped her out of it, like someone suddenly waving a hand in front of her face. She started, eyes hurrying back to the butler. He was peering at her with no small amount of concern.
And if anybody had asked, Niles wouldn't have even denied that he was concerned. All amusement had fled his person the minute she'd come to a dead halt right in the middle of her sentence! What was the matter? Something was obviously wrong – there wasn't any possible way she could deny it right to his face this time! But what could it be? Was she too hot? Too cold? Feeling nauseous?
Perhaps she'd been in pain for a moment, and had been busy bracing herself against it? He didn't think pain from treatment like this would go away so quickly, somehow…
"Are you in pain?" he asked, leaning over in his seat, looking ready to dash for the door if she needed it. He pointed that way, too. "Do you need me to go fetch someo—"
"What did you tell Maxwell?!" she cut him off. "Does he know about the letter? Or that I'm here?"
Niles shook his head.
"Of course not!" he said. "I didn't tell him – or anyone, for that matter – where I was going. I just told Mr Sheffield I had an emergency and that I would be taking a few days off."
"So…Maxwell doesn't know I'm sick?" she asked, looking and sounding a lot less anxious. "You didn't tell him? Or Nanny Fine?"
"No, I didn't. It didn't even cross my mind. I just hurried to the airport…" he said.
It wasn't the full truth – it had actually crossed his mind to tell the family, but he'd decided against it. For one thing, he hadn't even been sure Miss Babcock had been alive, and he'd also quickly deduced that, if she was, her diagnosis was something the producer had wanted to keep private. And judging by how strongly she'd reacted to the possibility of the family knowing, it looked like he'd made the right choice.
He couldn't understand why, though – Maxwell was a close friend at best, and the man she'd been chasing after for the better part of the last decade at worst. It didn't make sense for her to leave him in the dark when she clearly needed support. But then again, Wilson had said that she hadn't told anyone apart from her brother about her diagnosis. But why? Why face this alone?
Why push away the people who would be there for her?
He honestly didn't know, and while he was dying to ask her all of these questions, he didn't think it would be wise. At least not yet. His arrival had been a shock to her system and had probably upset the delicate balance she'd been living in since being admitted to the clinic. She didn't need any more added stress from uncomfortable questions Niles knew he had no business asking. At least not for now.
What he could do, however, was reassure her that her secret was, ironically enough, safe with him.
"But worry not, Miss Babcock – I won't tell anyone about this, if you don't wish me to," he said.
"Oh, thank God!" C.C. let out a groaned breath as she flopped back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It sounded like she'd been holding it in for some time – since she'd asked him if he'd told anybody. "As much as it'll probably kill you from the pain of having to keep a secret, I absolutely do not want you to tell anybody! It's bad enough that you're here already, making yourself at home!"
Niles attempted a smile, but it wavered before he managed a whole one. It actually pained him to try while looking at her like that.
He'd never seen Miss Babcock afraid of anything at the mansion, and now she was lying there, so obviously afraid of something that could end up doing a world of good for her at a time like this. He couldn't understand why she was so terrified of it, either. Having other people – people that loved and cared about her – knowing about her condition and offering their support could've checked off the list of everything that she needed! Surely that could only have been a good thing?
He didn't think she needed to be afraid of people being around. Not at time like this. If it had been him, he thought he might've felt the same way for the complete opposite – if he'd found out and everyone had abandoned him. But he didn't tell her that. He had to work with her and tell her that she needed people in a way they were both familiar with; a way that wouldn't make her angry enough to kick him out.
"This place is quite comfortable," he agreed. "And I know you're used to chasing away screaming villagers, but perhaps you really won't get rid of me so easily?"
C.C. angled her head so she could squint up at him.
"Does that mean Maxwell's gonna have to go without someone hosing the pigeon poop off the terrace for a while, so you can stick around to piss me off more?"
Niles' hands gripped at the arms of his chair, his heart leaping by itself into his throat. He swallowed it back down, but the burst of energy nearly made him want to jump out of his seat.
She…it sounded like she was agreeing that he could stay! Keeping it cool, obviously, and playing up the zingers for all they were worth, but still! She was letting him visit if that's what he wanted to do! And…well, yes, he did want to. He'd come all the way there to find her and he wasn't about to go back when it was obvious she needed hi—someone! Obvious that she needed someone.
And the fact that she was letting him be that someone could only be a good sign, couldn't it? A step in the right direction, for definite – after all, if she let him stay after one near-disastrous visit, who knew what would happen in the future? She might open up to the possibility of letting others know…letting them visit…
It was a relief, and it warmed him inside to know that she was trusting him with this for now. He didn't burst out with thanks this time, though, or even jump out of his chair like his body wanted him to. He didn't want her to see him do all that and then suddenly change her mind. Being overly excitable was probably the last thing in the world that would help his case!
No, he had to control himself. Keep things normal between them.
"I do have two weeks and some time to kill," he replied with a casual shrug. "What better way to spend them than with my home entertainment system?"
He thought he saw a hint of a smirk flash over her face before she let her head fall back heavily onto her pillow.
"Ugh, fine," she grumbled. "If I have to put up with you for two weeks, then so be it."
She thought she heard the butler chuckle a little under his breath, and it oddly made her want to smile again, but she didn't get up to look. She couldn't, even if she had wanted to. That last little effort of hers had forced the energy she'd still had straight out of her body, and she thought she might throw up again if she even had the idea or inclination to move.
The whole day had exhausted her entirely. It was about time she got back at it with some sleep. That meant doing a little role reversal and showing the butler the door. Figuratively speaking. If she'd actually tried she probably would've fallen down and the vomit would've run over his shoes or something…
"But this day's viewing's just come to an end, Scrubbing Bubbles," she told him, putting her arm over her eyes. It took energy she didn't have to even do that. "I need to catch up on my beauty sleep."
Niles watched the way she moved and heard the way her words came out slowly, half-muttered in a state of utter tiredness. It was clear to anybody with eyes and a brain that she needed some quiet time by herself to get some proper rest. He wasn't going to delay it, either. He got up out of his chair and started straightening out his jacket.
"Don't expect Prince Charming to kiss you awake – he'll probably take one look and mistake you for the dragon."
A low noise came from C.C.'s throat. It could've been a laugh or a growl, but she was too tired for it to really be either.
"Get out before I breathe fire on you."
Niles smirked, and with a muttered word or two about seeing her tomorrow, he turned and left her room, closing the door behind him.
Each step felt heavier as he went away, heading for the hospital corridor. The reality of how sick the former producer really was, was dawning on him all over again, like a new day that was destined to repeat itself as far as calendars could reach and the human mind could imagine.
But he had to console himself. For a fresh fourteen of those days (he'd think what to do about the rest of time at the end of them), he would be able to spend more time with her, helping her through whatever steps came next. Bad or good, worse days or better, he would be there for whatever she needed. He hoped that he'd be able to get her feeling at least a little bit more like herself.
He was just glad and grateful that she had given him the opportunity.