Chapter 13

The little yellow cloth squeaked minutely as Niles wiped it over the Clorox-coated kitchen counter. He might have been doing it too hard if it was making a noise, but he didn't particularly care. It wasn't as though anybody in the house would notice one overly-polished surface just this one time; heck, it might even get Mr Sheffield off his back for a little while if the producer walked past and could see his face in it!

A rare and unusual spark of optimism thought that perhaps the deeper clean would keep the house looking nicer for longer. Then he could have a fairly easy rest of the week, and everything would glide past him as he made his way towards the weekend. That was when reality kicked back in with the fact that this was the Sheffield house. Nothing stayed looking that nice for long, even if it was supposed to, and even if Maxwell made a huge stink about being the one to run the house, it would be Niles himself going around making sure that all the wheels were greased and all the pans were degreased.

Pulling the cloth back to him, he looked at his own reflection in the countertop and sighed. Considering the time, it was only just over four days now until he'd be back on the plane to Chicago. To Chicago and then on to the clinic, where he actually felt like he could be making something of a difference. The mansion would return to the same state of chaos it always did, but helping Miss Babcock? That could actually be achieving something. It might actually be helping her to feel that little bit better, and getting her along through her treatment!

Of course, he'd never suggest that it was his work alone that was making the difference. Her brother being there for her, trading off weekends with Niles, was probably a far greater benefit. But he was…glad…in his own way, to be a part of the process. To be there, seeing her through something truly awful, even in a reduced capacity.

One of these days, perhaps she'd even take the next step on the road to the question "Who are you and what have you done with C.C. Babcock?" by letting someone else take a weekend or two visiting. Or even visiting for a few days. A week, maybe. She couldn't hope to hold out on her own forever, and having other people around had to be making all the difference in the world…

It would to him, anyway. Being stuck almost permanently in a hospital bed, with no one around and utterly unwell, had to be just about the loneliest thing he could think of.

He shut the thought of just how terrible it had to be out of his head, and for a moment thought of nothing but his job as he moved over to wipe down the sink. But as soon as the cloth had just about brushed the sides, he was jolted back into reality by a shrill tone and a buzzing coming from his pocket.

His phone. He always kept it on him now, just in case Dr Wilson ever needed to get in touch. And it could only ever really be Wilson calling, couldn't it? It could only be him right then. Who else on Earth knew or cared to have his number?

But it was so late in New York, and Wilson would've had to have known that…so something must have happened. What could've happened? Was Miss Babcock alright?!

No, he wasn't even going to think such a thing! He didn't have a clue why Wilson was calling yet, so there wasn't any decent reason to think the worst! Hell, he didn't even know for sure that it was Wilson! It could've been anybody calling, for any reason at all!

Not that that didn't stop him from letting the cloth drop into the sink as his hands flew to pat himself down and find the phone. Every second he took, the louder and angrier it all seemed to get, too, and increased his nerves tenfold. It was just bloody typical he was wearing his apron – it only ever got in the way when he really needed to get moving!

He finally managed to pull the thing free, and he picked up hurriedly.

"Hello?"

"Hello Niles, Wilson here," came the voice at the other end.

Niles' stomach dropped. Shit. While he'd still been on his way to answering, there had been room for doubt. But now? Now he knew it was Wilson and that couldn't have meant anything good! Not this late, and not when Miss Babcock was still so sick…

"Dr Wilson! Is everything alright over there?" he practically burst with the amount of questions that raced to mind. "How's C.C.–uh, I mean, how's…how's Miss Babcock? Is she doing okay? Has something happened?"

Wilson sighed down the other end. It was the kind of sigh normally accompanied by someone wiping their eyes so deeply and tiredly you'd think they were going to rub their eyeballs out of their head.

"I'm calling at an hour when even God's turned off the TV and called it a night – what do you think?"

Niles froze, his body growing cold and numb and his heart starting to beat out of his chest.

Oh God…what had happened? Wilson hadn't told him, but he sounded…sounded…how did he sound? Worried? Angry? Upset? All three? Niles had definitely heard all three, just then! But what could it mean?

Did it…did it mean that Miss Babcock had taken a turn for the worst…? Had Wilson not managed to get her out of the danger zone, and that was why he sounded so frustratedly helpless? Was…was she dying, while they were stood there talking about it?!

She couldn't be. They wouldn't be stood there on the phone, practically playing guessing games over what was going on, if she were!

"What do you mean, what do I think? You're the one who should be telling me!" he retorted. "What's going on? Is Miss Babcock alright or not? Did something happen? Do I need to come—"

"Hey, hey! Take it easy, Niles…!" Wilson cried out, cutting him off before he could finish. "Just slow it down a second, okay? I've got a lot to explain here, so if you're lucky I might already have answers for a few of the questions on your list."

