Chapter 10
Maxwell had lost count of how many hours he'd spent cooped up in his office over the course of the last month and a half. Never in his entire bloody career had he had to work so hard and for so long for one single show.
Of course there had been the occasional nightmarish production that had represented a heavier workload, but he'd never had to shoulder it alone! Babcock had, for better or for worse, been there to take care of the financials, the legal aspects and anything that had to do with advertisement, thus letting him get on with the artistic side of things – his forte, as it were. There were very few places he'd rather be apart from holed up at a nice theatre, figuring out how to turn his production into an absolute blockbuster.
He and his former business partner had had a well-established rhythm for years on end – he was the soul and she was the brains. They'd complemented each other's strengths. But then she just had to go and disappear off the face of Earth while they were in the middle of their biggest production ever. A production that had been her own bloody idea to produce, mind you. Maxwell wasn't into revivals, but she had insisted that "The King and I" was "one of those shows you just can't pass on". Maxwell hadn't been sure, but she'd talked him into it, eventually. It was an age-old classic, she'd said. It had the potential to be a real smash hit, she'd said…
And truth be told, she'd had a point. Both the plot and songs were gorgeous, they'd gotten the talented Donna Murphy to play the lead character, Anna Leonowens, and C.C. had managed to get a ridiculous amount of funding from their backers. Everything had been working wonderfully – they'd had the money, a talented cast, and rehearsals had been going great and on schedule!
And then C.C. had upped and left without so much as a word thrown in his direction about why! The little serpent had simply slithered out, practically overnight, and no one had heard from her since! Of course, he'd had his sneaking suspicions and he'd checked around to see if perhaps she'd left for another company, or if she'd gone to set up a rival firm by piggybacking off his success, but she simply wasn't to be found working anywhere in New York!
Not that he cared that much about what she was actually doing now. It'd ruined everything, either way – she'd abandoned him when he'd needed her most and now he was having to juggle it all simply to prevent it all from going to Hell!
And that wasn't all he was having to juggle, either. Because he'd quite obviously fallen out of favour with somebody upstairs, Niles had just gone away on some "emergency" trip! The man hadn't even told him when he'd be back, either!
Maxwell wished with a groan that he had, so he could've made temporary arrangements. Things were starting to pile up and he knew it would only get worse the longer Niles was away. It could end up looking like…like they didn't even have a butler, or something!
Admittedly, it was the meals that he missed the most. Niles was able to whip up practically anything – sometimes even at short notice! So when he'd skipped out on them on this so-called "emergency", all of those deliciously prepared breakfasts, lunches, and dinners had skipped out on them too! That had meant a takeout meal so far, and breakfast out as a "treat" at short notice, but it wasn't sustainable. If this was going to get dragged out for an unreasonably long time, Maxwell had decided that they needed to be able to eat at home as well. So that they had something nutrient-rich every now and again, even if it wasn't butler-standard.
He thought about that with a sigh, as he stared down into the plate of burned macaroni and cheese that Fran had slipped in front of him a few minutes previous. She'd meant well, naturally, by loudly and happily taking it upon herself to do the cooking for the house, but quite honestly lunches like this made Maxwell wish that she hadn't said anything at all on the subject.
He scooped up a sticky-yet-somehow-crunchy mouthful with his spoon and turned the whole thing over. It stayed there, and suddenly the producer was more depressed than ever. At least he'd never been scared to eat one of Niles' meals—
The phone rang, and he jumped. The macaroni lump fell back onto the plate with a soft plop. The spoon soon followed, dropped back onto the meal where it sat on top of the whole thing.
Groaning, Maxwell pushed it all to one side and grabbed the phone to pick up the call.
"Yes?" he said, not quite managing (nor really wanting) to hide the irritation in his tone.
"Afternoon, sir – it's Niles."
"Niles!" the producer cried out, sitting up. "Where are you, Old Man? Are you on your way back already?"
There was a short silence on the other end of the line followed by a long, uncomfortable sigh. Maxwell didn't like that sigh. It was the kind of sigh that preceded bad news, and if there was something Maxwell was sick of, it was bad news.
"Not…not exactly, sir," replied the butler. "I'm afraid I won't be back home for some time yet."
"And what exactly does that mean?" Maxwell practically hissed as his right hand went to and started to massage his temple.
Not that it helped much – regardless of Niles' answer, his worst nightmare was on its way to becoming a reality: he'd have to manage both his home and his business on his own for the foreseeable future. Brilliant, just bloody brilliant!
"I…I know this is a difficult time for you sir," said the butler, almost as if to soften the blow. "But as I told you, I'm in the midst of a family emergency. I'm currently in England, at my mother's house, and will be staying here for about a fortnight."
…A-A what? A fortnight? What the hell did he mean by a fortnight?! Did he really expect the producer to take care of everything around the place, by himself, for fourteen whole days?! What on Earth was Maxwell supposed to do in that time – who'd be cleaning the house? Taking out the trash or doing the laundry? Did Niles expect Miss Fine to continue to cook…?!
