Chapter 12
"Frustration"
The light coming through the gap in the curtains was just enough to warm Stewart's face as he slowly woke. He reached up and wiped at his eye, stifling a yawn and letting the palm of his hand ease the discomfort that the brightness caused.
It took mere seconds for it to hit him all over again – the time it took for him to let his hand fall back to the bed, in fact – the daily waking realisation that his girl wasn't safe and sound in her own bed, just waking up to begin her day...
The dawning realisation might've come daily, but it was just as crushing each time. Maybe even more so, the longer it took and the more days passed with nothing appearing to change.
It made him want to turn on his side and just bury his face in B.B.'s shoulder, sobbing until it was all over.
But he knew he definitely couldn't do that – out of the two of them, he had to be the strong one. She might have been a little better than when Noel had first told him that she wasn't coping (she'd been drinking then, unable to sleep and taking pills to try and force it), but she was still frail with the mournful worry.
Moving back in with her, helping her with everything that she needed, the rekindling of their relationship and eventually falling back in love (not that he'd really ever been out of it), had come from their joint pain. Their need to know where their daughter was, and their heartbreak at not being able to rescue her from whatever horrors were being committed, left them both feeling both helpless and more connected than ever.
Everything else had eventually fallen into place naturally, and that had included returning to sharing a bed for, pleasure and comfort as well as sleep.
He was never anything but gentle and loving with her then. It wasn't like she could tolerate a faster pace than the one they usually followed, anyway. She'd lost a significant amount of weight in a short amount of time, which had left her painfully weak. He remembered he'd made her get on the scale when he'd first moved in and seen the extent of the damage – a woman of her height absolutely should not only weigh 109 pounds and she definitely shouldn't have dropped over forty pounds in only two months!
He'd made her eat then, and ever since he'd continued to ensure she was getting at least three full meals a day, and he didn't let up until he was sure that it was going to stay where it was. He also made sure that she got the eight hours of sleep needed to keep a person healthy. And he never took anything they did in the bedroom too fast.
He didn't want to exhaust her any further than her own devastation was already doing.
He just wanted to hold her in his arms and have her hold him in return. He thought that they might be able to keep each other from becoming even more broken if they held on tight enough.
Part of him wanted to just keep them both there forever, and letting the awful world that had taken their daughter with no warning and no guarantees that it would give her back pass them both by.
But he knew he had to do something that day. And it didn't take his waking mind long to realise that that something was a meeting with Detective Lane. She wanted to talk about what they'd found when searching that bastard's house.
Sighing heavily, he reached over and slapped off the alarm before it could go off by itself. He didn't know why he bothered setting it anymore – he always woke up before it went off now, and even before all it did was force him out of respite into the cold light of day and a reality he didn't always want to face.
Though, even if he didn't want to face it, he did have to obey some of it, some of the time. Specifically when it came to meals.
After all, if he couldn't bring himself to eat, then why should B.B. bother trying? Not eating was the last message he wanted to send!
He rolled back over towards where she was still sleeping, curling an arm over her body and holding her close, breathing in the scent of her perfume (she wore it so often, she smelled of it even without putting any fresh on) just before he began planting soft kisses in her hair and on her cheek to wake her up.
"Morning," he whispered against her skin, waiting for her to visibly stir before he said any more. "I'm just going to make us some breakfast..."
B.B. blinked her eyes open slowly, feeling her share of the hurt coming over her as she did. It was almost overwhelming, and she nearly told Stewart that she didn't want to eat anything at all – that she didn't care if she ever ate anything again – but she refrained from doing so.
She knew that that wasn't possible if she wanted the chance of seeing their girl again. And Stewart would never allow her to go without – he'd sit long after he'd finished his own breakfast, waiting for her to start, and he wouldn't go anywhere until she'd finished her last bite.
He was firm, and he was kind. That was what she'd realised she'd always loved most about him, from the time they'd moved into the same house again and had naturally come back together.
She rolled over towards him, letting her leg slip over his hip and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. She wanted him close right then, while the pain still felt like it could swallow her up.
"Anything in particular that you want me to make?" he murmured, hugging her a little tighter around her own middle.
She shook her head no as she nuzzled his neck, "Anything's fine," she said, voice still heavy with sleep. "But I'd like some coffee to drink, too."
Stewart hummed in agreement – he'd known what she was going to ask for, even before she'd said so. It was always the same, she would never ask for a specific kind of food (she was usually satisfied with whatever he made for her), but she'd religiously ask for her daily cup of coffee. It was her daily boost to properly start her morning.
When he'd first moved in with her, she'd drink around twenty-five cups of coffee a day, five of them during the morning. Sleep-deprivation and near-constant worry had robbed her of most of her energy, something she'd tried to compensate by using an array of stimulating substances, like coffee or energy drinks. She'd made it a habit of running on borrowed energy and getting past the point of exhaustion, something he'd nipped from the bud the moment they went back to living together.