Put out by the interruption but knowing Wilson had only done it because he had a point to make, Niles steadied himself with a shuddering breath. It didn't feel like it had gone into his lungs whatsoever, but that wasn't important right now. What was important was Wilson getting to his point; not that Niles would ever say such a thing – the man saved lives, for crying out loud!

"Alright. You're right," he said, hoping he sounded calm and collected but bothered by the guilt and the worry conducting synchronised gnawing in his insides. "I'm sorry, Wilson. Please, tell me what's happened."

"I'm going to," the doctor replied. "Now, I must start by saying that C.C….has taken a turn for the worse. But before you get your plane ticket in a knot getting back over here, it isn't in the way you're thinking."

Pulling out the metaphorical knife that had gutted him the moment Wilson had said "turn for the worse", Niles found himself suddenly puzzled.

"Well, if it's not in the way that I'm thinking, then what other way can it be?"

Wilson made a noise down the other end of the phone. It sounded a bit like a groan; like he didn't like thinking about what he was going to have to explain. It didn't exactly boost Niles' confidence in the matter, but he kept quiet and waited for the explanation.

"She's…gone south, emotionally speaking," Wilson eventually told him. "Her test results weren't exactly what she wanted them to be. Not as good as she'd been expecting."

Niles felt someone put the knife back in, but he kept firm. He'd made it this far and he wasn't going to give in now. Not even if his mouth was rapidly drying up like a puddle in the Sahara…

"Were the results…not good…?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong – the results were still good-ish. The treatment is definitely working," the doctor reassured. "It was just…it was always likely that C.C. was going to need further treatment after the chemo. The fact that she hasn't magically averted said further treatment is…causing her some problems."

The butler thought he could feel his own insides crawling up towards his throat. His heart was threatening to start pounding again, too.

"What kind of problems?" he asked.

There was a pause down the other end of the line. The silence made Niles think Wilson was working out how to word what he wanted to say.

"She's, uh…expressed some worrying thoughts to me. That's the only way I can really put it."

If they'd been in the same room, Niles thought he might've leapt on the man to demand answers.

He couldn't leave it there! Who left a sentence hanging like that and then expected the other person to just accept it as though nothing had actually happened?!

"Can't you elaborate on it a little? I'm sure Miss Babcock will—"

"I'm not going to go into depth about it over the phone, Niles," Wilson almost sounded like he was getting annoyed. It was probably exhaustion. "You just get yourself back over here ASAP and we'll talk it out in my office."

Niles almost wanted to complain. The hours in between going and actually making it there were going to be hell, not knowing fully what was going on. But what other choice did he have?

And besides, what was his form of hell, when compared to Miss Babcock's? He might've been stressed out by the whole thing, but it wasn't a thousandth of what she had to be feeling.

He nodded to no one, "Alright. I'll be on the next possible flight to Chicago – I just have to get my things in order first. I'll see you and Miss Babcock soon."

"I'll leave the light on for ya."

Niles hadn't hung up for a second, before the entire kitchen exploded in a cacophony.

"Chicago?!"

Leaping out of his skin and sending his phone flying across the room, Niles spun with a yelp towards the Maxwell Sheffield-shaped thundercloud that was stood in front of the swinging door, wrapped in his red cashmere robe.

Maxwell didn't say anything after that. He just glared, his hands on his hips, and a throbbing vein in his forehead attempting to burst open.

Niles stared, wide-eyed, back. Shit. He'd heard…he'd heard about Chicago! But how much else had he heard? Was it possible he'd just walked in right then and hadn't gotten the foggiest clue why Niles was speaking to some apparently random doctor all the way out in Illinois?

Could he maybe lie his way out of this? Think up some other excuse, apart from his mother, whom he'd really been using far too much to be believable these days…?

His employer took a menacing step forward, "You mean to tell me that, right now, C.C. Babcock is in Chicago and you've known all this time?!"

Niles' hope of conjuring up an alibi went the way of his phone; quickly tossed away in a panic caused by the producer. Maxwell must've been in there longer than he'd realised! He'd been around to hear him say Miss Babcock's name!

Shit. Fuck…fuck. What was he going to do? What was he going to say?! He'd been caught basically red-handed, Maxwell now knew two of the most important details in the entire conversation, and he was never going to let up until he knew the rest!

He tried to stumble out with something – anything. It didn't matter what, at this point!