He couldn't be serious. He honestly could not be serious! Who the hell did that butler think he was, traipsing off whenever he wanted and leaving his employer without so much as a second thought?! Leaving him to take care of everything, on top of the work he already had to do! Not that Niles had been given permission to go, either – not for all of that time! Long gone were the days when a servant could be soundly thrashed for all the behaviour his butler was currently rubbing in his face, but Maxwell was ready to bring said days back with a vengeance!
"What the hell do you mean, a fortnight?!" he bellowed. "You can't clear off for a— Do you even know how difficult this makes everything for me, Niles? I can't clean, Miss Fine…tries her hardest to cook, the laundry is all going to end up a mess; it's not the same as having you here! What on Earth am I supposed to do about the house, on top of running the business all by myself?!"
"Deal with it like any other adult homeowner!" came a bristly, snapped reply. "Everyone else manages it just fine, so I'm sure you can as well! Or do I need to remind you that NASA hasn't officially declared you the centre of the universe…?!"
Maxwell felt himself shrinking in his seat, but the butler wasn't done.
"If you don't want to do a deep clean, then don't. The house will survive. Don't let Miss Fine cook by herself anymore. Takeout places exist, restaurants exist, supermarkets exist. And you don't even have to be a member to use two of those while reaping all of the benefits – you can simply walk up to the door and go right on through. And for God's sake, you're a millionaire – you've got more formal shirts alone than I've probably got years left! You won't need to wear anything twice in two weeks!"
The producer was almost on the floor by this point, burning with the humiliation of being spoken to that way, but also the deep and painful knowledge that Niles was…had more than a substantial point.
"I've come all this way back here because…because we got some bad news. My aunt – my mother's sister – died," the butler sputtered. It was almost like he wanted to get off the phone. He probably did, after his outburst. "I am here to help her get through it."
Maxwell squirmed in his seat. Wonderful; not only had he just lost his moral high ground, but he'd also managed to yell at someone in mourning, and had just had a chastising the likes of which he hadn't seen since being at school!
That substantial point just might have been Niles being right. It let a little lingering feeling of guilt work its way in, too. And the producer had to relent to that a little, didn't he? He couldn't be so callous as to ignore a family in grief, no matter what it meant he had to do.
Even if he still wanted to beat Niles for leaving him in the lurch in the first place.
"Oh, um…I'm sorry about that, Old Man…" he mumbled. "And for…well…snapping at you."
"As you should be," replied the butler. "But now, if you don't mind, I will go back to my mother, who needs me a bit more than you do. You give the children and Miss Fine my love."
Niles didn't wait for Maxwell's answer before ending the call. He was well aware his close relationship with the producer gave him the kind of leeway with his boss than other employees could only dream of. Had they not been friends practically since diapers, Niles was sure he'd have been fired on the spot, both for having left without notice and for having spoken to him like he had.
Not that he was in the clear, as it was – he was, after all, lying through his teeth about his current whereabouts, not to mention that his aunt had been dead for well over a decade (hence Niles being sure Mr Sheffield probably wouldn't remember). Still, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for Miss Babcock. She clearly didn't want the family to know what she was going through just yet, and he wasn't about to break her tenuous trust in him.
If she ever reached out (and he certainly hoped she would), then it would be on her terms, not his.
Given the nature of his hurried and unexpected departure from his job, the butler had been aware that he'd have to provide an explanation to his boss, and now that the necessary phone call was out of the way, Niles was free to finally head over to the clinic.
In his desperation to get to Chicago, Niles hadn't bothered to make a hotel reservation. He'd only found lodging the previous afternoon, after his visit to Miss Babcock. He'd rented a room in a tiny but agreeable hostel for forty dollars a night. It was a forty-minute drive away from the clinic and, for an extra five bucks, it included breakfast. All in all, it wasn't that bad, but given the distance between his accommodation and the clinic, he'd also had to rent a car to move around. That had added sixty dollars to his expenses, which had put them at around a hundred and twenty dollars per day.
An admittedly spendthrift part of his brain had been screaming ever since he'd arrived about how much this was costing him. It was a hundred and twenty dollars a day, not including any extra expenses he might suddenly need to get for himself, and he was happily going to spend two whole weeks there taking care of Miss Babcock! He'd never so much as spent that on a vacation before, thanks to Mr Sheffield and his ability to pay for everyone in a house of six people (or more, when Miss Fine's relatives tagged along), let alone something like this!
And yet, he thought to himself as he got ready to go to the clinic for the day, he really didn't care about how much he was spending, either. The cheapskate that lived in his head was much easier to ignore when – over the rambling about money – he remembered and thought about what he was doing for Miss Babcock by staying. That had to come first; her need for company and a strong…what? Hand to hold? No, that was too much. A strong presence to lean on – that was much…no, no it wasn't…a strong…a strong support system! Yes. Her need for company and a strong support system far outweighed whatever he had to pay to make it happen.
He snatched up his wallet as if to show his own mind just who was in charge, and he tucked it into his pocket, along with his keys. He'd need to lock the hostel room door as he left; he might not have had much in there, and there wasn't much about the place that was worth taking that didn't belong to him, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
He left and locked up after checking his hair and straightening his jacket out one more time in the room's mirror. It wasn't as though he could turn up at the place looking like a ruffian. It had been bad enough when he'd rushed in the first time, looking probably as ruffled and as exhausted as he'd felt!