She'd cut down her coffee consumption (nowadays being around nine cups a day, which was an acceptable number for the time being), she no longer drank energy drinks and she certainly didn't take sleeping pills anymore. She still smoked like a chimney and needed her daily fix of caffeine, but she was making progress.
Baby steps, that's all it took. And until their girl was found, they'd have to take it one step at a time and lean on one another for support.
"Black with no sugar, correct?" he said, smiling down at her.
That time, her hair tickled his skin as she nodded. Stewart let the edges of his mouth turn upwards even more when that happened - he knew he'd never get the way she took her coffee wrong. It was one of the little things that helped to keep them in a routine.
It was also one of the little ways that Stewart let B.B. know he cared. She needed the reassurance, and little moments of comfort without necessarily having to say anything - favourite meals and drinks were a good way to do that, Stewart found. So, he made every effort to give her exactly what she liked and wanted.
"Alright," he kissed her on the forehead once more and hugged her again before letting go to slip out of bed. "I'll be back in a minute. You keep yourself comfortable."
B.B. somewhat reluctantly let go, and before he got too far away, Stewart tucked her back up under the covers. He then threw on his robe, before heading out of the room to go to the kitchen.
It still felt a little bit alien, wandering out of his and B.B.'s old bedroom and going along the familiar upstairs corridors of the family home. This, after all, was a place he'd never thought he'd see again, back when he and B.B. had divorced.
He'd relinquished the house so that the kids didn't have to move unless they were coming to visit him. Those infrequent – few, he admitted to himself shamefully – times had been some of the happiest he'd had.
But they were barely in focus, compared to memories of the whole family together. Compared to the times when he knew that C.C. was okay, and still asleep in her room...
It hurt to even look at the door to her old room now. To think that, if he looked in, he wouldn't see her curled up underneath her covers, clutching a teddy bear or a toy horse.
He'd seen her like that so many times, that the thought that he might never see her again in any capacity was like being punched straight in the chest. It hurt like hell, it knocked him sideways, and he didn't know if the same would be repeated the next day or the day after that...
This was something no one could have ever prepared him for. Something he would have never even considered could happen to his family. Kidnapping, murder, fatal accidents – they all happened to other people. Other terribly unlucky people, but not them. They were supposed to hear about them on the TV, feel sorry for the victims and ultimately move on with their lives.
However, life had given him a wake-up call – he was just as vulnerable as anyone else, and so were his wife and children. It had been the luck of the draw that C.C. had been the one to be taken by some heartless bastard, and now it fell on him and B.B. to help bring their baby girl back home.
Stewart felt himself gravitating towards C.C.'s old room, almost as if a siren were calling him. His hand was soon on the doorknob, and with a gentle twist and push, the door was open.
The room, much to Stewart's surprise, had been unchanged since his youngest girl had left for college.
It surprised him so much because he was sure that B.B. would want to redecorate as soon as she'd had the excuse that no one was living in the room anymore and the walls were starting to look a bit drab.
Well, maybe that was an unfair statement to make. B.B. back then would've been eager to redecorate. B.B. in the here and now wanted nothing more than for their daughter to come back. She didn't care if the room ever moved on from that period of history, and that would go double if C.C. could somehow live inside it forever.
He'd give anything for her to have just been in there, hiding away from a stressful world. He'd have asked her if she wanted coffee as well, and made her a plate of breakfast because he could always tell when she'd been working too hard and not feeding herself.
She was so like her mother...
He could imagine her there even younger, too. Back in the time that he would happily trade his entire fortune to go back and start over from...
A fifteen-year-old version of his daughter grinned at him from her desk, before returning to flicking through a notebook that he knew always went back in the top left-hand drawer. Not that he ever went in and read it...
The pain in his chest was nearly flooring, and his eyes were wet at this stage.
This wasn't real. None of it could ever be real. His little girl was grown, and she was gone from them, and not knowing if they were ever going to get her back was killing him.
Staying in that room was killing him, too - suffocating the life right out of him as he let himself be crushed, wishing for the past and for things that could never happen. It wasn't right, staying there any longer.
He had to leave. He couldn't stand there until it all faded away and he went with it, no matter how much he wanted to.
C.C. was still out there. She still needed them to be at their healthiest and to carry on the search. That was the only way that they were going to get her back - hard work and perseverance. Standing around, wishing that things were different didn't change a thing.
So, blinking hard enough for the image of fifteen-year-old C.C. and his tears to dissolve into one, he turned on his heel and walked back out.
He took his time while preparing breakfast — he didn't want B.B. realising he'd been crying. The last thing she and their missing girl needed, was for him to be weak.