"I…I mean—"

"How dare you keep something like that a secret from me?!" Maxwell screamed, marching the rest of the way towards him. "I am your employer, and you've been wriggling away all the way to Chicago, like the oily little snake that you are, to go play nice with that traitorous witch!"

Niles' face fell, his stomach following not far behind it.

"I have not been going to—"

"Haven't been going where, Niles?" Maxwell sneered loudly, throwing a hand in the direction of the phone, which lay battered on the floor. "You can't hide it! Your phone call gave you completely away, you lying bastard!"

He took a step back from the butler, starting to pace the room. He might've been a middle-aged man in a bathrobe and slippers, but he looked every inch a tiger in a cage that was too small.

"I can't believe I believed you, when you said that you were needed by family back in England! – because that was a lie too, right? Your bloody aunt being dead?" he shouted, alternating between pointing in accusation and running his hand through his hair. "You must've thought I was stupid, or something! Did you, Niles? Did you think I was stupid?!"

A pang of hurt went straight through Niles' chest, "No!"

"Did you maybe even talk about how stupid I am with that Judas when you went to go visit her?" the producer demanded to know. He then slipped horribly into a cruelly mocking and contempt-filled tone. "I bet he'll never guess where I am, oh no, he's far too thick and brainless for that to ever happen!"

Niles felt the hurt in his chest swelling, making him feel like he couldn't breathe again. He'd known Maxwell would be upset if he'd ever found out, but he'd never have guessed it would be like this!

"Sir, I've never once said that—"

"Then what have you said, hm?! Go on, you crafty little smart arse; tell me what you have been saying to C.C. Babcock for weeks on end behind my back!" Maxwell snarled. "Or, even better, what has she been telling you?! What the fuck has she gone to Chicago for? Has she been snapped up by some other theatre company out there who can't spot a rat when they see one?!"

Niles was nearly overwhelmed by it all. He hated having to do this; he hated that it was turning Maxwell so angry and so self-absorbed, and – most of all – he hated that the explanation wasn't as simple as Miss Babcock just changing jobs.

But he held his ground firmly anyway.

"No," he answered.

Maxwell rounded back towards him, looking angrier than ever.

"Then has she maybe gone to set up her own so that she can ruin me once and for all?!"

That one struck Niles oddly, like hitting his funny bone too hard; where on Earth had that idea come from? Had Maxwell actually gone insane while they'd been there?! Everything he'd just said pointed in the direction of Crazytown and he hadn't even seemed to have noticed!

"Of course not!" the butler cried out. "Have you gone totally mad, sir?!

Maxwell scowled at him. Had it been any other time and any other place, Niles might've chosen that moment to scurry out of the room and do something else until his employer's bad mood had blown over. But he didn't go anywhere – not least of all because he wanted Maxwell to see just how unreasonable he was being!

The producer didn't see it yet.

"You're going to be eating those poorly-chosen words soon enough, you mark my words!" he warned. "I should discipline you right now for being so insolent, but if you tell me what the fuck she is doing in Chicago and why the hell you of all people saw her, I might consider being forgiving this time!"

Niles felt his stomach flip over at that. He'd told him to tell him, and the temptation to cave in and finally reveal all had just reared its ugly head. Part of him didn't see why not, either. Wouldn't it be worth it, to have the Sheffields know? Maxwell would stop all of this ridiculously angry pity parade he was busy throwing himself and Miss Babcock would no doubt have people flying in instantly to spent time with her and to see her get better!

But that wasn't what he had promised her. And if he came back to Chicago, both Sheffields and Miss Fine tagging along behind, she'd probably never speak to him again. She'd certainly never trust him again!

So, there was only one answer for it, as painful as it was.

"I can't tell you."

As far as Maxwell was concerned, that was apparently the wrong answer.

"Really? Whatever it was, it was so important that it could only pass between a washed-up has-been of a producer and a man who cleans toilets for a living?!" the producer shouted. "I ought to fire you right this second, just for trying to squeeze that one past me! It'd certainly teach you a lesson for going off and fraternising with the enemy!"

"The enemy?!" Niles echoed incredulously. "Can't you hear yourself saying any of this, sir?!"

"I can hear myself perfectly well, Niles – it's almost like I'm the only one who listens to me around here!" Maxwell snapped back. "Before, I thought I'd actually had a business and a home run by people who listened to what I said and respected it! Now, I've found out I've had the wool pulled over my eyes for far too long! Instead of two loyal, hardworking employees by my side, I've actually got two scheming turncoats who'll take any opportunity to skip out on me for their own personal ga—"

"Oh for God's sake, will you shut the hell up and stop feeling sorry for yourself?!"

The words blasted through the room, nearly knocking Maxwell back with their force.