It was hardly how a butler should ever appear in public. Unless said butler was on holiday, of course, but this visit didn't count as one in the slightest. He was there to do his duty by someone who was very unwell, and he would do it for as long as he was needed.
He hurried down through the hostel and out the front door, finding his rented car a little way down the sidewalk from the hostel. He'd been lucky with parking that particular day, and he didn't expect there to be the same space available when he got back that night – he'd consider himself fortunate if he got a spot on the same street!
But it didn't matter. He'd deal with that when he came back that evening. Making sure he had his visit of the day was the most important thing on his list right at that moment.
Getting into the car and fastening his seatbelt, he started the engine and let the radio whirr to life as he carefully made his way into the Chicago traffic. The journey itself wasn't particularly interesting – forty minutes of mostly freeways and urban and suburban landscapes until he got to the turnoff that would take him down the road that went to the clinic. But he had had an idea fairly early on in the drive which had allowed him to make a spontaneous stop on the way. He'd passed a rather lovely-looking little bakery with a delectable selection of cream cakes, eclairs, and other assorted goodies in the window. So, he'd quickly stopped (as quickly as was safe, at any rate), and he'd bought a box. The pastries were fresh, the cream looked rich, and one in particular carried a juicy, bright scarlet strawberry right on the top as a delicious decoration.
There was enough of a choice in that box for Miss Babcock to have her pick. He supposed Wilson would probably help himself with a "Don't mind if I do" before anyone had asked if he would, as well.
But Niles didn't mind about that so much. The entire rest of the ride over from the bakery, he'd been more concerned about making sure the box stayed still enough to make sure the goods were in one piece when they arrived at the room!
It hadn't slid about too much on the seat beside him during the journey, so he remained hopeful as he finished parking the car and switched the engine off outside the clinic. In his rush to get to Miss Babcock, he hadn't fully appreciated the beauty and the sheer size of the clinic when he'd first visited. Between its fountains, perfectly trimmed gardens, sculpted hedges and delicate Georgian architectural style, the place looked more like a fancy boutique hotel than an actual hospital!
That was exactly why Miss Babcock had chosen it, he reflected. The woman was, at her core, one of the most private people Niles knew – she guarded most happenings in her personal life with the same zeal a dragon guards its hoard. Knowing Babcock as well as he did, Niles suspected it was her way of not showing any kind of vulnerability. After nearly two decades of working together, he considered himself a bit of a Babcock connoisseur. He knew just what to do to get to her – rile her up until he could get through her thick skin. It was a skill he'd diligently and tirelessly honed over the years, and one of which he was rather proud.
One of the things he'd discovered about her in the early years of their acquaintance, was that C.C. Babcock was extremely sensitive and self-conscious. She had built a reputation of being a heartless, cutthroat bitch, but deep down she craved acceptance and love as much as the next person. That's why it had been so easy to ruffle her feathers – he knew exactly what buttons to push to remind her that he wasn't buying it.
That he knew she was vulnerable – that she was, deep down, painfully human.
He couldn't fully grasp why she was so averse to the idea of letting people see her hurting. Sadness was, in his humble opinion, an inescapable part of life. But to her…well…it was almost as if allowing herself to feel pain or sadness was a crime – as if it made her weaker, somehow.
Part of him had been certain she'd eventually reach some sort of breaking point, but considering the circumstances – them being her suffering from a painful and potentially lethal illness and not telling anyone in the process – he wasn't sure anymore. He'd known she was proud, but he'd never imagined it would be this bad. He'd never even considered the possibility of her fearing vulnerability so much that she'd willingly go through hell on her own.
His stomach churned uncomfortably when he remembered that all the hopes of changing that currently lay on him, according to Wilson. Niles had no idea how he was supposed to change her mind about any of it when her own doctor and brother had already failed miserably! But he owed it to her to at least try, even if it felt like a losing battle.
Niles took a couple of deep, courage-building breaths. They helped soothe his nerves enough so that he could pocket his keys and exit the car, pastry box in hand. He then made his way to the reception, where he was given his visitor's pass (he'd been added to the authorised visitor's list, by the look of things!) and was reminded of the way to her room.
Not that he needed it, but his Britishness wouldn't have allowed him to interrupt the receptionist mid-sentence while she was giving him directions. There were a few British capital sins, and being impolite was up there with not queuing for the bus and making tea in the microwave.
When she'd eventually finished talking and he'd managed to untangle himself from the conversation, he went right along to the room without any further delay. It was…not nice, exactly, but at least freeing to be able to walk around the place without feeling like he'd broken in. At least, he felt a bit freer to walk about the place until he got to the room – that was when his nerves started to bundle themselves up again and his mind suddenly stopped dead.
He didn't know how this was going to go. Part of him wasn't sure it wanted to. But the rest of him quickly outvoted it by a large majority; of course he didn't know how it would go yet. He had to go in and find out, no matter what it was currently making him feel!
Taking in another steadying breath, he balanced the cake box in one hand and knocked with the other.
"Come in…!"