Years of bachelorhood had taught him a thing or two about cooking for himself, so he prepared eggs on toast with some bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice for him and his wife. He, of course, remembered to prepare his wife's coffee and, given the nature of the meeting he and B.B. would be having in a few hours, he prepared one for himself, too.
His, he spiked (not that he would ever admit so to B.B.).
He wasn't a big fan of alcohol, but he had to admit sometimes it could give him that tiny little bit of bravery that his sober self simply didn't have.
It was a kick he was going to need when Lane discussed next options or moves with him. The edge would keep him focused, and it just might do enough to lead to something significant in the near future.
And he would do anything he could to help. Even if it involved going that little extra mile, and doing things he regularly wouldn't that would constitute a healthy method of coping with the fact that she wasn't there anymore.
It made up for nothing, and yet it felt like it could make up for everything if in a very specific way. To the outside world, it healed the cracks in their front.
But it wasn't healing the crack in their lives. The crack that he was busy filling was only just letting him keep their heads above water. He didn't know for how much longer he'd be able to keep afloat, but he had to try – for B.B., for his children and for himself.
He'd failed them once by being an absent father, but this time he'd make damn sure everyone knew his family was his priority. It was a time to huddle together, bunker down and bear the harsh reality that seemed to be whipping at their faces with untamed fury. He sometimes wished it wasn't so much biting the proverbial bullet but rather taking a more proactive stance. It was so incredibly frustrating, feeling like he was useless and essentially of no help in the investigation, but as Lane had told him time and time again, this was way out of their depth.
Power, influence, money – it all fell flat before the sadism and cruelty of a madman. It simply didn't matter whether he was the richest man in the world or lived in squalor – tragedy didn't discriminate.
This was the rotten hand life had dealt him, and whether he liked it or not, whether he could cope with the knowledge that his girl was probably being hurt at the moment or not, he had to deal with it. He had to pull through.
Each day was a string of baby steps – a continuum of attempts at somehow trying to live with the weight of worry and uncertainty on their shoulders; it was an ever-present threat that hung over their heads, dangling unsteadily and teasing with coming crashing down and squashing them flat. It was perverse – having to live feeling like, at any given moment, the little that was left of his life would come crashing down around him. It meant no respite, no moment of quiet peace…
There was only pain.
Pain, and loss.
But even though that was all there was or seemed to be, he wasn't intending on giving up or giving in. He'd managed to not give in with B.B., and he wasn't intending on stopping there.
If he was going to keep everybody afloat, he couldn't afford to stop.
It seemed almost like a universal irony; the fact that, even as rich as he was, he couldn't afford to stop even for a moment. But no matter what the universe stacked against them all, he was determined to carry on fighting back just as hard.
And that started, as it did every day, with the small things that were needed to carry on in life. In this case, carrying his and B.B.'s breakfast tray back up to their room.
He often had flashes of anger at this point, where he would feel like throwing the whole thing against the wall in a fit of miserable rage, but he always stopped himself from doing it.
It wouldn't solve anything. It wouldn't bring C.C. back to them, and it would set B.B. back if they didn't eat.
They had to keep moving carefully forward. That was how he managed to get the tray upstairs and through the bedroom door without breaking down.
"Here we are," he announced aloud, even if not cheerfully, letting B.B. know that it was time for her to sit up and have her food.
She did so quite slowly - the usual pace for somebody who had just woken up and was reluctant to make any move that would bring them closer to getting out of bed. She used to be much more sluggish when they'd first started living together again – probably from a combination of a lack of food, too much to drink the night-slash-early-morning before, and the pills still in her system...
The memory of it was still there, fresh and vivid, and Stewart hurt even more inside to think about how their daughter's disappearance was draining the life out of her. It fuelled his daily determination to make sure that they fought the pain at every turn and did everything they could to get C.C. back with them.
He wanted to be as brave and strong as he knew their girl was.
Opening up the tray's legs and setting it out in front of B.B., he took care not to let any of their breakfast get knocked or spill as he got back into bed. He wasn't going to let any of it get spoiled, and give even a hint of an excuse for B.B. to not eat.
He was going to make a show of eating, too, even if he knew he didn't feel like it either.
They made their way through their meal in silence, each lost in their own little worlds of trouble – each thinking about their lost girl, and wondering about what she was doing at the moment. Wondering if she was cold or hungry or hurt…
They were right, of course, but they had no way of knowing so.
They had no way of knowing that their girl was resting in her cell, letting a few broken ribs and a battered body heal. Neither of them could have known that her captor was taking personal and thorough care of her, lest he has to deal with a dead body rather than with a rebellious wife-in-the-making.
They had no way of knowing that, right that instant, she wished she were dead.
