[A/N: I dedicate this chapter to great friends and great reviewers. Any writer understands the importance of reviews, for gratification and motivation, so I appreciate every person who takes the time to review. Thank you.]

Chapter 10

You're beggin' for the truth
So I'm sayin' it to you
I've been saving your place
And what good does it do?

Niles awoke the next morning groggily, struggling for several minutes to open his eyes. Because he'd waited for Miss Fine (he'd told himself, several times and with increasing severity, that he hadn't waited up to see if CC returned with her), he'd gone to bed much later than usual. Because of a blonde nightmare he'd been suffering from for fifteen years, he hadn't been able to fall asleep once he finally turned out the lights and climbed into bed.

Ever since he'd agreed to not see Miss Babcock anymore, he'd been dealing with a considerable amount of self-hatred. Yes, Molly seemed happier, and yes, he was a better butler for it, but who even noticed if he swept out the wine cellar? He was usually the only one who ventured in there, anyway. What surprised him the most, though, was how much everything else seemed fractured. Miss Fine was not happy with him and because he wasn't happy with himself, either, he projected that onto Miss Fine. So they weren't speaking. For some reason, Miss Fine also ignored Mr. Sheffield, who retreated to the safety of the office.

No, the four of them didn't often spend a great deal of time together, laughing and swapping stories. But the office had become the meeting post, of sorts, for all of them, and now that it was off-limits to Niles, and Fran wasn't speaking to any grown man in the house, the house loomed quiet.

(Yes, he missed CC, and no, he wasn't going to talk about it. He also missed Fran, too, and thought that overall, she was right in her assessment of his relationship with Molly, but was he likely to admit that? No.)

So then Babcock and Miss Fine formed some sort of unholy alliance and left the house together the previous evening. Mr. Sheffield said nothing but merely appeared relieved at his momentary reprieve from his nanny's iciness. So Niles had cleaned up from dinner, turned off the lights around the house except for a table lamp in the living room, and holed up in his own bedroom.

But then…Niles sighed and looked at his alarm clock. It was still several minutes before 8am, and the family never expected breakfast before 9 on the weekends. Niles had enough time to reflect and feel sorry for himself. He righted his head on the pillow, sighed again, and stared at his ceiling.

But then, Miss Babcock showed up at his door. Niles had initially thought it was Miss Fine when he heard noises outside of his door—she usually wanted a midnight snack after a night out—so he hadn't been in any hurry to get off his bed. But the door swung open and the dim light of his bedside lamp had illuminated Babcock (blonde goddess) looking dangerously adorable in a soft cotton dress. It wasn't particularly revealing, and it wasn't very form-fitting, but she looked resplendent in it. Half of her hair had been pinned back during the day, but throughout the night's activities, errant strands had shaken loose and framed her face. One in particular stuck to the corner of her mouth (succulent rubies) and Niles had stared at it, entranced, while she'd asked him why he was in the guest room.

It would have been fine if…

(Why did he always have to tell himself that everything with this infernal woman would have been fine if…? Difficult harpy.)

Anyway, it would have been fine, he felt certain, if she hadn't been playfully drunk. It was a toss-up with CC and drinking; there were more versions of her that could emerge than there were crayons in a 64-box of Crayola. His favorite, he thought with a private smirk, was handsy drunk Babcock, of course, but for his current state of affairs, playful Babcock proved even more dangerous. It only served to remind him…

Niles sighed. It only served to remind him how dreadfully fond he was of her.

Her eyes bright with drunkenness and exhaustion, CC had stumbled over her words before suddenly remembering that seeing him was against the rules. Something in him rebelled against that, found himself disgusted by it, and Niles supposed it wasn't CC saying it but the fact that he even had to abide by it that bothered him.

She'd covered his eyes, stumbled into him, and pressed her lips so goddamn close to his that for a fraction of a second, he considered taking advantage of her. That was when he knew he had serious thinking to do.

He'd let her lean against him for longer than he ought to have before he placed his hands on her slim waist (too aroused to think of poetry) and carefully pushed her away. Leaning against the doorframe, she'd nearly fallen asleep and it took a sharp poke to her belly for her to snap awake again. He couldn't help the smile that crested his face, nor could he help keeping his hands on her waist this time when she tried to come into his room again, refusing to accept that it was not, in fact, the guest room.

Then it turned interesting—because it always turned interesting with her—and she started talking about how nice Molly was. Pushing his hands away, she'd continued discussing Molly and then asked Niles if she, CC, was nice. In response, Niles said no, not typically.

In his defense, it was a poor choice of words. He meant that in the typical sense, CC wasn't nice. Because she wasn't nice in the way that Fran was. But in her own, slightly twisted, way, CC could be kind.

But she'd misinterpreted it and to his utter horror, tears actually swam in her eyes. Yes, she was drunk, surprisingly drunk, but she'd never drunkenly wept before (that he knew of). Then CC returned to her favorite topic of late—Niles's "type" of woman, as though she had any inkling of a clue as to what it actually was—and Niles had tried to rephrase and tell her he'd meant otherwise, but it was a halfhearted fight. CC wouldn't have been receptive to a logical explanation, anyhow.