That was Miss Babcock's voice. He supposed that had to be a good sign already – she was well enough today to talk to him…
Opening the door with his elbow so that he could hold the box in two hands, Niles stepped through and into the room. What struck him immediately in the most pleasant way possible was that Miss Babcock wasn't in bed this time. She was up, if being on the sofa, covered in a fluffy-looking blanket counted as "up". She appeared to be dressed underneath it as well, instead of in her most comfortable pyjamas.
It might not have been much to be happy about, but it was certainly better than the alternative. It seemed a better day already. She could talk to him, she could clearly move about…
"Oh, Niles," she said nonchalantly, as though she'd been expecting him back in at any moment. "I'd thought I'd heard someone say the toilets needed scrubbing around here. That's like a summoning charm for you, isn't it?"
And she was up for zingers! Niles felt the corners of his mouth start to crease, but he held firm. He wasn't about to be caught off-guard.
"No more so than the cry of "last call" has been for you," he said, coming closer. "I would've been earlier, had I not remembered that you require an offering before granting your cultists their deepest, darkest desires."
He slipped the box onto the coffee table.
"The bakery was all out of the blood of virgins, so I thought cream cakes would suffice."
"Why, that's awfully nice of you!" she replied, reaching for the box. "Perhaps too nice. Should I be worried about dropping dead the moment I take a bite out of any of these?"
"I suspect it would take a lot more than a poisoned treat to kill the likes of you," Niles said. "A stake to the heart or some holy water, perhaps. Besides, we have entered a bit of a truce, have we not?"
"If by truce you mean me deciding to be the kindest human being on this Earth and not kicking you to the curb after the stunt you pulled, then yes, it's a ceasefire for now," she said, smirking.
She then turned her attention to the box of assorted pastries in front of her. C.C. could feel her mouth-watering – it had been weeks since she'd last eaten anything sweet. She'd never complain about the food she was given at the clinic because it certainly was good, but it was also painfully healthy. All her meals were designed to fulfil the dietary requirements her illness had brought on, so junk food and sweets weren't on the menu at all. Noel would always bring her a treat or two when he visited, but it was always chocolate or maybe chips from the hospital's café. It was never anything like this – warm, fattening and rich.
Niles' baking was one of the few things C.C. had allowed herself to miss during her time at the hospital. Missing food felt easier than thinking about all the other, much more important things she desperately longed for.
"I got some white chocolate éclairs, croissants, cherry danishes and a strawberry tart," he said, interrupting both her thoughts and her careful inspection of the pastry box. "I wasn't actually going to get the tart, but the baker insisted. Apparently it's one of his bestsellers."
He paused for a moment and his lips curled into a devious smirk.
"Besides, I thought that it really is fitting – a nice tart for the biggest tart I know."
"You've used that one before, Dust Buster. Your repertoire is getting older than you, and that's saying something," she replied with a deadpan look as she grabbed one of the éclairs. "But that's to be expected – old age turns people into broken records."
"You are one to talk about the ravages of time, Babcock. Weren't you one of the most notorious witches terrorising villagers and narrowly escaping the stake, back in Salem?" he dished back.
"And yet I am as sprightly as ever!" she replied, sarcasm dripping from her words. "I look the picture of health, don't I?"
Niles faltered, the smile that had been playing around his features suddenly dropping. It almost felt like it had never existed in the first place. He almost wished it hadn't – he definitely wished that he hadn't brought any kind of frivolity to a conversation which didn't need or warrant it!
She wasn't the picture of health; it was obvious that she wasn't! That didn't mean that he should get to joke about it, or set her up to say anything! There hadn't been any need for him to steer the conversation in a direction which meant one of them had had to bring it up, one way or another! It was bad enough that she was having to go through any of it without him putting his foot right in it where it didn't belong! This was practically none of his business, and yet he'd gone and meddled where he hadn't been asked or told!
The twisting in his gut got worse with every second that passed in silence, but before he could try and open his mouth (to do what, apologise? He didn't know – he felt like he ought to even if it hadn't been his joke!), C.C. waved him down like she was stopping a rehearsal.
"Oh, relax; it's fine. I was just joking," she said, taking a bite out of her éclair. Cream dotted the corner of her mouth as she chewed. "Don't even worry about it; it isn't like making a joke will make it any better or worse, either way."
Somehow, Niles didn't feel comforted by that answer. Just because something could be joked about, didn't necessarily mean that it made it right or fair. Especially not when it was something so grave, and put him so on edge…
Not that she appeared to be having any of it. She loudly took another bite of the éclair, making moaning noises of appreciation – again, all before he could protest. She pointed and nodded at the treat.
"Y'know, this really is a good éclair! Even better than what the doctor ordered. Which isn't hard, seeing as it is Wilson, and everything..." she said, looking over the box again. "If I'm lucky, I'll be able to save one for Noel from the rest of the staff, so he can have it when he comes over later…"
The butler perked up at the mention of the eldest Babcock sibling.
"Your brother?" he asked, hoping that he really had heard her right. "Your brother is coming here, today?"
C.C. took another bite before she nodded.
"Yeah! It's his usual day to come over, talk, say hi, that kind of stuff," she explained. She seemed to be dedicating her attention to the pastry still, and not him. "You might get him over a little more often if you keep bringing these!"
