Little Talks - A New Spin

by CCNilesBabcock

"Nightmares had been a common occurrence since C.C.'s disappearance eight months ago, something Niles still blamed himself for. But now she's back, and very much alive." What could have possibly happened to C.C.? And will Niles be able to help her in this time of need? *Read Inside for further info on why I have rewritten this story*

32. Chapter 32

Chapter 31

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The rhythmic clatter made by C.C.'s long nails hitting the white porcelain of her morning cup of coffee was the only sound coming from the kitchen. Had someone been awake and peered into the room, they would have instantly spotted the sleepless producer at the kitchen table. They'd have also noticed the dark circles under her eyes – clear evidence of the countless sleep-deprived nights she'd experienced ever since leaving the hospital.

Nightmares were behind them, obviously.

Trauma was funny like that – she might have been physically free from that fucking hellhole, but her mind seemed to not have gotten the memo yet. But, even if she had little hope for things getting better any time soon, she had found (with no small amount of relief) that she was getting better at handling her nightly terrors. Or, at least, she was getting better at keeping the full-blown emotional breakdowns that came after each and every single one of them a secret from Niles.

After the kitchen incident, part of C.C. had wanted to tell the butler about her bad dreams but, for some reason, vocalising her need for support and her desire to take the much needed sleeping pills she'd been prescribed by her doctor to keep the nightmares at bay had felt like an impossibility.

Talking, she knew, meant explaining. Explaining meant remembering. And remembering meant experiencing a kind of emotional pain she simply wasn't ready to face…

It was easier to just deal with it on her own, and resort to strong, black coffee to try and fight off the exhaustion during the endless days. She averaged around ten cups a day: three in the early morning (and currently she was about to finish her second), two when Niles woke up, two after lunch, another two in the afternoon and one after dinner.

It wasn't ideal, but it was the best option she currently had. The next best thing she usually did to keep her mind distracted after a nightmare was prepare breakfast for the two of them. She was always careful to start cooking at a "reasonable" hour so as not to wake up the butler. He wasn't stupid – he'd obviously know something was up if she consistently prepared breakfast at five in the morning. That usually meant waiting until 6.30 a.m., when she could finally turn on the stove and get started on whatever meal she felt like preparing that day.

Like clockwork, Niles would wake up and be in the kitchen within ten minutes of her starting to cook. He'd always ask if she was alright, to which she'd then say that, yes, she was alright, thank you, just hungry. He'd never probed once she'd given him her answer; instead, he usually busied himself with setting up their trays and helping her around the kitchen.

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards at the thought, and she let out a soft, half-relaxed breath. It was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle, and it seemed to encapsulate the idea of a morning with Niles just perfectly. To be honest, it could give anybody a pretty good idea of a whole day, not just a morning – starting everything off with a good breakfast on trays in front of some stupid comedy or fun cartoon was just the beginning.

If somebody had ever come up to her two years before now and had told her that she'd be doing any of this, without any hint of awkwardness or…well, downright loathing and bitter complaining, some days…she'd have laughed in their faces. Maybe. If she'd been in a good mood. If she'd been in a bad mood, said somebody would've had to watch their back, because she would not have been happy with them, she could tell you that for free!

Now, though, it didn't seem like that much of a stretch, to go from eating pancakes and bacon and scrambled eggs in front of the first morning episodes of Looney Tunes, to their plates being clear and Niles asking her what she wanted to do after they'd washed up. It'd been the same routine all week, and she could practically rehearse it in her head now before the butler had even said anything at all.

She didn't mind. It was – and here, again, she might've retched before – actually quite sweet of him to ask. He was always making made sure that he set up the day so that they'd be doing something she enjoyed, or that he knew would relax her, like reading, or playing a board game. Heck, they'd even spent an hour just staring out of a window, holding a contest to see who could spot the most blue cars!

It was a shame the list of things she wanted to do wasn't endless. Most of the time, she didn't actually feel like doing much at all, and even if Niles respected that, she couldn't help but be a little upset that there wasn't more she could think to do to keep her mind off…other things. She was sure it disappointed him, too, even if he didn't say anything about it whenever she told him she didn't feel like reading another chapter, or getting the Monopoly board down off the shelf again.

He didn't say anything, and he didn't push, either. Not for her to jump into another activity, or for answers about what was going on in a skull she wasn't quite sure would ever be less than fucked up again. It did upset her to have to let him down every time she didn't want to do anything, but she was grateful in a way she couldn't even begin to express that he hadn't tried to go looking for answers.

C.C. suppressed a groan, feeling like she could put her face straight in her coffee. Shit. Thinking about all of that had made her remember what day it was! Therapy Day, as she'd marked it down on her internal calendar and had been referring to with more than a pinch of bitter irony, like it was some big memorable occasion.

Fuck. In just a few more hours, she'd have her butt stuck on a chair in a doctor's office, and she wouldn't be able to get away from somebody who was being paid to look for answers!

She let her head fall into her hand, instead of into her boiling hot cup, and she took a breath to calm herself a little. Great. Therapy Day it was. She'd actually be taking a big trip out into the city to get it done, too; for some reason, everything had been switched around and now she was expected to go to this shrink's office instead of having them come to the apartment.

Her only consolation was that Niles was taking her there, so yet another day of relaxation might've been off the table but at least she wasn't going in there alone. And maybe he'd say they'd pick right up again with a nice lunch or something after she'd been in there and had come out the other side…

It surprised her a little that the butler was so okay with any of this, really. He hadn't even seemed upset about the idea of her having to leave the apartment, when before in his mind her putting so much as a foot by the door would've made her as good as a flight risk! He'd even been the one to tell her that was what was happening now, when he'd come back in the day he'd gone to see his cardiologist!

Nothing about the conversation they'd had when he'd told her the change of plans even made that much sense. Even when she thought back about it, it was like there were gaping holes that needed to be filled with answers: why the sudden change, beyond "it would be better for her", for one, or what they would do if it all became too much for her. But even if she'd had any of those questions on her lips, she hadn't been able to say any of them! The very idea of speaking up to ask even one question about it had made her feel the shadow of a hand slapping her face, so that had been entirely out!

It'd almost been a saving grace that she'd noticed his hand, then. He'd been holding it weirdly, out of her way, and she'd ducked to take a better look and had found it all bandaged up.

That had taken her attention immediately, turning everything away from the odd change of plans with her therapist. She'd started panicking over Niles' injury instead, and she'd all but demanded to know what had happened and what he'd done to himself.

About the only thing that hadn't seemed weird about the conversation was that Niles had tried to brush it off when she'd asked about his hand – he'd kept on insisting that it was fine. That he was fine, and that he'd just slipped over on the sidewalk and cut his hand open, but the hospital staff had helped him clean it and bandage it up before he'd gone in for his appointment. So there was no need for her to worry; it was clean and it would heal up in no time. It didn't even hurt anymore.

C.C. had backed off after that, and she'd tried not to let how much it wasn't sitting right with her show, or openly bother her, ever since. Where she could, anyway – the idea of it hadn't left her mind fully. Something about Niles' story just didn't add up, and she couldn't quite work out what it could be, even though she had all the pieces right there in front of her and when they were together they had to make sense.

She wished she knew what it was that was worrying her so much about it, but nothing came to mind when she went looking. He'd explained everything, it all had an answer, and yet something was still stirring up in her gut and telling her that there was a bigger picture behind it!

Her gut turned over horribly. Could…could it have been that Niles was keeping something from her…? Something he didn't want her to know, or to hear about by accident, so he'd made up some story to distract her from it all?

No. No, that wasn't the reason. It couldn't have been the reason! Stupid bitch – why did she have to think like that at the drop of a hat?! Was she really as dumb as she'd been told every day for the past eight months, or did she just get off on thinking that the whole world was out to get her?

Niles wasn't hiding anything from her like he thought she was some kind of crazy person! Why would he? What good would it do anybody if she didn't know what was going on?! And it wasn't like he deliberately lied to her these days; he'd basically been his most truthful ever since she'd come back! He wouldn't turn that around now…not now they'd found a new…dynamic? Was that the right word?