They had no way of knowing that reality way exceeded their worst nightmares.
And, perhaps, it was best they didn't know. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been able to function. Their breakfast would have gone uneaten, they wouldn't have had the strength to eventually get out of bed and take a shower, and they certainly wouldn't have been able to gather the strength to get dressed and leave for the police station.
Ignorance truly wasn't bliss, in this regard. But it was a whole lot better than knowing everything.
The car ride felt at least three times as long as it really was, and it was filled to the brim with silence. Neither of them had anything to talk about - nothing that the other didn't know, or wasn't feeling exactly as well - and the idea of turning on the radio brought about apathy in their minds at best, and dread at worst. Apathy at the idea of hearing other people going about their ordinary, mostly happy lives, and dread at the idea of hearing another press story about their little girl that they hadn't been consulted on and wouldn't have approved if they had.
Silence really was better than any of that. It was safer and calmer than any of that.
Not that either one of them felt very calm when they finally managed to find a parking space near to the front of the station and had to leave the car. They both knew that Lane would be waiting for them, and even though neither said a word about it, both were trembling with adrenaline at the idea of the detective having news for them.
Instead, they just took and gripped each other's hands again in a sign of mutual, steady support.
Walking into the station hadn't gotten any easier in all the months they'd been going there. They'd hoped it would, but it simply hadn't. They still felt like all eyes fell on them the moment they stepped a foot inside, and they still felt the unbearable pity that everyone felt for them.
Both Stewart and B.B. disliked being pitied, but considering their child had been taken by some psychopath, it was hard not to give people a reason to put them in that position.
That's probably why they rarely engaged with anyone, or why they kept their eyes firmly fixed on the floor. They knew the way to Lane's office by heart at this stage, and everyone at the station knew them, so it worked for everyone to just let the Babcocks quietly make their way to where they needed to be.
It was no different that day, and just like many of the other times when they'd been summoned to the detective's office, they found that both Niles and Noel were already there, sat on Lane's L-shaped sofa, and sipping on vending machine coffee as they waited for them to arrive.
Lane was there, too, and she was already on her feet, moving towards the door – she'd spotted them from inside her office, which wasn't hard since most of the walls were made of panelled glass.
As soon as she had opened the door and was close enough, she immediately held out her hand for them both to shake, "Hello Mr Babcock, Mrs Babcock. Please, come in and have a seat."
Stewart always noted that she staged her greetings very carefully, whenever she saw them. She never told them "good morning", because he guessed that she knew it could never be a good morning for them. Not until their girl came home to them, anyway.
Still, he took her proffered hand, greeted her in return, and went into the office to sit (of course allowing B.B. to go in ahead of him). They both declined offers of coffee, preferring to just get straight into it.
It was like taking a vaccine or ripping off a Band-Aid. It was something best done right in that moment, with no delays holding it back.
And as soon as Lane was sat back behind her desk, she pulled her mouth into a hard line that threatened to frown and began.
"I'm sure you're all anxious to hear about the results of the search, conducted from the warrant," she said, knowing what she was saying was true. "Unfortunately, the search turned back nothing."
That felt like another punch in the stomach to Stewart. But this one was larger than it had been before, in this seemingly never-ending series of blows that he and his family had to keep on bearing. He had hoped so badly that the search might turn out something that he'd gotten his hopes up without even realising!
It had obviously done the same for everybody else, as well. B.B. had gasped in a pained breath when Lane had spoken, starting to cry quietly as a tearful and frustrated Noel tried his best to comfort her, and Niles...
Well, Niles looked like he wanted to start throwing a few punches of his own. And the first was no doubt for the bastard who'd taken C.C. in the first place. Stewart certainly shared in on the sentiment – if he could get his hands on that piece of shit, he'd beat him so hard that he would be left an unrecognisable, bleeding mass. He'd make sure he didn't bear any resemblance to a human being when Stewart was done with him.
But, as it was, he was powerless. Again, his crude reality had knocked him for six. He, a powerful, billionaire, business tycoon, was just as helpless as the next man.
"What do you mean you found nothing?!" snapped Stewart, slamming his fist on Lane's desk, "How on Earth did this even happen?"
"We simply found no biological evidence," said Lane, keeping her voice level – she knew Stewart's anger wasn't directed at her personally, but given the situation, she was the scapegoat; an exhaust valve of sorts. She could take the abuse, she didn't mind. This was painful for the Babcocks, and emotions were running high. "You see, Mr Jones has an…obsession for cleaning, and–"
"Oh, please! What does that have to do with anything?" Niles cut in, rage coming through in his words, "You have the best bloody equipment money can buy and you are telling me you didn't find anything that can incriminate this son of a bitch?!"