"Well, I could get some more pastries while I'm in Chicago and bring them over whenever your brother is due for a visit––"
"Nah, it's okay – he probably won't be able to visit again before you go back to NYC," C.C. cut him off with a somewhat sad smile. "It's a busy time for him at work. Finals are just around the corner and he needs to deal with all the planning and shit."
She looked away from Niles, frowning.
"It sucks, but it's okay – I'm used to being on my own. It's never killed me before, and it won't do it now either…" she said.
The butler could feel his stomach twisting into tight knots again – this was the loneliness Wilson had told him about and that Miss Babcock so stubbornly refused to acknowledge. He knew she wasn't a social butterfly, but not even she could hope to face a gruelling treatment regime on her own and come out the other side unscathed. She needed a support system – a proper one, that is. Niles was sure Noel did his best, but biweekly visits weren't going to do the trick. Not when Miss Babcock was so unwell and so obviously lonely.
Still, knowing Babcock as well as he did, Niles was aware he couldn't just suggest she open up – he needed to be tactful. Strategic, even. He had to push her in the right direction without her realising he'd done so in the first place. It would be no easy feat, but he had to try.
"As I said before, taking you out is easier said than done," Niles offered. "Though I fail to see why you can't reach out to someone else, whenever your brother cannot make it."
C.C. bristled so hard at that, she might as well have put out defensive spikes.
"Because I don't need anybody," she said sharply. "I'm strong enough to do this on my own – and I didn't ask for your opinion, anyway!"
Another Niles might've flinched at the lash, but this one had spent too many hours getting there and too much time wanting to help to let a little verbal spitting put him off. He could tell he'd just poked the bear in an old wound, but he wasn't about to back down now and leave it alone. Not when she'd just said something that gave him the perfect opening.
She'd said she was strong enough. Not that she didn't want anybody to be there with her while she was going through this.
"Well, you need somebody else's two cents occasionally!" he retorted. "And for your information, I never said that you weren't strong enough to do this on your own; I simply said that it might be nice to have someone here with you. Someone to give you a little bit of support and to shoulder some of the burden on the…rougher days…"
C.C. stared at him for a moment like she thought he'd gone insane, before scoffing loudly.
"Who? Seriously, who?" she all but demanded to know. "Nobody wants to be stuck here with me, and honestly, I am more than fine with that! It's not like I'd want anybody from out there in the real world coming in and seeing me like this…!"
Niles frowned at the harsh dismissal. He understood exactly why the producer didn't want other people around, but it didn't make it any easier to hear her shove them away before it could even start.
She was afraid – perhaps deeply so – of them patronising her in her weakened and vulnerable state. And telling anybody other than Noel was unacceptable because of it. He was the only person she trusted not to do basically everything other than openly look down on her, and nobody else who could ever come in held that same level of trust.
It didn't seem to matter if all they actually wanted to do was see her get better. She couldn't stand the idea of them seeing her in a way she never wanted to be seen by anyone.
A pang of hurt and sadness crept through Niles' chest at the very thought. The former producer was acting almost like a wounded animal, running away to somewhere safe so that she could heal in peace and growling at anybody who came near. Friend or foe, they all got the same bared teeth.
Nobody should've ever had to live like that. Especially not in the face of an awful disease that she'd need support through, and definitely not simply to avoid the apparent humiliation of pity from people she should know loved her with all their hearts.
"There are plenty of people who'd want to be here with you, no matter what," he told her. And he knew not one of them would want to pity her. "Your parents, to name two. Mr Sheffield, for ano—"
"Oh, please! My parents? That's bullshit, Niles, and you know it," C.C. snapped. "You really think that the father who speaks to me on the phone once a month at the most, or the mother who thinks sending a birthday gift from Paris occasionally is as good as actual human affection, would want to come take care of me?"
Before Niles could say anything at all, she continued.
"Or…or any of my so-called "friends"! You truly believe that they'd drop everything they've got going on in New York to come play nursemaid…?! I'm not a priority to them! I could be on my final fucking deathbed and nobody would want to come out and even check if they'd given me the Last Rites!"
"Then why the fuck am I here in fucking Chicago?!"
Niles felt the words leave his mouth before he could stop them.
Oh shit. Why had he said any of that? What had been the matter with him?! He wouldn't have gone to that on any other day of the week, or for anyone else in the world – he'd…he'd just gotten so wound up by her insistence that it'd all spilled out!
And now it was there, in the open, and he actually thought that Miss Babcock was looking at him with mild confusion-slash-disgust.
"What did you just say…?"
He had to think of something and he had to do it now. He couldn't just stand there gawking and let himself look so stupid!
"I, um…well, you heard me," he mumbled. He supposed it was a better start than some. "And…and even if a thorn in your side, such as myself, can come out and see you then I don't see why other people wouldn't come to do the exact same thing…!"
It was ad-libbed and it was awkward, but it was brilliant so he had to give himself points for that.
At least, he thought it was brilliant. C.C. was looking at him with the same disbelieving and almost revolted way she'd been looking at him before. But she hadn't gone anywhere or said anything else, which meant she was listening and that was a good sign.