She scoffed a little bit to herself. Who gave a shit what the right word was? She'd fallen into being a stupid, paranoid little bitch again and that could've fucked everything up anyway if she hadn't just stopped it in its tracks! She was on thin ice with people wanting her around as it was; how quickly would they have all realised they actually were better off without her if she'd started going off on Niles about him keeping something from her?!

He wasn't keeping anything from her. And even if he was, he would've been doing it for a better reason than she could come up with! He'd have probably known that she'd be too weak to handle it, or too stupid to understand, or just too messed up in the head to be worth bothering with everything that was going on in the world!

A knot of pain tightened in her chest at that, and she gripped her cup harder as she forced herself to take in a breath and squash down the hurt. The heat through the china scalded her hand, but she didn't care. She'd felt worse, and thinking about that was better than whatever sick path she'd been taking herself on a trip down…

One thing was for sure, she wasn't going make it to six thirty to make breakfast. How the hell could she sit there for another hour, going over everything again in her head and practically turning in a circle? If she kept doing that, by six thirty Niles would come in wondering where breakfast was and probably nearly have another heart attack when he saw her curled up in a foetal position at the table!

No. It was too long a wait and she couldn't do it. It didn't matter if the smells would wake Niles up – she used to be a pretty decent liar, once upon a time, and she thought she could probably scrape something up from the bottom of the barrel that was her brain to keep him from asking too many questions. Waking up early wasn't exactly unheard of in the world, especially as she'd gone to bed early the whole week, so maybe that would just about cover it…?

Niles never pushed, so maybe he wouldn't push if she explained it away like that…

Yeah. Yeah, she could see herself getting through a conversation about it with that handy excuse up her sleeve.

Leaving her cup where it was after having one last sip, she slid her chair back and got up from the table to go to the fridge to grab the eggs, milk, and a bag of chocolate chips.

If she was going to wake Niles up, she might as well do it with something really nice to make up for the inconvenience. So, she grabbed the flour from its cupboard and set to work.

And so it was that she was halfway through the second offering to a plate of chocolate chip pancakes when she heard the loud shuffling of slippers in the hall, making their way into the kitchen. And it really was loud, as it always was these days, so that the butler didn't startle her again…

She turned to offer him a quick flash of a smile in greeting, just so that he knew she'd seen him, and was met with the bleary-eyed, half-confused peer of the recently awoken and still-pyjama'd.

"Miss…" he was interrupted by his own yawn, which he covered with his hand. "Excuse me. Miss Babcock, what are you…what are you doing up so early…? It's only five thirty!"

C.C. shrugged a little back at him, hoping it wasn't too quick and didn't look rehearsed.

"I went to bed early, I ended up waking up early," she said. It wasn't really a lie, because both those things had happened. "And I felt like getting something to eat, so I thought I'd get breakfast now."

Waiting in silence had come to feel awful, and it felt just as bad right then as she stood there over the hot stove, waiting for him to say something. Anything. Niles had never asked questions before, but it was starting to dawn on C.C. that just because he hadn't asked what was wrong up until now, it didn't mean that he couldn't start.

She could've sworn he was eyeing her coffee cup, and maybe wondering how much of it she'd had to figure out how long she'd been there…

"I see," he eventually said. "And everything else is alright…?"

No, it wasn't. But she nodded, as she often did if she didn't feel up to answering too much. It felt a little bit less like she wasn't telling the truth that way.

"You can go back to bed if you want. If you're still tired," she added, just to really hammer it home that nothing was wrong. Even though something really was. She gestured towards the cooking pancakes. "I'll save some of the batter for another batch, later…"

Niles put out a hand, as if to try and stop her.

"No, no," he took a step in the direction of his usual spot in the mornings – the place they kept the trays. "Now I'm up. And it would hardly be fair of me to make you do all the work by yourself, even if it is a little earlier than usual."

C.C.'s eyes flashed between him, the trays, and the stove. She offered him another small smile, though Niles thought it wavered, and it disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived.

"Alright," she nodded, turning back to the stove with all the fervour of a junior chef looking to avoid being yelled at by the executive.

She didn't say anything else, but she nearly didn't have to. At least still being partially asleep meant he could easily camouflage his worried frown.

"It will be," he told her gently as he made his way over to the trays so he could start his work that morning. "I'm here to help; that's always the best way to make sure everything will turn out just fine."

He'd kind of hoped that that statement would make her laugh, but such a thing really was asking too much. And as much as he'd just said everything would turn out fine, he could very much believe that Miss Babcock would doubt it. Things weren't fine, as they currently stood, in her world.

He sometimes wondered whether he counted as part of her world now, or whether he was just outside of it and looking in. Either way, faffing around in the kitchen cupboards, all while pretending that he was slowly and sleepily preparing their trays and that absolutely nothing was wrong was currently the best way of keeping a close eye on her.

She'd obviously been up for a lot longer than she'd let on – he'd seen that much from the at-least-half-empty coffee cup on the table, and the distinct lack of coffee aroma in the air. That meant she couldn't have been up for less than an hour, because otherwise the cup would be fuller, or the smell of freshly made coffee would still be lingering.

So, had she gotten up at four? Three? Who was he to say? The stress that was playing on the producer's mind could have gotten her up at any time at all; the last thing she would do was open up and talk about it with him!

He suspected that having to open up was the cause of her stress and sleepless state that early morning in the first place. Today she'd be starting therapy, after all, and that was bound to put most people on edge. But take one case of being "on edge" and combine it with…well, everything that Miss Babcock had been through, and the fact that she'd always been less comfortable than most about being open with other people and you had yourself quite the recipe for disaster…

Well, maybe not disaster – he was probably jumping the gun there (and being more than a little fatalistic) – but he knew it was going to be rough on her. He honestly wished he could spare her the pain somehow, but sadly it was a necessary evil if she was to heal. The best he could hope to do was be her safety net – cushion the fall, as it were, until she was strong enough to pick herself up on her own.

In short, he was there to help in any capacity she needed, and presently that meant getting going with preparing their trays and helping her with breakfast. He knew he had most of the cooking covered, but he could make himself useful by preparing and pouring their morning drinks (coffee for her and a nice cuppa for himself).

They didn't speak as they both went about their tasks, preferring instead to fall into the easy rhythm of their quiet morning routine. There was something inherently soothing in its repetitiveness and predictability. C.C. had always been a creature of habit, but due to these new, scary circumstances her kidnapping had put her in, it meant that she'd come to appreciate and rely on her routine like her life depended on it.

Maybe in a way it did – it helped anchor her to the here and now.

Eventually, when breakfast was ready and the trays set, both Niles and C.C. made their way back into the living room. They settled comfortably on their usual spots on the sofa opposite the TV, which was soon on and tuned to the cartoons Miss Babcock liked so much these days. Her own version of white noise, he supposed…

The quiet extended all throughout breakfast (with only the faint clinking and clattering of cutlery interrupting it from time to time) and further into the morning, until it was time for them to actually start getting ready for her appointment.

C.C. was starting to feel the heat. She'd been dreading this day alright, but as she went through the motions – shower, make up, getting dressed and so on – and she got closer to having to leave the house, her anxiety began to slowly creep up.

It crept the way you'd creep up the stairs to hide from someone or something that was coming; at first barely making any noise or movements at all to not draw attention, then getting a little faster the closer you got. And then it would get faster. And then faster again. Finally, it would get so fast, you'd be ready to bolt into your bedroom and dive under the bedcovers, or even under the bed, and shut out the world until whatever had made you want to run so badly had gone away forever.

By the time the hour had caught up with her and they had to go, C.C. was way beyond wanting to hide under the bed. Not unless she could slip into a panic room underneath it, or something! She was shaking like the last leaf on a tree as the hurricane approached, her breathing was fast and shallow and making her kind of dizzy from how little air it actually was, and she had distractedly tripped over her own feet at least twice in the empty hall on her way back to the living room.

Niles looked like he'd been waiting there, in one of the comfortable chairs, for some time; he'd obviously finished reading the newspaper and had moved on to tackling the crossword puzzle. If she hadn't been so petrified at the thought of what they had to do now, she'd probably have felt even worse about the fact that she'd just had to make him wait for her. And she felt awful enough about it already – she'd wasted so much of his time with her stupid, pathetic little issues!