Then she showed signs that she was becoming handsy drunk and Niles knew he had to help her find the guest room. But there was something she'd said, something about giving him better orders (such as telling him to get into bed) if she'd known he was the type of take orders from women, that he couldn't get out of his head. Perhaps he should've gotten CC drunk before asking her questions concerning their relationship years ago. Could've saved a lot of time.

He'd helped her into bed, his heart aching at seeing her head against a pillow, seeing how she curled up onto her side immediately, and turned out the light. After releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Niles had stepped back and watched her for a few moments. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw CC stir a little restlessly and then heard her give a little sigh.

Except it wasn't a sigh. It was words. Three words, escaping from her mouth because she was drunk and tired and sad. Words she likely never meant to say out loud and would never remember having done so.

But that didn't mean that Niles didn't remember.

Pushing his covers back, Niles ambled into his bathroom and flipped on the light, rearing back in surprise. He leaned forward, inspecting the smudge of deep red Chanel lipstick on his cheek. He lightly ran his fingertip over the stain before he turned on the shower and waited a few moments for the water to warm up.

She missed him. She missed him. Perhaps it was that it had been whispered in the dark against a pillow, but Niles couldn't recall a drunken confession ever affecting him this much before. Or maybe it was just because it was CC.

He showered and dressed, his movements a little clumsy as he kept staring at the clock and realized he was cutting it quite short now. Leaving his room, he walked down the hall and peered into the guest room. He hadn't figured she'd be there, but he still smiled at her sloppy attempt to make the bed. He hurried down the back staircase and threw a few pans on the stove. The clatter echoed as the kitchen door swung open. Fran shuffled in, still in her dress from yesterday. She yawned and tried to cover her eyes and ears all at once.

"Good morning," Niles told her, his voice purposely quieter.

Fran looked up at him and smiled weakly. He reached into the bread cupboard and removed a few slices, setting them on a plate and handing it to her.

"Soaks up the alcohol," he told her.

Fran nodded. "Thanks. Coffee?"

"In a few moments." Niles removed a carton of eggs and package of bacon from the fridge, walking back to face the stove. He hesitated a few moments before asking, "Big night last night?"

"Must have been," Fran mumbled, thumping into a chair at the table and taking a tentative bite of bread. "Did Miss Babcock stay here?"

"She did."

Fran nodded. "Ya know…" She yawned widely, cringing as Niles whisked eggs in a bowl. "I actually had fun with her last night. From what I can remember."

Niles poured the beaten eggs into the pan. "She has her moments, I suppose."

"She brought you up a lot."

"She did?" Niles replied quickly.

"She did."

Niles stirred the eggs, not sure what to say next.

"I don't wanna start a fight, Niles, but I think you should talk to Miss Babcock," Fran said slowly, as though she weighed each word carefully. Niles turned to face her and the nanny stood from her chair, walking over to the island and pouring herself a mug of coffee. "I just think it's bothering both of you more than you both think." Cupping her mug with both hands, Fran left the kitchen.

Niles turned back to the stove, flipping eggs and turning bacon on autopilot. He slid both onto separate platters and pushed more bread into the toaster.

The thing was, he'd already made his choice. Hadn't he? At the very least, he'd hoped that his decision would have brought him some semblance of peace or clarity.

He set the platters of eggs, bacon, and toast on the buffet in the dining room and refilled the carafes of orange juice and water before hurrying out of the mansion.

The trip to her building on Park Avenue didn't take as long as he'd thought it would, but he knew that was better than the alternative. It was better, he told himself, to let curiosity drive him than allow doubt to take over. He stepped into the lobby, and the middle-aged man behind the front desk greeted him amicably.

"Morning, Niles."

"Morning, John," Niles returned with a smile.

"Miss Babcock isn't in her penthouse," John informed him.

"Oh?" Confusion washed over him. Where could she be?

"She went down to the gym about forty minutes ago," John explained, pointing to a door on the other side of the lobby.

Niles smiled, more at the memory of CC bragging about the fitness center that had opened in her building for its residents than anything else. He recalled how CC had bristled when he'd asked if the steroids just weren't cutting it anymore. Oh, what fun they had.

"Business?"

"What?" Niles asked, snapping out of his nostalgia.

"Are you here for business?" John asked.

"Oh…yes, Mr. Sheffield wanted me to pick her up for a meeting," Niles lied smoothly.

John nodded and grabbed a keycard. "Come on, then." He stepped out behind the desk and led Niles to the door he'd indicated earlier, sliding his card through the reader and pushing open the door for him. "Down the steps, to the right. You can't miss it."

"Thanks," Niles said, walking through the doorway and down the steps. The construction was a little more than a year old, but Niles practically imagined he could still smell the paint on the walls. He turned right at the bottom of the stairs and walked through an open doorway into a long, narrow room with gleaming fitness equipment.

He stepped to the side and nodded at a man, a little older than he was, who left the gym with a towel draped around his neck. Miss Babcock was the only remaining person inside, jogging on a treadmill situated halfway through the room, facing away from him.