It was a better sign than he might've imagined, at any rate. All the scenarios his mind could conjure up involved much more yelling, or storming out, than this.
He tried again with this new-found platform he had.
"Look, I know this is scary—"
C.C. scowled, "I'm not—"
"What I mean by that is," he cut loudly over her, reaching out a hand to physically halt the words in their tracks, "I know this is hard for you. But you're C.C. Babcock, the Bitch of Broadway, and I know it'll take far more than some stupid cancer to take you out before you're good and ready."
He thought he saw a glimmer of triumph on C.C.'s face then, but he wasn't finished. He didn't want her to think she'd gotten the upper hand in this conversation when it was so goddamn important that she saw things his way this time.
"But that still doesn't mean you have to be alone while you're fighting it," he said. He went on even after he saw her face drop into a grimace. "There are people who care, so there's no need to shut yourself away from them. What kind of parents, or friends, wouldn't come running if they heard you were in trouble? I know from experience that the Sheffields would be here in a heartbeat if they knew! They miss you, Miss Babcock – I've seen it myself!"
The former producer groaned, rolling her eyes.
"And you also said that Maxwell was pissed at me for leaving in the first place!"
"He's only mad because he's useless without you! He's snowed under with the work you'd usually be doing for him and he's frustrated about it, so he's lashing out!" Niles insisted. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't care. He'd be here, front and centre, if he knew what was actually going on!"
C.C. huffed out a breath in contempt, "Yeah, right…!"
Niles felt the familiar, irritating sensation of exasperation crawling under his skin.
"Can you at least talk to them and find out?" he asked. It might've been a last ditch attempt at getting her to do something good for herself for once, but it was all he had left at this point. "What have you got to lose by doing that? If they don't come, then everything stays the same. You'll still be here, by yourself, and you'll have the added bonus of being proved right."
He didn't give her a chance to say that was the only possible outcome, but he knew she was thinking it.
"But if they do come, like I think they will, then maybe things will be better. Easier," he finished. "And either way, you'll still be the Bitch of Broadway. You've squashed bigger arseholes under your heel than the ones you associate with on a day-to-day basis. If anybody visiting plays up, or makes you uncomfortable, then you can squash them too. Kick 'em out. They'll go and you won't have to bother with them ever again."
The silence that followed his little speech made him slightly nervous. He didn't know if she'd suddenly go off like a bomb, dismissing everything he'd said just like she'd dismissed the idea of people coming to see her, after she'd finished considering what he'd said.
And she was considering. He could see it on her face that what he'd told her was sinking in.
The time it was taking was another better sign that he hadn't quite thought possible, even if he knew he was still currently toeing a line…
"Fine," she eventually snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "I'll consider reaching out to someone else apart from my brother—"
"Babcock, come on, don't be stubbo—" interrupted Niles before he himself was stopped mid-sentence by the producer.
"Don't push it, Niles!" C.C. warned him. "I've been more flexible than a fucking rubber band these past few days! Not only have I not kicked you to the curb after your little break-and-enter stunt, but I've also allowed you to come back and fucking visit. Me hearing your point – in which I'm sure Wilson has had more than a substantial input – is yet another demonstration that I'm not stubborn. So, you have two options here: either you shut that fat mouth of yours and let me consider what you've just said at my own damn pace, or you can get the hell out!"
If Niles had wanted to argue back, her words had just shut that down faster than Maxwell rejecting a collaboration with Lloyd-Webber. She had…well…more than a substantial point about him not overstepping her boundaries. Like it or lump it, this was still her treatment — it was still her disease. It had robbed her of many choices and he had no right to do the same to her, even if it ultimately was for her own good.
She had listened to him and would consider his suggestion — that, in his book, was enough of a win to back off.
At least for now.
He had well over a decade's worth of experience managing Babcock – he knew when to fold and when to go all in.
"You are right. I overstepped."
"You can say that again!" she bristled.
"And it won't happen again," he went on, ignoring the acidic spitting coming from so close. "I won't mention it, or bring the subject up, from now on."
"Yeah, and that'll hold for all of…" C.C. feigned checking a watch, "until it next becomes convenient for you…!"
Quiet took over the room really quickly after that. The butler certainly didn't enjoy it, either, but he knew it was down to him. He had taken it too far, even if it had gotten him the results he'd wanted. She'd listened to him, and soon might end up doing something to help herself get better as a result, but it had come at the cost of…of whatever friendly-ish situation they might have also found themselves in…
That last part was actually a guess, at best, considering their history, but his point still stood. He'd been an arse about it, when he should've been grateful for what he'd managed to achieve with her.
"If it isn't obvious, I'm sorry that I took it that far," he added gently. "I should've thanked you right from the start for even agreeing to listen in the first place. Not that it matters, but I was only doing it because I want to see you get better, with all the help you need…"
C.C. shifted around in her seat at that, her expression falling so that it practically radiated unease and something that more than mildly looked like panic. If it were possible, Niles would've sworn she looked like a man whose girlfriend of only two months had just caught the bouquet at a wedding.