Niles didn't know what had come over him. He didn't know and he didn't care; it didn't matter. He'd had enough. Enough of listening to Maxwell and his Tale of Absolute Tragedy at being "abandoned" to fend for himself with a house and a business, like any other grown adult. Enough of being told that he was a horrible person for having a life outside of the mansion that didn't revolve around the producer. And, perhaps most of all, he'd had enough of hearing his employer go on and on about Miss Babcock being a "traitor" when she'd have given anything to be there right now, healthy and thriving and surrounded by acting contracts.

And while he had the floor, he was going to let everybody – i.e., Maxwell – know just how over it all he really was.

"You know, I'm really sick and tired of you acting like every new thing that you learn about could spell the end of the world!" it was Niles' turn to advance on his employer. "Did I know where Miss Babcock has been for all of this time? For most of that time, yes! Have I visited her, and seen and talked to her in person? Also yes!"

He stopped just over a foot away from the producer's face.

"But I will not have my name and character dragged through the mud, all because I made a choice to respect someone who asked me not to tell anybody where they were!"

"But that's ridiculous!" Maxwell argued. "Why on Earth would she not want anybody to know where she was?!"

"Because she's not okay!" Niles yelled back.

The silence that followed his outburst was nearly as loud as their argument had been. The temptation was back and egging him on to finish it – to tell Maxwell everything. It would mean he'd win, and the producer would be made to feel as terrible as he deserved.

That wouldn't be right, though. Not Maxwell feeling terrible, because the man utterly deserved to feel as bad as possible right now, but telling him all about Miss Babcock's illness when he'd promised he wouldn't. That really would make him an oily little snake, and all of the other things Maxwell had claimed he was!

But he couldn't just leave it where he'd started. There was no way he'd get away with doing that.

"She's not okay. She's actually extremely sick," he said instead. "And it's beyond any doubt whatsoever that what she has is threatening her life, so perhaps forgive her if she didn't feel up to calling!"

The effect on Maxwell would've been satisfyingly immediate, had Niles felt good about any of what he'd said whatsoever. He watched as the producer's glower crumbled away to dust in front of him, eyes losing their spark and lip wobbling as the understanding hit him in place of the fist he might've gotten otherwise.

"What…? Sh…she what?"

Niles' mouth hardened into a line, "You heard me. Miss Babcock is life-threateningly sick, as things currently stand!"

He turned on his heel and went to fetch his phone from the floor. The part of him that still wanted the producer to suffer thought he'd be leaving him behind to stew in what Niles had said. Not that that happened – the slapping of slippers across the tiles told him that Maxwell has followed him to get answers.

"B-Bu-But how? How is she sick?"

Reaching the spot where his phone had landed, Niles bent down and snatched it up.

"That isn't for me to say."

His answer only seemed to make Maxwell more agitated. The producer hovered closer than ever as he straightened his back, staring at Niles as though he held the answers to every question he'd ever wanted to know and needed to know right now.

"Surely you know what it is she's got, though?" he asked. "You're the one who's been there with her! They must know what it is, or whether or not it's curable!"

Niles shoved his phone back into his pocket, the urge to comment on Maxwell's sudden change in tune rising. Only moments ago, he'd practically been baying for Miss Babcock's blood, and now? Now it actually sounded like he cared after all!

The butler breathed in and let out a steadying sigh instead. He wasn't about to go down that road when he held a moral high ground.

"They do know what she has."

"Well then, what is it?!" Maxwell was suddenly on the verge of screaming again.

"I can't tell you!" Niles yelled back, the doubt already in his mind that he might've said too much in the first place.

"What do you mean, you can't tell me?!" Maxwell threw out his hands, every fibre of his being asking why. "What the hell does that even mean?! We've both known C.C. the same amount of time so I have as much of a right to know as you!"

"Nobody has a right to know and I promised Miss Babcock that I wouldn't tell anybody!"

The butler's thunderous shout silenced the room again, and he took advantage of the fact that it momentarily stunned Maxwell to continue.

"I haven't told a soul any more than what you already know! Congratulations, you're actually more well-informed about this than Miss Babcock's own parents!"

Maxwell's eyes widened, "Her parents don't know…?!"

"Not a word of it. She didn't want anybody at all to find out – it's practically a miracle that she's allowed me to visit!" Niles scoffed. "She certainly won't let anybody else in, as much as her doctor and I have tried to get her to change her mind. It's like talking to a brick wall!"

For a moment, in whatever of the butler's heart remained hopeful, he thought Maxwell had gotten it enough to stop asking. That he'd satisfied his curiosity and would now proceed to get off both Niles' own and Miss Babcock's cases.