Walking further inside, Niles stopped a polite distance away and was surprised to find her wearing a thin black halter with red running shorts that Fran might have worn. The whir of the machine drowned out any other noise, though the rhythmic slap of her sneakers cut in. He stood watching her, the motion of her long, shapely legs hypnotizing him. Each muscle defined itself as it hit the ground, and Niles didn't even need to think of flowered language: she was poetry.

Then she reached out and slowed the machine, walking for a few moments before she shut it down and hopped off. Bending over, she retrieved a bottle of water and a towel from the table between the machines.

"God, Niles! Put a bell around your neck, would you?" CC shrieked as she turned around, pressing a palm to her chest.

"Since when do you work out?" was his greeting.

She rolled her eyes. "It's a phenomenal hangover cure."

"So every day, then."

"Who let you in? Did they think you were a visiting maid?" CC asked, uncapping her water and taking a great gulp of it. She pulled the bottle away from her lips with a slight suctioning sound and Niles almost shivered.

"I came here to—"

"To inform me of some more restrictions on your behavior? Did she prohibit you from coming within fifty feet of my building now?"

Why did she have to look so lovely with her sweaty hair in a messy ponytail? "Do you remember what you said to me last night?"

"No, but I'm sure it was funny. I'm pretty hilarious when I'm drunk."

"You don't remember any of what you said? 'I miss you'—you don't remember that?" he asked severely. A bead of sweat traveled down her chest and between her breasts, and he wished he didn't find its path so tantalizing.

She glared at him as harshly as he'd spoken the words to her. "Sounds like something you'd dream I said."

"Christ, Babcock! Stop…stop tormenting me. Do you have to attempt to ruin everything for me?"

"Listen, servant," she hissed, more formidable in sweaty workout clothes than most men hoped to be in power suits. "If your relationship with the caterer isn't the walk in paradise that you hoped it would be, that isn't my fault. Maybe you should look at your girlfriend, who issues ultimatums instead of proclamations of love."

"That isn't—"

"Zip it," she snapped, stepping forward and pointing the lid of her water bottle into his chest. "You walk around like some wounded puppy, pouting and blaming me, feeling so damn sorry for yourself, and of course the lazy butler finds it so easy to blame me for his problems. I don't ever recall stepping in the way of your relationship."

Niles stared into her eyes, fiery with her sudden anger (was it sudden, or had it been brewing all this time?), and as he usually did when someone pointed out his faults, he set out to prove that he was not the only one with blame. "I asked you, Miss Babcock."

"You asked me? You asked me what?" CC snapped, irritated.

"I asked what you thought of my relationship. And I asked what you thought about Molly's request."

"And?"

"What do you mean, and?" Niles threw at her.

"You ask me one question and you expect me to understand what it meant?" CC cried, squeezing her water bottle. Water sloshed out and onto her hand; she wiped at it with quick, tight movements.

"It was a question. It meant what it meant. I wanted to know what you thought of my relationship."

"Oh, ho ho," CC returned, her fake laughter illuminating her face. "Niles, get real. Nothing ever means exactly what it means. Not with us."

"Maybe not," Niles conceded, "but…"

"But?" CC pressed.

"You were jealous," Niles said, and he heard the desperation in his voice. Any attempt at a serious conversation between them almost always devolved, and he grasped desperately at any straw around him to prevent it from happening.

"I knew inhaling ammonia fumes after all these years would eventually take its toll," CC said, faux-regretfully.

"You deny being jealous?" he asked her, trying not to snort in disbelief. She was textbook jealous. She was a case study in jealousy. The US government would soon demand that she legally change her name to Jealousy.

"Exactly what am I jealous of, Niles? That I'm not an insecure caterer? Or that I'm not dating a butler who is so close to the poverty line that he might as well give up the façade and cross it, finally?"

Niles deflated. What was he doing here? But then he looked at her and saw her victory mask and his anger blossomed again. "At least I tried."

"Tried what?"

He made a noise of frustration and looked around, trying to find something else to settle his eyes on. But he couldn't necessarily resist the magnetic force of her baby blues so his eyes found hers again and he said, "I was waiting for you."

"And I'm waiting for you to explain yourself, so if you could do that at some point—"

Niles shook his head, cutting her off. "No, I was…waiting for you. I was…saving a place for you."

CC looked at him, and he saw confusion and worry swirl in her eyes. Then she blinked, chuckled, and shook her head. "Who told you that was a good idea?"

She stepped around him and left the gym, hurrying up the stairs.

"Miss Babcock, wait—" Niles tried, jogging after her.

CC pushed into the lobby with Niles nearly at her heels, but he froze when CC barked at John, "Don't let him up."

"Of course, Miss Babcock," John replied tepidly.

"And for the record," CC snapped, rounding suddenly on Niles, "showing up at my building at 9am and speaking in riddles does not count as trying. And neither does asking vague questions."

She stomped over to the back of the lobby, jabbing at the elevator button, and stepped inside. The doors slid shut and Niles tried, without the hope of success, to make eye contact with her.