"Okay…you're being nice to me. You're never nice to me, so something is definitely wrong in this whole area," she gestured in his direction in a much larger circle than she'd need to fit his frame. "Did something happen that I don't know about?"
She then leaned in towards him, an affected tone of concern starting to play around in her voice.
"Did you fall down in your old age and hit your head, or something…?"
Niles automatically reverted to his "unimpressed with her banter" look, but inside his spirits had just lifted so high they might as well have ascended to Heaven. The banter was back, which meant in their own strange little language that he was forgiven.
He wouldn't push it, however. He knew he'd still be on thin ice, and he could tell from just how quickly they'd gotten to this point that Miss Babcock was looking for a way out of where they'd been in the conversation. Admittedly, it had been a lot nicer than he'd usually have been, but he just hadn't been able to help himself with that…
But that didn't matter. He'd said it himself, earlier – if anybody made C.C. uncomfortable, that was on them. And no doubt him suddenly turning far softer than they ever were around each other was a cause for major consternation.
He had to help her put things back on track.
"Forgive me for showing a little bit of what my species refers to as "human decency"," he replied, holding back a smirk. "As a creature of darkness and terror, I shouldn't expect you to be familiar with the concept."
The corners of C.C.'s mouth twitched upwards, "They teach you all about "human decency" in butler school?"
"Only to those not going on to serve one of Satan's highest-ranking demons," Niles replied, casually reaching over for another cream cake. "Now, would Lord Beelzebub prefer the chocolate or the caramel eclair…?"
Falling back into their rhythm really didn't take long at all after that. Even after arguments and shouting and apologies that one had thought would never be accepted, it didn't take much for the playful banter and the wordplay to resurface. It was like the seasons turning to spring after a long winter, and it brought a lightness and warmth to it that Niles had worried wouldn't ever come back again. He'd even turned the TV on at some point, so that they could watch the news and "see all the damage she'd caused on her latest rampage through Tokyo", just before she'd smacked his hand away from the cake box because she wanted there to be at least one left for Noel whenever he arrived.
The quiet they eventually settled into, there on the sofa watching the television, felt much better than it had done previously. Calmer, and…did he dare to think happier…?
At any rate, this time it was only interrupted by a knock at the door.
C.C. glanced at the clock, and she gave a vague hum in the back of her throat.
"That's gotta be Noel, now," she turned her body as much as she could towards the door and called out. "Come on in!"
There wasn't even a moment's pause in the door opening. It was like whomever was on the other side had already turned the handle and was just waiting for the word that they could actually come in before barging into the room.
Wilson was stood with Noel on the other side of the door when it swung open, so that actually checked out as a plausible reason in Niles' mind. If such a thing were possible, he was looking even more pleased with himself than usual.
Noel wasn't paying attention to that, though. He'd already made a beeline for his sister, who'd gotten herself up and off the sofa to rush to him for a hug.
"Ceec! My little baby sister's up and out of bed!" he cried out joyfully, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he probably dared before taking a step back to take a proper look at her. "And sporting something that's actually stylish today, instead of your new favourite number, the hospital paper gown…!"
"Oh, shut up!" C.C. grinned, wriggling out of her brother's arms and taking a swat at the back of his head. "You're one to talk, anyway, going around in a suit you've clearly had made out of grandmother's couch…!"
Noel was about to say something back, but whatever it was got lost in the fact that he'd apparently noticed Niles was there. The butler had stood up the second their company had walked through the door, but the professor had been so caught up in seeing his little sister again that he hadn't noticed.
His entire being changed the moment it registered just who it was, sat next to his sister watching television and spending a relaxing time. A pleased grin started stretching itself across his face, too, as he looked from Niles to an equally self-congratulatory Wilson, to his sister and back again.
"Well, well, well," he declared loudly. "What do we have here…? A visitor, mayhaps, from New York…?"
"Indeed!" Wilson piped up. "And fresh from New York, at that – he arrived only yesterday, unannounced and unexpected."
Noel's eyebrow shot up, pumped full of what was, in Niles' opinion, already unwelcome and over-enthusiastic curiosity. The professor practically turned on a well-oiled hinge as he eyed them all, his need to share in the gossip greater than a particularly pot-stirring Jane Austen character.
"Unannounced and unexpected, you say?" he cried out, clearly delighted by the minor act of delinquency being implied. "Well, now you obviously have to tell me everything…!"
Niles didn't think that that particular phrase had ever made him cringe so much. Then again, he was usually the one using it about other people, so that might have made a difference…
"We really don't need to go through all the details," he chuckled lightly and quickly, brushing his hands in the air as though ushering the conversation on. "I'm sure you'd much rather get on with—"
"He broke and entered," C.C. answered bluntly.
Niles' hand flopped to his side, forced smile vanishing and an idea in his head to later ask God why He allowed these things to happen to him.
Noel, on the other hand, was overjoyed.
"You did what?!" he exclaimed, eyes shining and mouth wide open in awe and anticipation and excitement.
"It…it really wasn't quite as bad as all that…!" the butler protested back, an uncomfortably warm sensation spreading in his cheeks. "It was—"
"It was more like a failed SAS operation," Wilson cut in, sounding far more authoritative than Niles thought he had any real right to in this situation. "He got in the building, only as noticed as he wanted to be…but then he just never made it back out."