But then reality reminded him that it was Maxwell Sheffield he was talking about.

"But it doesn't make any sense! Why would she want to cut herself off from everyone, even the people she knows?!"

Niles' eyes ached to be allowed to roll. They were this close to begging for it to happen! How the hell could the producer have sat opposite Miss Babcock for well over a decade and know so little what she was actually like? Did the man simply never pay attention to anything under his nose that wasn't a contract, a cheque, or a fine plate of something delicious prepared by a butler?!

He kept them firmly in the forward position, though. He couldn't go flying off the handle again, even if every question the producer threw at him was making him think that losing it just a little on him might have been worth it. He didn't have the time for all of this, anyway – he'd promised Wilson that he'd be taking the next flight out to Chicago and he had to have missed at least one of the next ones already.

"It's complicated," that was all Maxwell would be getting anymore. "I'm aware it doesn't make any sense, but quite frankly, a lot of things in life don't make sense and we just have to deal with them! It's what I'm doing right now! It's not my place to say who Miss Babcock does or doesn't see, so I don't ask why! Basically I'm just stood there counting myself lucky that she even decided to let me in and tell me anything to begin with!"

Hoping they were done at last and he could head upstairs to get his things, Niles made to turn around and make a break for the stairs…

Only for Maxwell to burst out with another question.

"What exactly about it could possibly be so complicated? I just don't understand—"

"You don't have to because you're not seeing her!" Niles cut the producer off sharply, starting to turn away again and meaning to finish this time. "Some of us who are, on the other hand, have a plane to catch to Chicago. If you're going to fire me for it, go ahead – I couldn't give a toss! I'm getting my things and I'm heading there right this instant!"

He thought he saw a spark of fight appear for an instant in Maxwell's eyes, but it died again just as quickly. The producer actually ended up taking a step backwards, throwing his hands up in relenting defeat and ducking away in what looked like shame.

"Fine. Fine; you go…you do that, Niles…do what you need to do, and all that. You know it's for the best."

The butler certainly did. He just wish he'd he hadn't had to have a screaming match with Maxwell in order to get him to see it as well! Not that he said so much as a word in that direction; he knew better than to open up another can of worms when one had only just cleared out after someone had ripped the ring pull off the first one!

He made it to the stairs and up one or maybe two steps before Maxwell spoke up again.

"Niles?" he didn't sound half as sure of himself as he had been when he'd been shouting. "I-If the conversation does ever, um…come up…could you let C.C. know that I'll be there to help her, however it is she needs?"

After everything that had just happened, Niles wasn't in the mood to feel touched by what the producer had said. But it was impossible not to be, at least a little bit, by the earnest look on Maxwell's face as he stood there down in the kitchen.

Well. It wasn't as though being an unpleasant tosspot half the time meant someone couldn't change…perhaps this had taught Maxwell an important lesson?

He certainly wanted to believe that was the case. So much so that he kind of did hope that Miss Babcock brought it all up. It might've been a miracle if she did, but stranger things than her deciding to let in a friend had happened every day.

What was important to remember was that it would always be her decision, and her call to make, no matter what.

He slid his hand further along the banister, tapping it lightly, "If she brings the subject up, I will be sure to let her know what you said. Goodnight."

He'd already switched off and headed up by the time Maxwell got his awkward, over-the-top and stumbled through "goodnight" in return. He couldn't stand around for it! He had too much to think about to worry about one producer overthinking everything to the point of self-implosion!

Especially after said producer had given him permission to go and see to Miss Babcock. No more threats of firing – he might even be a little bit more amicable and pleasant once Niles got back!

If he got back, any time soon. He didn't know what he was even going to the clinic for, yet…

He was almost certain it wasn't anything good, even if Wilson hadn't completely suggested that all hope was lost. But he had no way of knowing until he got there, and he could already feel time slowing down to give him plenty of moments to live through all of the possible scenarios while he was on the plane.

Half of them took as bad a turn for the worst as he'd felt earlier, and he immediately shut those out of his mind. Or at least tried to.

Getting to his room and getting his things would help. He'd convinced himself of it; it had to be true. Once he had his eyes on something solid, like his bag with all of his clothes in it, then he could busy himself with making sure he had everything, and not have to worry about how long the flight would feel.

He could busy himself with that, and not have to worry about everything he just said to Maxwell downstairs. He could busy himself with that, and keep out all of the other thoughts about what Wilson might tell him as soon as they were alone in his office.

That was the last thought he'd have on the matter before he got to his room and banished it, making room for packing and all of the other fun steps he had to take before he could even begin to see how he might be helping Miss Babcock this time.