He'd looked up at the first apparent sound of her footsteps approaching. It hadn't taken a moment after that for him to put down his paper and pen, and in an instant he was leaning forward in anticipation of leaving.

"All done?" he asked.

A silent but not unfamiliar nod came back in reply. It was accompanied by a much less familiar frightened trembling rippling through Miss Babcock's entire body.

It didn't take a detective to work out how nervous she was, and that immediately came with wanting to get up onto his feet and tell her not to be. That it would all be fine; they were going to see someone who could help her to feel better.

But he didn't. He knew better than that. What kind of magical cure-all did people think the words "don't be nervous" were, exactly? He'd certainly never seen them actually work! People felt what they felt, it didn't mean they could help it – even if it did sound like a nice thing to say at first, because it made it sound like you wanted to cheer the other person up.

At any rate, it was presumptuous to tell Miss Babcock how to feel. She had every right to every one of her feelings.

"Right," he said instead, getting up out of his chair and checking his watch one last time. "We've still got a few minutes before we need to leave – would you care for something to eat before we go? Or a cold drink, perhaps?"

He wanted her to be as comfortable as possible when she got in the doctor's office. There didn't seem to be a better way of managing that than by making sure she'd had a refreshing glass of orange juice and some cookies from the jar. Or perhaps a slice of chocolate cake, taken from the fridge…or maybe a small selection of the fruit they had in the kitchen bowl…

"I can make it anything you'd like," he added brightly. "It's no trouble."

C.C. shook her head back at him. It didn't matter whether or not it was any trouble. Hell, it felt like it would be trouble anyway, just from the fact that she'd asked! But she wasn't hungry, or thirsty, and even if it was – ironically – eating her up inside that they were going to have to go see some shrink, she felt she'd rather just get it over with. It was like someone who'd been sentenced to death, waiting for the firing squad, or the axe, or whatever it was – if it was gonna happen, it might as well happen right away. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

Her old self would've rolled her eyes at that little remark. Yeah. The biggest goddamn Band-Aid she'd ever had in her life…!

Niles didn't look upset by her answer, but something about him did lose its previous shine.

"You're sure?" he waited for her to start shaking her head again, and then he nodded in understanding. "Okay. I take it that means you're ready for us to get going, then?"

In any other situation, she might've been happy that he'd gotten what she'd meant while she was like that in one go. Right then, though, all it did was cause her anxiety to spike. Not that that meant she could back out of it; she'd be keeping herself stuck if she did that, picking at the edges of the Band-Aid and refusing to just tear it off.

So, she took in a breath and nodded again. Niles seemed to understand what that meant, too.

"Okay," he said, quieter this time and nodding more slowly. He gestured back towards the door. "After you, then. Let's get this show on the road…"

And so, they did. C.C. took it a little steadier as she went back along the hall to the door, trying to breathe and stay on her feet and not land flat on her ass before she even made it outside. Niles must've taken it for the worrying because he didn't press her about it or ask her to hurry up. He just followed behind as they got their jackets and made sure to lock up before disappearing into the elevator.

The ride down was as uneventful as either of them could've expected. C.C. almost wished it could've lasted a little longer, especially as the doors finally opened and Niles started to escort her across the vast concrete space that was the building's underground parking lot. They were the only people down there, and there were barely any cars because most of the building's residents had to be at work, but that didn't stop her from feeling like there were about a thousand sets of eyes watching her from somewhere…

Watching ever more intently, too, as Niles started to drift towards one particular car. A large Rolls Royce, with tinted windows and a body that looked like it could've survived an argument with a tank.

C.C. halted when she realised that yes, he was going for that car, and he was indeed fishing in his pocket for his keys. She'd thought for a split second that maybe he'd just been heading for one of the smaller…less showy…cars parked nearby, but one glint of off-silver as the car key came out under the dim yellow lights told her everything she needed to know.

"Is that our car?"

Niles' feet skidded and scuffed a little as he stopped on the garage floor, taken by surprise at her sudden freezing and the re-emergence of her voice. He looked between her and the car for a moment, a smile working its way up onto his face and forcing itself to look unbothered.

"Yes, yes it is," he answered, pulling the key towards him. The longer she looked, the more his smile seemed to be relaxing. "Your father had it sent here a few days ago."

C.C. looked doubtfully at the Rolls. A blurred and warped version of her reflection stared back, equally sceptical. Just between the two of them, she'd been expecting something…a lot more ordinary. Nothing as big or as loud or as…well…this.

She looked at the Rolls' body again. She didn't have to bother looking carefully, given that there was so much of it, but she came away with the conclusion that the thing was probably armoured up like it was going into battle. It nearly made her roll her eyes. Trust her father to go this far over the top for something as simple as errands out of the house! She hadn't expected her own car back, obviously, but she had at least imagined that she'd be getting to and from places in something less powerful, noticeable, and combat-ready than the Batmobile!

"Is something the matter?"

Niles' question startled her out of her thoughts, snapping her back towards him.

"Hm? Oh! It's, um…you just…you just didn't tell me…"

She couldn't tell him the whole real reason. They probably all thought she needed as much protection as she could get…

The bright look on Niles' face dimmed for a split but telling second.

"I didn't?" he eventually asked, pulling a face when she shook her head no in return. "It…it must've slipped my mind, I…I'm very sorry, I can't imagine how…"

C.C. felt an odd stirring in her gut. She didn't understand how it could've slipped his mind either; Niles had been on top of everything around the place from the moment they'd moved in! Organised to a T. Organised enough that librarians would tell him to quit while he was ahead. Was that really the sort of person who let something like this fall through the cracks? Metaphorical cracks, of course, because there was no way this thing would fall through a real crack without getting wedged in there!

Something didn't make sense about it. She was getting the same feeling as the one she'd gotten when Niles had…when he'd told her they had to go to the therapist now, instead of having him go to them…

But maybe it was just the little things getting brushed to one side, so that he could concentrate on the bigger things? She'd been there plenty of times herself, so she couldn't exactly blame him for letting a detail or two slip! Even a butler could only carry so much, after all!

And it wasn't like there was some huge, world-changing thing he hadn't remembered to tell her…

She shook her head a little at him, "It's okay, it's fine…! It's not really that important…"

To show him just how fine it was, she moved forward to stand in front of one of the rear passenger doors, looking back expectantly as he recovered from whatever he'd been thinking and moved to unlock the car. He then helped her in through her own door, which clunked open and shut like the door on a bank vault and needed the extra pair of hands to help it swing in any direction at all. He even took a moment in between the two to ensure she was properly buckled in before they went anywhere!

And they were finally heading somewhere. Niles didn't take half the time she had, getting himself safely into his seat and starting the engine. The Rolls might've been heavy, but it moved smoothly around the garage under his fine steering, heading out and gently up the ramp that led directly from the building and into the New York traffic.

They were on their way, at last. Not that C.C. had stopped shaking in her seat just because they were in the car – in her mind, she felt like a lamb going to the slaughter. She was damaged alright, she had absolutely no doubts about that, but the only thing that scared her more than being left alone with her thoughts, was having to relay them to someone else, and especially to a shrink.

What good would it make, honestly? Realistically speaking, heling and recovery were two things that she felt were beyond her capabilities. In her mind, after everything that had happened to her, the best-case scenario was simply learning to cope and live with the trauma without feeling the crushing need to blow her brains out on a daily basis.

C.C. couldn't help frowning.

What did this shrink know anyway? Studying trauma and mental illness was all fine and dandy, but reality was so much more complex than books. She simply didn't see how this therapist would fix her. C.C. couldn't understand how it would be possible for them (or anybody, really) to understand where she was coming from. She felt there was no way to explain the unthinkable to those who hadn't experienced it.

But, as much as she hated the idea of having to go to therapy, she hated the idea of arguing about it with her parents and Niles even more. They were set on her getting psychological help, and she would bet her bottom dollar they'd scream blue murder if she so much as hinted at her desire not to talk about what had happened to her.