"Mr Brightmore, biological evidence can be washed away," Lane explained patiently, "And considering Mr Jones is an obsessive cleaner, it makes sense for the evidence, if there was any, to no longer be there."
"But there's gotta be some there!" Stewart joined into the fray with his own argument. "It has to get deep into the carpets and rugs - the cracks in all the walls! He can't possibly clean inside those!"
Lane could only remain calm. She knew that the man was so desperate, he was clutching at literally anything which might give him hope. It was tearing him and the rest of the family (she included Mr Brightmore in that, at this stage) apart, and all she wanted to do was give them hope.
Even if that meant shattering a dream or two about what she'd just heard.
"Mr Jones' obsession with cleaning runs deeper than carpets and rugs, Mr Babcock. He is obviously highly intelligent and he is not careless when it comes to things that could incriminate him. He ties it all together neatly, so we have nothing to go on. My men and I spent eight hours at his house, and I thoroughly checked everything I found. If we had the ability to search every hairline crack in the walls of that place, then you know I would be out there again, doing it right now," she told them, doing her utmost to keep a kind of serious optimism in her voice that only really applied to situations with the same gravity as this. "But I can't do that. I can only promise you that I'm going to do everything else in my power to make sure that C.C. is brought back. My team are gonna follow Mr Jones and keep him under surveillance, and that will include going through his trash for discarded DNA evidence. He might clean deeply, but he still has to get rid of it all at the end of the day."
He didn't know what it was about it. He didn't even particularly care. But something in those words struck Niles the wrong way, and he couldn't get it out of his head that Lane didn't seem to be taking it seriously enough, or doing enough.
Following the man? Going through his garbage? The very idea that Lane thought either of those would produce more than sod all made him want to slam his fingers down on the desk!
The desk that had, so far, held nothing that could bring C.C. back to him.
"Is that it?" he asked, a hint of the anger he was feeling showing through in his words. "Following and going through his garbage? You're police officers looking for a missing person, not...not racoons looking for your next meal!"
Lane raised a carefully measured eyebrow at that. It was the first time she'd ever heard that insult. But she understood where the man's anger was coming from.
"I know that it must seem like very little to you in comparison to a search of the house, Mr Brightmore, but I can assure you that we are doing everything we can–"
Niles was out of his chair and yelling in an instant, slamming his closed fist against the wall as he got up, "You're not doing enough! Miss Babcock could be suffering even as we speak, and you're here talking about going through trash cans?!"
Noticing how uncomfortable everybody was getting (Noel was already holding his weeping mother, and Stewart had also gotten to his feet as a reaction to Niles hitting the wall), Lane also slowly and carefully rose from her seat.
"Mr Brightmore, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down–"
"I can't calm down!" he shouted back. And, in the light, it was just possible to see the beginning of tears forming in the man's eyes. "How can I calm down when it's my fault that she's gone?!"
That struck a blow to the stomachs everybody in the room, and B.B. even stopped whimpering as an uncomfortable silence fell on the room.
Niles looked around everybody gathered there, not by any means feeling calmer or more willing to talk to them all like Lane clearly wanted them all to. He'd said his piece and spoken the truth - what more did he need to do?
It wasn't like he could stay there, anyway. He didn't belong. Not amongst the family of the woman he'd sentenced to a horrible fate with his own selfish actions.
Not amongst the family of the woman he loved.
What remained of his heart splintered at the very thought of it all. He wasn't family. He was the one who'd done this to them all. He'd made them all suffer for no reason, and the guilt gnawed at him like a wild animal.
It hurt so much, he couldn't bear the looks on their faces a second longer.
He'd done this to them. It was only right that he left and let them go on without him.
But not before saying (through a cracked and broken voice) the only two words that could possibly mean anything coming from him now.
"I'm sorry..."
After that he had to turn away, feeling the tears pricking at his eyes, and marched hurriedly out of the room.
Just being out of Lane's office felt a bit more freeing, even if he knew that he'd still prefer to disappear entirely. He knew he wouldn't be missed if he did - it would be better for everybody!
He didn't know where he'd go once he'd left the station, but anywhere had to be better than being stuck surrounded by the people he'd hurt.
Or most of them, anyway.
It tore him practically in two that the one person it all mattered most about, the worse the entire situation was that he had created.
He'd give anything he could - and that included stuff which was without reason - in order to bring her back. Even if it involved taking her place and taking abuse and suffering, whilst she got to go home to her family...
He knew that was impossible though. Madmen like the one who had taken her didn't do it because they were hoping to trade them somewhere down the line!
They did it for...a number of awful reasons. And Niles had to shove the entire idea from his head before it all became too crowded in there about how everybody would be better off if he was the one who had disappeared off the street in the first place.
It had to have been what C.C.'s family were thinking, right at that moment.