Suppressing a groan as C.C. laughed, Niles fought back the urge to skip asking God why in his prayers and head straight to doing himself in to ask why in person. He should've expected this – he should've known it was coming. If he could've been considered the certified yenta of the Sheffield household, then Noel definitely occupied the same position in the Babcock family. It wasn't his fault that Niles would rather forget entirely about his less-than-savoury method of gaining access to the hospital…
He'd hoped to have a bit of a do-over, considering it was a new day and all that, but C.C. and her comedian of a doctor were making it very difficult.
"Really…well, really, I only did what I had to," he argued back over the laughter, which had only increased as Noel had joined in. "I had to come, and it wouldn't have been any good if I'd left again right after…!"
The two guffawing Babcocks soon rapidly lowered in volume to just one guffawing Babcock. Noel, wiping away a tear of mirth from his eyes, let his breathing return to normal as he thought about what the butler was actually saying. It was something he'd found you often had to pay attention to, when talking to Niles. A lot of the time he'd say one thing, which might've then sounded like the one thing he'd said, but it could always – and very easily – mean something else, or at least something slightly different to what had come out.
But not this time. That time just then, whether through a need to tell the truth or simply just buckling under the pressure, Niles had let them in on a little bit of truth. He'd done what he'd "had to".
"Yeah, but you could've at least made the effort to do it like a normal, civilised person…!" C.C. countered, folding her arms. "Wasn't Etiquette 101 the first period of the day at the Butler's School? Or did you drop it because it clashed with your favourite class, Underwear Folding?"
Being in that room and listening to that conversation was, for Noel, like keeping one eye on a really good game of tennis, all while concentrating on the task at hand. Or at least trying to; when Niles and C.C. really got into it, sometimes it made it harder to think about what was really going on. And sure, it was easy enough to just conclude that they were having one of their ordinary-not-ordinary days, but if this had just been one of those occasions, then why would Niles be there?
Why would Niles be there, and why would he say that he'd "had to" come? It wasn't as though a butler working for his sister's former business associate, and who had what appeared to most to be a tentative relationship with her at best, was somehow naturally the first person in line to be admitted at visiting hours.
Then there was the other end of the line to consider: the fact that, once admitted, said butler had been allowed – encouraged, even – to stay. All by a woman he remembered on many occasions openly wishing some foul accident or tragedy would befall the butler, simply for the crime of existing for too long and too loudly in her presence!
Taking one look at his sister's currently-beaming face…it was almost impossible to think it was the same person!
Between that memory of her, and more recent ones of her stone-faced and refusing to move from her bed because "there wasn't any point to any of it"…something had changed. Noel didn't know what, but something had changed and he could only assume it was to do with the butler deciding to show his face. It wasn't like anything else could've been the variable in that experiment, could it? Add Niles back into the equation, and suddenly C.C. came alive like a magnesium strip exposed to a naked flame.
The reaction might've been smaller than it had been before, but Noel thought the end result was the same. It seemed to put some of the fight back in his sister when Niles was around – the kind of fight she was always lacking when only he turned up.
On the occasions he could turn up, at any rate. He tried to, and he tried his absolute damnedest to do it right while he was there, but…well. He didn't want to think it, but it often felt like he was fighting a losing battle by himself. With only the possibility of illness stretching out ahead of her as far as she could see, C.C. found it very easy to slip comfortably into bouts of depression. Noel worked his hardest to bring her back out whenever he found it happening, but what happened when he wasn't there? Which was, upsettingly, a great deal of the time.
It wasn't enough. He knew it wasn't enough, and he'd regret that it wasn't enough for as long as he lived.
"Then you should be able to understand where I'm coming from! Your species does have a genetic disposition towards loyalty, after all."
Niles' voice jarred Noel back into the present, which he'd only technically been existing in, rather than living, for the past few minutes. He hadn't missed much by the sounds of things, other than perhaps a few Pulitzer Prize-worthy zingers.
C.C. tossed her head back at the butler, as if to even more dramatically roll her eyes, "Dog jokes coming from a dogsbody! How original!"
Noel huffed out a quiet laugh – not audible enough to be heard over the two sparring in front of him and the doctor. He really hadn't seen his little sister quite so…animated…or happy…in all the time that she'd been at the hospital by herself! It was almost like having the old C.C. back. The one who would've openly and loudly declared that she was going to kick cancer's ass, and then kick the asses of anybody who'd said she'd never do it.
And it had to be Niles making that difference. Giving her that confidence back. Nothing else had changed.
Perhaps this was just what, ironically enough, the doctor hadn't ordered?
The professor thought that Wilson must've been able to see it, too. He was busy looking at his patient and at her uninvited visitor with the kind of pleased expression usually only worn by lottery winners. Nobody wore that kind of expression for no reason, and they certainly didn't look up, notice that someone else was watching them, and immediately give a tiny, conspiratorial nod.
Noel nodded back, a smirk sneaking over his own expression. They both knew this might just actually be it; Niles coming to Chicago might have just been what his little sister needed to kick cancer's ass for real.