That didn't mean she wanted to do it any more than she already did, though. And the closer they got to the place where this shrink's office was supposed to be, the worse it was making her feel about the whole thing. She remembered one time, a very long time ago before she'd even ever dreamed she could be so broken and fucked up, Nanny Bobo had taken her to the Central Park Zoo. C.C. didn't remember much of the day in general, but she did remember heading over to the Lion House. Watching a huge male with a tawny mane as he paced back and forth in front of the bars. Back and forth, back and forth. A clear sign of his anxiety, and his need to get the fuck out of there to somewhere better by any means possible.

She hadn't known she'd ever feel exactly like that lion. Right down to the fact that she had fucking keepers these days! Keepers who were making her go to a vet who wasn't going to know or understand what the problem was and who wouldn't be able to help the wound heal up. And she had about as much of a chance as being blow-darted to make her go as old Simba or whatever his name had been all the way back then.

The only difference was that she could've – if she'd really wanted to – opened her mouth to try and tell them that this was the worst idea anybody had ever had in the history of anything. But her mouth clamped itself shut even tighter when she even thought about doing it.

It was probably for the best that it did. Why should she even bother wasting her breath on it, exactly? What difference would it actually make if she did? Nobody would listen or give a shit about her last-minute jitters – they'd pushed her to go in the first place and they were gonna push even harder if she tried to back out now!

The imaginary conversation that would become real if she dared to speak out, the one involving her and her parents and Niles, felt crowded in her head. They felt crowded in her head; their words and their questions, whats and whys and hows all, loomed as large over her as the skyscrapers outside the car window. They were getting as loud as the traffic, too, and C.C. could feel the walls of the corner she was being backed into getting larger and more solid against her shoulder blades. Her body stiffened, taking her lungs with it and cutting off her air. It hurt. It hurt to try and breathe, it hurt to try and think, it hurt to try and do anything that meant heading in the direction of any fucking doctor's office…

But, as always, she didn't have a choice. They were already there, near enough, and it wasn't going to matter to Niles how much of a dive her stomach was taking as he turned the car off the road and went down into the underground parking lot.

Finding a space and parking the car took no time at all for him, either, which probably felt like a stroke of luck to him. In C.C.'s mind it was about as much a stroke of luck as an actual stroke. And it was made all the more peachy by Niles switching off the engine and smiling at her.

It was the smile of someone who had absolutely no clue what was really going on.

"Here we are, then," he said that like they'd just made it to the spot where they'd planned to have a picnic or something. "Made it at last."

Another, braver C.C. might've told him she knew that in a way which compared him to a world-famous, London-based detective. But right at that moment she actually thought she'd throw up if she said anything at all. It didn't matter whether she said anything or not, though. Them arriving on its own meant her getting out. And her getting out meant walking to the shrink's office, to meet the shrink, to talk to the shrink…

Christ, she couldn't do this! She couldn't get out of the car – nothing about getting out of the car was going to lead to anything good! This had been the worst mistake that anybody had ever forced her to make, and if she got out the only thing she could think to do was run like the wind in the other direction…!

Deafening silence was something Niles was used to around Miss Babcock these days. Even still, it wasn't something he enjoyed. He might've known that, naturally, she wasn't as open in her opinions as she would otherwise be, but even a sign that she was feeling at least a little bit ready for this would've been reassuring.

Obviously, he wasn't expecting her to leap up and make a whole musical of how much she was looking forward to meeting the doctor. But a "Yeah", a smile – even looking in his direction rather than at somewhere nearby him but not actually at him would've helped his insides to unclench! To help him feel like he was actually doing something to help her. To help him know that she was safely on the road to helping herself feel better.

But he couldn't do that if she wouldn't respond.

"Are you feeling alright, Miss Babcock?" he asked, hoping his smile was still in place and that it hadn't slipped off while he had been watching her. Not watching her. Waiting for her to reply while they were both in the car. "I said we're here…"

"Hm?" C.C.'s eyes snapped to him immediately, soldiers to attention at the command of an unseen general. "I, uh…I'm…"

Nothing else but that pathetic little mumble was coming out. Not without the threat of breakfast following soon after, anyway. But Niles was still sat there, waiting for her to answer. They were there. It was time. They weren't going back. It would've been a waste of his time for them to go all the way back now, and even if he insisted that it wasn't an issue she knew damn well that it would've been.

"We're here," he said again. The voice was gentle, but his finger might as well have been tapping his watch. "Are you ready?"

The corners of C.C.'s mouth wobbled unpleasantly. There was nothing she could say but yes, was there? It had to be a yes, and she had to force it out and say so now, or else he was going to find out there was a problem by himself. And that meant they'd have to sit there and talk about it even before she got plopped down in front of the shrink!

"Yes. Fine. I'm fine, I'm ready," she didn't think she took a whole breath that entire time, but at least it was out. She jabbed a hand downwards to open her seatbelt, which whipped away from her as quickly as she wished she could leave this conversation. "Let's go. Let's get out of here…"

Slowly undoing his own seatbelt, Niles watched as Miss Babcock's hand, trembling like it was escaping a car-based earthquake, grabbed at and grappled with the door handle. It took her far longer than it should ever have to get the thing open, and it wasn't with the pride, confidence, or even rage that she'd normally throw into everything she did. It was more like…like an animal, scrabbling to leave a cage.

Working out that she had been lying about being alright just a moment ago didn't take much brainpower. But pressing that particular issue wasn't going to help anybody. With any luck (and possibly a miracle) she'd talk to the doctor and they'd find some way to work on it. Make it a little better for the next time, until it got easier and easier.

C.C. wouldn't have agreed that this was going to get easier. It was too difficult not to view this first session as being equal to an execution, let alone see some mythical "bright side" that she'd somehow reach by opening up!

That didn't make a difference about whether or not it happened, though. That ship had already long sailed, and firmly telling herself that again was the slap in the back of the head that she needed to finally steady her grip on the door handle and push the car door so that it opened and she could get out. Alas, her legs hadn't quite gotten the memo and she could feel them shaking as soon as her feet were out of the car.

She couldn't help frowning – couldn't she be any more pathetic?! Hell, she'd once been able to take on any asshole that got in her way without getting even one hair out of place! And now she wasn't able to get into the fucking elevator for her first fucking session without turning into a shaking mess?!

She was truly pitiful, just like Thomas had said. How anyone had missed or wanted her back, it was completely beyond her. Part of her supposed they had never imagined that this was the version they'd be getting back and now it was too late to back out. Or maybe they were sticking by her out of some weird sense of obligation. Kind of like how people will pick up wounded puppies off the streets – they were too weak and defenceless to fend for themselves.

And weak and defenceless was just how she seemed to feel, more often than not…

"Is everything alright?" Niles asked gently, bringing her out of yet another self-loathing session.

"Yeah…I'm…" she trailed off, shaking her head – she'd be fooling no one if she said she was alright. "Nevermind…I'm sorry for stalling…"

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he said, walking to her and offering her his arm. "We can take all the time you need."

C.C. felt her lip wobble, and her insides warmed over like sitting in front of a fire on a dark November evening. She looked at his arm, a little way out from his body for her arm to slip through, and she wondered how he managed to do it. Here she was, buried deep in a pit of very much-deserved self-loathing at becoming the epitome of the word "wuss", and the situation she was creating by having become said wuss, and Niles was still reaching out. And it was – slowly – thawing out the horrible iceberg of guilt moving in the direction of the ocean liner of her well-being.

Whether he'd expected her back in this wuss-ified and broken and fucked-up state or not didn't seem to matter. And, if he'd ever once thought about throwing in the towel instead of throwing himself wholeheartedly into taking care of her, it had never once showed. He hadn't quit, even if he'd wanted to. He'd stayed, and he was there now, offering her support and keeping her grounded…

Just like the voice…the voice that had been him, before…back in the bad old days…

Maybe even having one person like that in her life made a difference? Even thinking about there being someone made her want to start smiling, though only really the corners of her mouth could manage it. They managed it back at Niles, who was still waiting patiently as ever.