It was certainly what he believed, and he knew he could manage it as soon as he got to the exit...
He made it over the line in the threshold and he carried on walking. The street passed by him swiftly and he could have almost blended back in and disappeared...
If it weren't for a voice behind him, calmly calling for him to stop.
He tried to ignore it and keep going, but the more he tried, the closer it sounded. He almost wanted to believe it was just in his mind for some reason, but that was swiftly proven impossible when a hand closed around his arm.
"Niles! Please, let's talk about this..."
Stewart. He didn't know why the man was so determined to keep him there - was it possible that grief of his daughter's disappearance was making him act on poor decisions? He couldn't possibly really have wanted the man whose fault this all was to stick around!
He and his family were in enough pain, at that moment. They didn't need him there as well, taking up room and reminding them all that if it wasn't for his stupid mistake in the first place, no one would be hurt or...well, gone.
He should have gone, really. But he had too much respect for C.C.'s father to just pull his arm free and walk away.
He closed his eyes painfully, "No, sir...there's nothing more to be said."
"There's tons more to be said! This story isn't over, pal, and you're a major part of it!"
Stewart's words forced him to open his eyes and look at him in confusion. The businessman stared back, calm and oddly defiant.
"Have a cup of coffee with me," he said. "You owe me that much, even if you really and truly want to get the hell out of here afterwards."
Niles blinked. He couldn't imagine why Stewart was making such an effort to keep him with everybody else or why he'd willingly have a cup of coffee - with him. But he'd been right when he'd said that he owed it to him. There was nothing he could possibly do or say to make it up to the Babcocks, but if Mr Babcock wanted him to have coffee with him, then Niles would do it.
He'd bite the proverbial bullet and do it, even if Niles simply didn't see what good could come out of this.
"Alright, sir," Niles sighed, "I will have coffee with you."
Niles didn't mention just how unworthy he felt of even being in the same place as Stewart, let alone his dread at actually having to sit down and have something to drink together. It wouldn't do them any good and he was certain Stewart was aware that he simply did not wish to be in his presence anymore.
"Good," said Stewart, giving a sharp nod. "Follow me, I believe there is a Starbucks a few blocks away."
With that, he gestured for Niles to follow and started making his way to the coffee shop, the butler soon following him close behind.
The walk seemed to take forever in silence, and with each step, Niles wondered about what Stewart could possibly have to say to him.
Was he simply going to tell him to take himself out of the search? That his presence wasn't doing anybody else any good and that it was better if he simply went away? Niles often felt that last part, if so - it would make everything so much easier if they could agree.
Easier, and infinitely more polite, than the angry image of Stewart he sometimes got, asking him if he hadn't done enough damage and telling him to stay the hell away from his family. Or what was left of it, no thanks to him.
That seemed a likely option. He might be even kinder on the wording, knowing Stewart. The businessman might choose to be lenient - after all, it was obvious how much Niles knew this was all his fault, and wanted to get himself out of there to spare everyone else having to be around him.
It wasn't like he was useful to them, or anything. He'd caused the trouble in the first place and now all he could do was sit there and give off useless advice that didn't even end up going anywhere!
He hated himself. For being so stupid, and for sticking around a family in crisis when he had nothing to do with them.
Even if Stewart didn't say any of that, he'd probably bring it up himself.
It was only after he'd decided that he would bring it up and get it all out there that they finally arrived at the coffee shop, Stewart holding the door open to allow him inside.
"After you."
A millionaire opening a door for him? That was a new one…
He didn't think he deserved that kind of civility from Stewart, but why argue? He'd rather get on with it so he could finally leave and leave them alone, as he should have done from the beginning.
Thankfully enough, the queue wasn't very numerous. And it wasn't long before they both had paid for (Niles having had to insist countless times on paying for his own coffee himself) and been given their beverages of choice – a tall latte for Niles and a grande caramel macchiato for Stewart. They decided against sitting at a table – too many people around to actually have a conversation – preferring to simply chat while walking. It would save Niles having to look at Stewart in the eye when he told him just how unwelcome he was.
"So," Stewart said, opening the conversation, "Are you planning on explaining what your little outburst was all about or am I gonna have to guess?"
Niles hung his head in shame. He should have known all along that he ought to be embarrassed by how he'd behaved back at the station - what kind of a supposedly grown man just ran out of there after proclaiming himself nothing but in the wrong? Even if it was true?
He really and truly couldn't get anything right. He was probably going to muck up his explanation even now, and just make Stewart even madder at him than he already was.
But it wouldn't be anywhere near as bad as if he chose to remain entirely silent.
"I...I had to go," he eventually let forth, unable to meet Stewart's eye. He had to keep his gaze firmly on the coffee because at least that couldn't glare at him. "It was all my fault that we were there in the first place! If I hadn't chosen to prank your daughter and send her storming out of my hospital room, then none of this would've happened!"
He didn't look up, but he knew from his tone that Stewart was confused by that, "Prank? What prank?"
Niles felt his stomach clench up. Stewart had had no idea about the events that led up to Miss Babcock being snatched, and now he was going to have to hear about it from the man who'd practically sent her out to be kidnapped in the first place! He was hurting the family yet again - what was the matter with him?! Couldn't he even try to control himself?!
Evidently not, because he proceeded to explain everything that had happened. Waking up. Seeing her. The pillow prank. The curtain reveal.
The scream...the storming out...
No detail was left out, and Niles felt himself shrinking as he came to his conclusion.
"If it weren't for all that, none of this would've happened," he said. "I wouldn't have hurt your family, in a way that I am not able to make up for..."
He sighed a little and dropped his eyes a little bit further back, so they were now boring on-the-verge-of wet holes into the concrete underneath his feet.
"That was why I left," he explained. "Because I'd done enough damage and I wasn't helping anybody. None of you deserve it, and I felt it was better if I just...went..."
He was still thinking that now, even though Stewart hadn't told him to get lost in any form yet.
He didn't understand what the man was waiting for, in that regard. If it had been his daughter (not that he was ever going to have a daughter), Niles wouldn't want the man to be anywhere near him! He would have told him to stay the hell away from his family and to find somebody else's doorstep to darken!
And if the man had been decent, if not good or honest (someone who was either of those wouldn't have ever considered doing what he'd done), he would have done as he'd said.
Not that any such hypothetical scenario mattered. It wasn't like Niles was ever going to have a family that he had to protect. All he left had was a pile of shattered dreams, which had been nice to hold and to think about, even if they would never have come true, either.
He was walking with the man who still had a real family, even if part of it was gone. Stewart was the protector here, and he was the not-good-not-honest and maybe not even decent interloper who had to go and find somebody else's life to ruin.
The Babcocks deserved better than to see him any time they were told something about their daughter, now knowing (and they would all know - Stewart would tell them) exactly why it was his fault she wasn't there anymore.
And Stewart had to see that. He'd understand it.
So, summoning all his courage, Niles finally forced himself to look at Stewart. He was, of course, expecting to see revulsion in his face — even hatred...
But when he finally met Stewart's eye, Niles simply didn't find a trace of any of those feelings. Instead, he found sadness. An overwhelming sadness. But at the same time, there was warmth in his eyes. Was...was that pity? Mr Babcock had no reason to feel sorry for him, given the circumstances.
Niles knew he was a miserable, unimportant bastard who'd never amount to anything, but his suffering could in no way be compared to that of Stewart's. He was pitiful, yes, but unworthy of sympathy.
"Have you really been carrying that weight since the day you reported her missing?" Stewart said, placing a comforting hand on Nile's right shoulder. "Can't you see that this was not, in any shape or form, your fault?"
...What?
He couldn't have heard him right, surely? Stewart had just said that none of it was his fault! He'd put a hand on his shoulder!
Had he not been listening when he'd told him what had happened the day Miss Babcock had gone missing?! He was the catalyst for everything and had resulted in them all ending up with nothing!
And yet, here Stewart was, treating him like a friend he didn't deserve to be, and effectively telling him to stop blaming himself.
He didn't see why he should, though. He'd carry that weight for as long as he lived - it was his albatross. His cross to bear.
But part of him was still curious as to why Stewart thought it shouldn't be.
"What do you mean, it isn't my fault?" his words came out a little incredulously - how could they not, when the fact that he was at fault was so obvious? "If I hadn't pulled that prank, then your daughter would never have left the hospital! The...the person who took her would never have had a chance to..."
Niles could not bring himself to finish that sentence. It was still too painful — it was still too horrible for him to actually say it.
Had it not been because he did not want to appear weak in front of Stewart, he would have allowed himself to weep. He would have allowed the tears he was holding to fall, one after the other. He'd have damned himself and damned the day he'd decided to play a cruel prank on her when it was clear that she'd been doing nothing but worry about him after he'd had his heart attack.
"Niles, the person who took her would have taken her anyway," Stewart said, not once moving his hand from the butler's shoulder. "This was not a crime of opportunity — this person clearly had been planning on taking her for a while. Otherwise, she would have been found already."
"What difference does it make?!" snapped Niles, angrily disposing of his practically full cup of coffee in a nearby trashcan, pulling away from Stewart in the process — he didn't think he could stand his kind touch for much longer. "I still made it easier for the bastard to take her! I provided him with the perfect opportunity to... to hurt her by making her upset! There is no way to deny the truth — I was a piece of shit to her, and no matter what I do, I can never make it up to her, or to you and Mrs Babcock."