He really was going above and beyond for her, in every little detail and at every waking moment of his life! And she might have been a complete write-off of a person, but he was doing it anyway. So really, the least that she could do was give this whole thing a try and see at least this first session through. He deserved at least that much from her, having exchanged an at least vaguely normal life for…for whatever this shit was.

She could do it. If not for herself, then for him.

Taking his proffered arm felt like someone had caught her before she'd hit the floor. He was solid, strong, secure in place, like that ocean liner she'd said about had suddenly gotten itself a damn good anchor. It was what she needed. She thought she'd drift off somewhere without him otherwise. Or fall and crash on the ground.

"Thank you…"

She was surprised he heard, with how soft the words came out, but the deep crease of a smile that greeted hers told her he had.

"Don't even mention it," he replied, letting her get settled in right next to him. "You all set for this?"

She nodded once, briskly, "Yeah. Yeah…"

Gambling might've been a problem for the butler and he might not have been any good at it, but he had a hell of a poker face when he didn't want to let on whether or not he believed her. Instead, he just let her keep on using him as the human version of a crutch as they continued to make their way towards the elevator.

Getting in was easy enough. Certainly easier than C.C. had pictured in her mind in those moments when she'd been thinking about how it would all go. Niles just pressed the button and with a gentle "ding", the door opened and they stepped inside. He then checked the numbers for the floor they needed to get to and pressed the button. The elevator door closing again didn't feel quite as easy, though. Especially not when it came to a sudden halt way before their intended destination, and she and Niles were shuffled backwards into the elevator as other people started to get on.

The more of them got on, and the more floors they stopped at, the more C.C. became aware of the prickling heat spreading its way across her back, and her heart beat further and further out of her chest. Other people. Strangers. She…she hadn't been around anybody she hadn't known for any real length of time since she'd left the hospital…

And this was a long, long way before they'd gotten to their floor; there were plenty of people in there now with them, men and women. Not one of them paying attention to anything other than their own mundane existences. Not that that mattered at all, her stomach had a vice grip on itself like it feared for its own life. Or hers. Theirs. Both. Whatever. If the elevator kept making short, sharp jumps like it was, her stomach definitely wasn't going to have a vice grip on any of her recent meals…!

Another floor passed. Torturously, only one person got off and another two got on in some sort of a sick hydra of commuting New Yorkers. C.C. swallowed, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Niles turn very slightly, very discreetly, to look at her.

Shit, that must have been louder than she'd imagined it would have been.

"Feeling alright?" he asked, so quietly that he might as well have mouthed it.

No. And again, there was no point in lying about it. What good would it do? Especially if she then immediately brought the lie into the open by way of nervously bringing everything she'd recently eaten into the open.

Shaking her head was the only option. Well, the only one other than somehow trying to force the door and taking the other other way out via the elevator shaft.

Niles frowned back at her, and the frown cut deeply into the corners of his mouth. They cut almost as deeply as the feeling of watching her, fighting so hard to do something she was absolutely not alright doing.

Champion. In his eyes, she really and truly was an absolute champion, considering everything she'd been through and now everything else that she was putting herself through in order to make herself alright again. Niles didn't think his heart would ever be the same, the number of times it had broken and would continue to break for her. She shouldn't have had to do any of it.

The only consolation he could offer was that she wouldn't be doing the rest of it alone. He'd be there every step of the way to make sure she got through it, and to be the comfort and support she needed and deserved. And that included now, even if anybody else would've thought she should feel at her most safe and protected.

Even if she didn't feel it, she was at her most safe and protected. He was right there. But perhaps it was best that she did know it?

Hesitantly, as a shadow of doubt that he'd be welcome to do it momentarily passed overhead, he nodded and reached out an arm to put it around her shoulders.

"Okay…"

He felt her stiffen at the touch, if only for a second, and an apology had already formed on his lips and was waiting to be spoken when suddenly the stiffness melted away. Warmth spread along him as C.C. leaned into his embrace, her whole body pressed against his and her head falling to rest, neatly – he didn't want to think as though it belonged, but the thought broke in without permission – in the crook of his neck. She let out a sigh, like she'd been holding the weight of the world and had just been allowed, at last, to put it down.

By then, the warmth had overtaken Niles and was in charge of his person. He…he wasn't sure what to think. Or even if he could think! She was…she was so close, and…and so…so comfortable with him! Well, he had said that he'd wanted that, for her to feel totally safe and protected with him. But he'd never imagined that it would happen so fast…!

Truthfully, he'd worried it would never happen at all, and had resigned himself to that possibility. But here she was, proving him wrong! Once upon a time he would have loathed any chance that had slipped through his fingers and wound up a chance for her to prove him wrong. But this…this didn't feel like that. He was more than happy to be wrong about her feeling safe, and like she could leave all her problems behind, when she was in his arms.

He was more than happy to let her stay that way for the time they had left in the elevator, too. To let her relax in the light but secure hold he had on her, letting her know he was there and she was safe, and everything was going to be just fine. Most of the other passengers had gotten off by the time they made it, which seemed to put her a little bit more at ease every time someone got off and they continued the rest of the journey. He didn't attempt to move until the thing had stopped exactly where they wanted it to and the doors opened.

If it hadn't been for their needing to be somewhere far more important, he would have been happy to not move at all. Not even after the door had opened to reveal the tell-tale sign engraved into a metal plate on the wall of the corridor. It spelled out the name of the therapist, offered a long line of letters detailing that C.C. was getting the best expertise money could buy after that, and pointed them to the left.

They were in the right place, and C.C. had to move away from him almost completely then so that they could get out of the elevator and start heading along. She kept hold of his arm, though. Niles didn't mind that, even if it wasn't quite as warming as it had been when she'd decided he was a safe place to lean…

Tucking that thought and all its attached feelings away was for the best. They were moving at a reasonable speed, and it wasn't long before Niles thought he could see the door to the office they'd come to visit.

"Ah, I think we're here now…"

C.C. had seen, but for some reason Niles pointing directly at the door made the knowledge a thousand times worse. Looking at it directly made her want to dig her heels into and scrape at the floor, and she clutched his arm like it was the last lifeline to a rescue party out of Hell. But they didn't stop walking towards it.

Had they really gotten there already? How could it have happened so quickly? They'd been stuck surrounded by strangers on a never-ending ride of misery only moments ago and now they were all ready to sit her down with the headpeeper? How the hell had that happened?!

She didn't know. And the closer they got, the less she thought that maybe she really was ready for this. Sure, she really did have to try now; it wasn't like she could just take off back down the corridor!

She turned a look back over her shoulder towards the elevator. Now, that was a thought…

Her head snapped back forward.

No.

She'd said she was going to try, and she was. For the man doing his level best to keep her moving forward. Figuratively and literally. It was just that she already knew she'd be right about it all. Trying wasn't going to mean anything. This wasn't going to work. She was going to go in there and it was all going to be a massive waste of time!

Panic had already settled in everywhere else, so it wasn't too much of a stretch to think it was on her face too. Niles wasn't saying anything about it in the little looks he was giving her as they came up to the door, but he had to have known it was there. It felt obvious.

"Would you like me to ring the doorbell?" he asked.

Was that a trick question? Of course she didn't want him to ring the doorbell! She already knew what would happen when he did! But did she have a choice? Not really. They were there and it was time and there was no getting away from it now. Not when she'd promised.

Swallowing again, she took in a breath and…

Couldn't bring herself to exhale the word "Yes". It stayed put in there, and she ended up having to nod. God, she couldn't have been more pathetic, could she? Being in two minds about going to sit in an office to talk to someone, as though she hadn't done that for the last twenty goddamn years of her life, and then not even being able to say so much as a single word when she got to the door!

And to top it all off, having to get Niles to ring the doorbell for her! There was some kind of twisted irony in that, somewhere. She was sure of it.

Niles didn't seem to pick up on it, if there was. He just took a careful step forward and pushed the doorbell. It rang, and within a few seconds was met with a buzz of a reply. The door then unlocked by itself and swung lightly on its hinge, allowing them inside.

C.C. didn't know what she'd expected, when the door opened. Her mind had flitted back and forth on whether it was going to be bright white, sterile, and clinical – like the hospital but with a supremely hard couch for talking about your problems on while addressing the back of a white-coated medical snob. Or, if it was going to be all bean bags and beads everywhere and you'd have to sit criss-cross on the floor in front of a hippie talking about your feelings while looking at a human body map of the chakras.