He'd done everything wrong. And now it was too late to even try doing any better. What was the point? Nobody had any reason to forgive him, and no matter how much he wanted to make things better, it simply didn't happen!
He might as well have just given up entir-
His thoughts were swiftly interrupted by Stewart pulling him into an almost bone-crushing hug. His free hands had obviously provided the perfect opportunity, but he still hadn't seen it coming, and the butler stared, wide-eyed, at as much of the businessman as he could.
What was he doing? Shouldn't he be punching him in the face, or at least turning on his heel and walking away? Leaving the man who'd hurt his family to stew in his own juices? That was the kind of justice most people wanted, wasn't it?
He'd obviously seen and felt Niles' reluctance to relax into the hug, so Stewart spoke up and explained.
"The joke might've been in poor taste, but that doesn't mean that you have to feel guilty. Not even for one second," the businessman said firmly. "You might think that you're not making a difference, but you've dedicated every second to finding C.C. since she's been gone. And, whatever the circumstances, we are grateful for that. We're thankful for it, and that outweighs anything that you feel you might've done."
Thank...thankful? The Babcocks were actually grateful that he was there, spending every hour of the day doing all he could to look for the woman he'd sent away?
It still didn't seem fully right to him. But he wasn't going to argue with Stewart - not when the man had been far kinder to him than he'd deserved, simply by not telling him to go when he'd had his first chance.
"It's the least I could do," said the butler as Stewart finally pulled away. "Anybody in my position would have done what I did — it's nothing special, sir."
"On the contrary, son," replied Stewart, again looking at Niles with...well...he supposed there was no other way to describe it but as fatherly warmth "You have gone out of your way to find my Kitten. Not only that, but I am well aware you go to her home every day to clean it up. I even know you bring fresh flowers every day, or so does her doorman say."
Niles tried to bring himself to smile at least a little, but there was no way. He knew his gesture wouldn't make any difference in the long run, even if Stewart was looking at him kindly still through the awkward silence he was creating.
The businessman didn't seem to think it awkward.
"You're in love with C.C., aren't you?"
That was when Niles froze. What could he possibly say here? If he told a lie, he'd probably just end up making things worse and pushing things back down deeper than they'd ever been before. He'd never have another chance to say what he felt again, and he'd have to live with it for the rest of his life.
But if he told the truth...well, in a sense, he'd be free of it. Even if it meant admitting that he had a damn fine way of showing people he cared about them.
One option was better than the other, even if it showed him up for the fool that he was.
"Yes," he breathed, nodding a little. "I...I am in love with her. I've loved her for years..."
Stewart gripped slightly at his upper arms, and Niles suddenly worried that he'd made a mistake in telling.
But the businessman's next words surprised him even more than the original question.
"Good. 'Bout time one of you wised up and admitted it."
Niles' jaw dropped. What he'd just said...it...it all made it sound like Stewart had known all along?!
How could he have known?! Niles had done everything in his power to keep it a secret for as long as...well, as long as he'd loved her! If she couldn't know, what was the point of anybody else knowing?!
"How...how did you work it out...?"
Stewart looked almost painfully smug as he rolled his eyes, "Oh come on, Niles, it was almost painfully obvious! You two dancing around with your little wordplay - a classic mating dance!"
The more Niles thought about it, the more he realised Stewart was right. The pranks and insults. The way he always seemed to know where she was and what she was doing, purely so he could be there to annoy her. He'd been dropping hints all over the place for years, seemingly without even realising that someone else might pick them up...
"Don't worry about it, though," Stewart put his hands on his shoulders again, smiling. "You're a good man. Nothing can change that. And I'm sure that C.C. knows it. Just like I'm sure that she has feelings for you, too."
Niles felt his heart...not soaring. But maybe a few of the pieces had just stitched themselves back together.
It wasn't every day that he got hope like that - of any kind, really - from someone so close to C.C..
"You really think so...?"
"I do," Stewart nodded, before slapping him on the arm in the kind of gesture used to get people moving. "I mean, my Kitten is not known for having long, lasting relationships with men. You, however, are the only male she's kept in her life for over a decade. Knowing her, that should give you the clue of just how much she actually like you. But we can't be here spending all day talking about it. We have to get back to the station."
He was right about that for sure, even if Niles was still in a small amount of disbelief over what he'd said before. It didn't seem likely that C.C. could really care for him like he did her.
But that didn't matter. What mattered was getting her back. And the only way to do that was to turn around and go back in the direction they'd come.
He'd owe Lane, Noel and Mrs Babcock an apology when he got there, but he'd also make the promise that it would never happen again.
Nothing mattered more than finding C.C., and he wasn't going to let her down by giving up.