This place wasn't either of those. Or, at least, it was going to have to do a really weird transformation real soon if it was going to become one of those.

The office wasn't huge, but the way in was long enough that it needed a small, soft, grey-brown carpet running from the entrance to the reception area. The walls were white, and had framed paintings of cityscapes on them. The runner underneath their feet was protecting a hardwood floor underneath that. A side table held a blue pot with an orchid in it. Classical music was playing softly, somewhere.

It…kind of looked like they'd just wandered into someone's home, actually, rather than a shrink's office. Even Dr Bort's place had looked more like somewhere somebody worked! And it hadn't ever been quite this tranquil, either. Sitting in there had felt like a business appointment, but being in this new office was starting to make her feel like they'd been invited over for coffee. That feeling didn't disappear when they got into the actual waiting area, either. Heck, that itself looked like a living room! More paintings on the walls – real ones, again, not those ink blot ones they'd make you look at and ask whether you saw bunny rabbits or two men knife fighting to the death in them. Alcove bookshelves were stacked with books and knickknacks and ornaments. Plush sofas and chairs with plump cushions framed a coffee table piled with magazines. In the corner an end table held a radio, which was where the music was coming from.

The only thing vaguely hippie-ish about the place was the bowl of potpourri sitting pride of place between the magazines.

It was the epitome of a calm, relaxing place. And it was empty, which was another small miracle because C.C. didn't know how she would've felt if anybody else had been there. Or how it would have worked. Just thinking about trying to make small talk with someone else who obviously needed their head examined already made her want to run for the hills.

She didn't know when she'd let go of Niles' arm but before she knew it, she'd drifted to the coffee table and had started casually examining the dates on the magazines and inhaling the aroma from the potpourri. Tangy orange with a hint of lavender, and copies of Women's Health, The New Yorker, and Golf Digest gracing the tops of their piles. The magazines were all up-to-date, too.

Not bad. Not even her dentist had been able to do that, and she'd been paying him through the nose…

"Would you like to read one of those while we wait?"

Niles' question dragged her back into the room, and she blinked up at him.

"Hm?"

He nodded towards the magazines, "The magazines. Did you want to sit and read one while we wait?"

"Oh, no," C.C. replied, turning away. "I was just looking…"

Niles made a noise at the back of his throat. It sounded like he was accepting her answer, even if some part of him was a little disappointed that she hadn't found something she could take an interest in.

"Alright, then," he said. "Would you prefer it if we stood or would you still like to sit?"

That wasn't a hard decision to make. They might've been in the car for a while, but the elevator had been quite a long ride up. And the nearest sofa looked more comfortable than most places…

"Let's sit down," she replied, heading straight for the best looking spot with its own cushion.

Niles soon followed suit, taking the seat next to her. As soon as he did, she let out a breath that couldn't have been but sounded like the one she'd started holding in when they'd gotten to the door, and immediately resumed her position tucked into his side.

"Well, we're here…" she said.

The back of Niles' throat clenched at the feel of her breath on his neck. Thankfully, he didn't twitch or move oddly in any other way.

"Yes," he managed. "Indeed we are…"

The last thing he wanted was to suddenly make her uncomfortable in a place where she was supposed to feel nothing of the sort! Even if he didn't mean to. Especially if he didn't mean to, because that would have meant he was getting careless, and she didn't need someone who wasn't paying attention to her.

But she'd leaned on him again. Like it was nothing. Like that was her spot now. He was her spot.

He almost thought he could get used to that.

Neither talked again for quite a while, so it could have been any amount of time at all between them sitting and finally hearing footsteps on the carpet runner, getting louder as they came down the hall.

As soon as C.C. realised what was going on, she bolted upright, looking like the kid who'd been caught sleeping in class. Trying hard not to frown too much, Niles rubbed at her shoulder comfortingly and helped her get to her feet so they could turn and greet the therapist.

C.C. hadn't given much thought to what they would look like, but had she been inclined to do so during the last few weeks, she would have probably imagined they'd be, for lack of a better expression, Bort-like: tall, solemn and with a wretchedly clinical air about them. Her former therapist had always cut a calm and understanding figure to C.C., but ultimately, he'd lacked a certain…softness. Not to get her wrong, he'd most definitely been a wonderful help throughout her pre-Thomas years – his straightforward and no-nonsense demeanour, coupled with his thorough parsing of her feelings, had been just what her old self had needed to deal with the shopping list of emotional issues left behind by a lonely childhood and even lonelier adolescence.

Back then, she'd relished his clinical levelheadedness; understanding her childhood traumas from a logical (rather than emotional) perspective had felt a lot more doable than having to wade through a murky slew of complicated feelings and unresolved daddy-slash-mommy issues.

Everybody (including Bort himself) had agreed that a change of therapist was needed in light of her new circumstances. According to her former shrink, C.C. required help from a professional who "specialised in trauma disorders", but to her that had sounded an awful lot like her doctor had taken one look at what was left of her after her kidnapping and noped out. Simply put, dealing with her messed up mind was way over his paygrade. He'd actually been the one who'd referred her to this new shrink (not that that had made C.C. feel any less bitter about the whole situation).

So, again, considering this was Bort's referral and after having spent twenty-odd years on his couch, C.C. had been expecting her new therapist to be just like him…

But, as she stood there, staring at her new shrink like a deer caught in the headlights, it quickly dawned on her that it wasn't just the hourly rate that had changed. The woman in front of her was as similar to Bort as a penguin was to a lizard! To start with, she was minuscule – probably just about scraping five feet one – and where a cold, clinical air should have been, there only was a gentle warmth. The kind of warmth you'd feel around a loving grandmother who'd just baked you cookies. She was older than Bort, too. If C.C. had to make an educated guess, she'd probably say her new shrink was pushing her late-sixties-slash-early-seventies, which in her mind only served to reinforce the notion of somehow having wandered into someone's nana's home.

"Welcome, Miss Babcock, Mr Brightmore…" the elderly lady said, mercifully taking the metaphorical first step in the conversation. "I'm Esther Bialik. "

She also took the first real step as she approached the pair and heartily shook both of their hands, her many bracelets chinking and clinking together. Again, C.C. was immediately reminded of her own late grandmother, Grandma Lulu. She'd always be dressed to the nines and had worn enough jewellery to buy a small country. In her mind, jingling metal and raucous, unabashed laughter were the soundtrack of her presence. Esther – with her bright pink cardigan (complete with butterfly print), her floral silken neckerchief, and assorted jewellery (which also stuck to the butterfly theme) – cut a remarkably similar figure, and for some reason that instantly put her a little bit more at ease.

It made her feel strangely safe.

"Now, Miss Babcock, if you're alright with it, would you care to step into my office?" said Esther, gesturing towards the door she'd just come thought. "There are some refreshments and cookies in there, if you'd like something to snack on before we start."

C.C. couldn't help instinctively looking at Niles, practically causing herself whiplash with how fast and how suddenly she'd moved her head. There was fear in her eyes (panic, really), and her whole body started shaking. It was obvious it wasn't alright with her – she wanted to get the fuck right out of there, even if she knew that wasn't an actual possibility. Esther might have been nice, but she absolutely wasn't make-the-traumatised-patient-eager-to-talk kinda nice.

"It's alright if you aren't ready yet," Dr Bialik said, having picked up on her discomfort. "This is a safe space. We'll do everything at your own pace and we don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with, and that includes today's session."

"It…it does?"

The words were out before she'd even thought about them. Part of her wanted to cover her mouth with her hands – she had a feeling that she'd spoken out of turn, and that was an Absolute No in her book, lest she wanted to be smacked, slapped or punched. But the blows never came, and where she'd imagined a frown would be, there was only a sympathetic smile.

"Of course! It's your therapy – you are the boss!" Esther said. "So, if you feel like today is a bit too much, then that's okay. It really is up to you."

C.C. let out a small whimper – so it really was a choice. Her choice. That…that was a welcome (if more than a little terrifying) change, after having been a glorified toy for the better part of a year. Her freedom to choose was one of the first things Thomas had seen fit to beat out of her so, now that she had it back, she almost didn't know what to do with it. It felt a little like trying to gobble down a triple cheeseburger after weeks of starvation – she felt stretched, and like her body would give out on her.

But…well…baby steps, right? That's what everyone kept saying…

Still, she didn't feel quite ready to call the shots. So, again, her eyes sought those of her rock: Niles. She hoped he'd understand – she was delegating the choice to him. That was what she wanted and felt comfortable with. She might not have been well enough to make big decisions by herself yet, but she could choose who made them for her in the time being.

It wasn't ideal, but it was a start.

"Well, why don't you give today's session a chance?" Niles asked. "And if at any point you feel it's too much, I'll be here to drive you back home, no questions asked."

"That sounds like a smashing idea, in my book – if Miss Babcock is okay with it." Dr Bialik piped up.

"I…I think I am." came C.C.'s soft reply.

The former producer was surprised to find that she actually meant that. Well, mostly anyway. This wasn't an ideal situation in any way, shape or form, but she had a failsafe. A metaphorical STOP button she could smash if it all became too much. And that was the most wiggle room she'd had in months.

It made a difference.

It made all the difference…

The doctor beamed brightly. If someone had told C.C. that the woman's grandson, or even great-grandson, had just gotten an A on his report card, she would have expected the same look.

"Wonderful!" Esther clapped her hands together softly once, her bracelets dance-clashing together and clanging like wind chimes. "Good. I'm glad you want to give it a try right away. There's no shame in not wanting to, of course, but I think it's important to celebrate the first step – whenever that happens."

Taking a step to one side, she made a soft sweeping motion towards her office.

"Please, go right ahead."

C.C. took a step. Or, rather, she thought she was about to take a step, up until her body halted all production of the movements necessary to make said step happen. What actually happened was that she rocked a little in place, while her mind froze on the one question she'd been going back and forth on all that time.

Could she really do this? Could she really go in there and sit down with Nana Therapist and get anything at all out in the open? And would it make the slightest bit of difference if she did? Nice décor and a sweetheart of an old lady didn't instantly mean that she'd be fixed…not with the stuff that had made her broken in the first place rattling around up there…

She didn't know. She'd been just sure enough to get in the door and now it was all going away again. Chickening out.

Instinctively, she turned to Niles. Again, she didn't really know why. Maybe she thought he'd know better, or have a clearer idea, or at least make one decision or the other sound not so scary as both giving up and moving forward sounded right now.

Niles rubbed at her upper arm again. Was he trying to look encouraging? It looked like he was, but there was something off about it at the same time. Or maybe that was just her?

"It's alright," Niles said. His voice sounded normal, at least. "I'll be here, waiting. I spotted a copy of Good Housekeeping on one of the magazine piles, so I'm set for as long as you need. No pressure."

He'd probably said that to try and make her laugh or something. It at least made Esther chuckle.

"There's plenty more where that came from, too, Mr Brightmore!" she declared proudly, before turning that grandma look on C.C. again. "There really is no pressure, Miss Babcock. Any time you want to go, if you want to go now, you can just say so."

C.C. almost opened her mouth to say something before clamping it shut again. She couldn't say anything. The room might've been quiet apart from the music, but her head was starting to get a little loud. All her thoughts were talking over one another. And nothing she thought she could say, if she thought she could actually say it, sounded like something she thought either one of them would want to hear…

"Or, not say so," Esther continued. "If you don't feel like you can say it out loud. Getting up and walking away is fine too, if you need to."

Something about Esther's voice made her slow down, and just listen. Listening was easier. Listening to someone in a much better position than she was helped her organise the thoughts a little. And it did sound good, having…having all those options. All of those options and nobody forcing her to decide which one to take, or even telling her which one they would like her to take, even if there was an option that they preferred…

Freedom, her mind told her. That was called "having freedom". She just hadn't had so much of it in a long time and it was making her unsure of what she should do with it! Especially not when a war had just started up in her head about whether or not she should be asking permission yet again to take one step in any direction whatsoever!

But she had already promised the one person she'd be asking permission from that she would at least try. And she might've put her foot in the door, but it wasn't going to count as trying until she had actually tried, was it? Nobody was going to make her try any harder than that, other than her, either.

God damn it.

Taking all the time she needed, which is what she thought Esther was saying about beyond the veil she'd drawn over herself just to concentrate on nodding and starting to walk, she managed to put one foot in front of the other. And again. And again. And again until she suddenly realised she was doing it under her own steam. No support (physical, anyway) and nothing stopping her from heading in the direction of Esther's office.

Had she looked back too quickly at Niles, she might've stopped and abandoned her plan entirely at the pained, fretful look on his face. That was why he had a bright, encouraging look ready to go in the barrel in case she turned around and he suddenly needed to look a thousand times happier than he was just watching this.

But she didn't look back. She went into the office – Dr Bialik's therapy room, she supposed she ought to call it – and got busy looking around at that instead. Again, it looked about as much like an office or a place for medical attention as the waiting room had looked like a reception area!

It was like another, more private living room, soft and comfortable, and as calming to look at as the rest of the place. High ceilings made it wide, like it was stretching itself out to welcome her. A huge window flooded the room with light and a magnificent city from outside, while somehow magically also missing all of the smog and the sirens that had to be going on in the streets below.

Everything about it made her think that this place was above the world and its problems. Between that thought and the classy look of the furniture and fittings, C.C. was reminded of her Grandma Lulu again. Only a little, though; there were a ton of other things about the place that Lulu herself would never have been caught dead owning, even mixed in with the stuff that she might have considered "acceptable". Like, take the velvet sofa for instance. That would've been a check mark to her grandma. But the floral beadwork cushions, and the Indian-style cushions with the needlework of elephants? No, those could go.

The same could be said of the Persian rug on the floor. Sure, it looked the part, but it was bright yellow-gold and obviously not an antique, so to Lulu it might as well have been one of those carpets the mafia wrapped bodies up in in movies. There were a few plants in a couple of the corners and on a few shelves, too. Those had belonged outside in Lulu's world, and Lulu had belonged inside, so C.C. doubted very much that she would've had any around. She certainly didn't remember any.

Spaces on the shelves that weren't taken up by plants, knickknacks, or a mix of black and white and colour photographs were mostly taken up by the largest books C.C. thought she'd ever seen. Some of those impressively weighted volumes might have, in Lulu's mind, made up for the fact that the rest of the space was covered up by weird-looking shrubs and odd souvenirs. The series of framed degrees off to one side, and what looked like some kind of award set on a plaque, might've just pushed it the rest of the way.

Lulu and Dr Bialik wouldn't have found much in common in the way of art, either. The office had a few more paintings, not unlike the ones outside in terms of size and style, but this time of flowers and different scenes in Central Park. A watery autumnal view of the Loeb Boathouse hung above what could only have been the therapist's work desk, where a computer sat idle and an open diary lay with a pen nestled into the fold of the pages. A thick shawl with an alpine pattern was draped heavily over the back of the accompanying chair.

Well, that would definitely have been a no from Lulu. That entire setup implied that someone worked there, and Lulu had never worked a day in her life!

Parallel to the grownup workspace, in the other free corner of the room, was a much smaller table flanked by the first beanbags C.C. had seen since arriving. The table was stocked with a few colouring books, and crayons had clearly been scooped up and poured back into their boxes without much thought for what colour they were or what order they went in. Close by, against the wall so that nobody tripped over it, was a basket of toys that mostly looked like stuffed animals. C.C. could make out a few bears, the orange and black stripes of a tiger, the reddish-brown mane of a lion, and a shiny gold horn and white fuzz that could only belong to a unicorn.

The only reason Lulu would've said no to any of it was because it wouldn't have looked, let alone been, expensive enough for any of her grandchildren. But Esther probably knew what was best for her patients, and all the things C.C. had seen must have helped the youngest patients in her care at some stage…

The good doctor definitely didn't seem like a conventional therapist, that was for sure! Even the chair that had to be hers, the one next to the sofa, didn't look like one a therapist would turn their back in to listen to their patients speaking without actually looking at them. If anything – along with the sofa – it looked like Dr Bialik was just missing the loveseat from a three piece set!

Lived in. That was the phrase for it. Everything about it looked lived in, not just worked in. It was another living room outside of all recognised living spaces; a place where two friends could sit and talk and have coffee or tea without a care in the world because the world didn't exist in there. It existed outside, but not in there.

Speaking of tea, there even was tea. A full set was laid out on the coffee table in front of the sofa, complete with two cups, sugar bowl, jug of milk, spoons. A tall jug of water and glasses stood sentry next to them, and a jar of hard, rainbow-coloured candies and a plate of chocolate cookies were sat practically waiting to be eaten. With a fireplace crackling away in the back behind the seating area, it almost could've been the lead-up to Christmas, just before the tree and all the decorations went up!

As if the cosiness hadn't already been cranked up to eleven, a pile of neatly folded blankets peaked around the edge of the sofa, again from a basket that looked like it had been made at an afternoon village craft fair. It wasn't the only one next to the sofa, though. On the side closest to C.C., sitting there like it had been waiting for her the entire time, was the basket's twin. The only difference was this twin held yarn, and lots of it.

Would…would Esther maybe mind if she knitted during the sessions? Would she let her have that chance? She didn't know why, but the idea of talking didn't seem so bad if she had something like that to do with her hands. Not as bad, anyway. Some…well, some of it was going to…no, she didn't want to think about that right now. She'd only just gotten there, for Pete's sake!

The basket was easier to focus on. There were some gorgeous colours in there, greens and silvers and golds, reds and purples and blues. It was a multicoloured mix, as bright and eclectic as the wardrobe of Dr Bialik herself, and she could already imagine the things she could do with them and how good they could look.

All previous thoughts about being on a therapist's couch aside, she could already kinda see herself sat on the sofa in front of her. It didn't look like she'd imagined it before in her head, either. She wasn't on her back, talking about her problems and her feelings to the ceiling while a white-coated faceless entity made notes somewhere off to one side. She was sat up, one of those soft, snuggly (since when she did she ever describe anything as "snuggly"?!) blankets draped over her lap. She could make out the beginnings of a knitting pattern starting to form as she worked the needles with her hands, and her foot now and again gently bumped and tapped at the basket. Because of course she'd move it closer to her, so she could have it nearby while she worked…

She didn't know if she was talking about her problems in that one little dream. But perhaps that didn't matter so much yet? Talking was for later, one step at a time. The fact that she was even in the room was a miracle! And a vast improvement from only moments ago, when she'd rather have been a police-cordoned-off smear on the side of the building's elevator shaft than even consider stepping inside a shrink's office.

But she was in there now. It had taken her in like a benevolent family might take in an orphan. The entire place looked and felt like the hug you'd get from an older family member, but it had somehow become interior decor. And, the more she thought about it, the more she was starting to want it to happen. For her to be fully enveloped in this whole experience. For real, not just in her mind. It wasn't too far-fetched to think that it could all become real, was it? That it would go like she was starting to think it could?

It never would've happened like that in Bort's office, but this definitely wasn't that. There wasn't anything upright, official, or clinic-y about this place. You could take a nap in this place and probably wake up to an old woman asking you how you slept and asking if you wanted a snack or a drink. In Bort's office, you'd get a small talk about the importance of what you were doing there, a quiz about how many hours you'd slept the night before, and a more-than-mild sense that you were being judged.

You could probably do so much more, and explain a lot more, in this place without being judged. That probably included all the, um…stuff that she knew she'd eventually have to talk about. She was still in headshrinker territory, after all.

A set of short heels clunking closer on the floor behind her reminded her of that fact, and she turned to see Esther coming in through the door.

"Like it?" the doctor asked, turning a little so she could grab the door handle and close the thing behind her. "I can't stand an office without a few personal touches…!"

She walked a little further into the room, smiling at C.C. and nodding over at the sofa.

"Feel free to have a seat, if you want," she then dipped her head to one side briefly. "Or stand, if you'd prefer."

Usually, when hearing other people say "have a seat", C.C. took it to mean that they actually did want you to sit and they were just being polite about how they were telling you. Adding in something like "or stand, if you want" or "if you'd prefer", had always come off as sort of sarcastic, like they thought you were an idiot and making a stupid choice by not sitting like you'd been told. Or maybe that's just what she'd felt because she'd said the same thing to so many inferiors at the theatre…

Either way, Dr Bialik's invitation actually sounded like an invitation. One she could decline or accept as she wanted. And that sofa looked as comfortable as the ones out in the waiting room, so…why not take her up on it?

"I'll sit," she said quietly. "Thank you…"

Now she was getting the hang of it, walking to the sofa didn't take the same amount of effort as getting out of the car. Or up in the elevator. Or through either of the doors. She delicately took a seat and all but sank, cartoon-character-in-comically-slow-quicksand-like, into the seat cushion.

She'd had a life mostly full of comfortable, upmarket furniture. But right then and there, when it came to relaxation, that sofa was taking the cake.

"I couldn't help noticing from the doorway that you'd spotted the blankets," Esther remarked. "Would you like one?"

C.C. was surprised by the warmth that went through her middle at the question, and the corners of her mouth started to turn up in spite of themselves. Something deep inside her told her not to get her hopes up, that this was still wasted time spent with a shrink who was never going to be able to fix her, but the rest of her wasn't quite listening right then. It was too busy thinking about that dream she'd been having earlier, and how it had begun with her sitting down and getting a blanket.

"I…I'd love one. I really would," C.C. said, swallowing as the words did their best to make her mouth dry. "Thank you…"

"It's quite alright," Esther shuffled over towards the basket, bent over and started sorting through the blankets. "We've got a good selection in here, but these two are my particular favourites. Both of them are really warm…"

She straightened back up and showed C.C. the blankets she meant. One was a deep blue, the kind of colour you would've made the ocean in a drawing as a child. The other was off-white, the kind of sought-after colour every luxury home flaunted in its gorgeously soft furniture, carpets, and rugs.

"Navy or cream?"

C.C. had known instantly which she'd liked better. And having all these choices, and someone listening to her when she was making them…it was kind of nice…

"Navy, please."

Smiling, Esther passed her the blanket and busied herself with moving back around the sofa as C.C. opened the thing up and created a light cocoon for her legs. She'd managed to curl the material around herself just as Esther reached the coffee table and the tea tray it held.

"Would you like some tea?"

Within moments, after some extra questions asked and choices answered that C.C. couldn't help relishing but making, she had been well and truly grandmothered. The blanket had stayed firmly in place because Esther had brought the tea to her, once it was ready, for one thing! Said tea was now resting neatly on a coaster in front of her, and her second cookie of about the last fifty seconds was already in her hands and halfway to not being there at all.

This wasn't what therapy was like. This was much better. And certainly better than she'd thought it was going to be. She didn't know what it was, if it was the tea, or the fire, or the blanket, or something else entirely, but she felt warm. Warm in a way she didn't think she'd ever really be able to feel, and safe in a way that she…she hardly ever felt, unless she was with…

Oh, she was starting to think nonsense, she was so warm! It was relaxing her too much, making her soften up. Like a candy bar that was melting in the sun and turning into a weird shape because of it.

And it was while she was in this weird, half-melted-Hershey-bar-shape that Esther went over to her desk and got a notepad and pen out of the top drawer. She came back just as C.C. finished off the cookie, seated herself as slowly in her chair as C.C. had let herself be embraced by the sofa, opened the pad and clicked the top of the pen so that the nib would appear.

"So, let's start the session, shall we?"

Any trace of warmth or relaxation in C.C.'s body disappeared at such speed that it would have made light itself seem slow. This was it, wasn't it? The moment where she'd actually have to actually talk. This was the moment where her new shrink started prodding her cesspool of a brain for answers, and no amount of blankets, yarn or treats would make the process any easier.

Part of her felt the familiar tug of desperation – it beckoned her out of the room. Out of the damned building, really! It was the part that would have happily hidden under the covers for the rest of her life. And yet, there was another (much smaller) part of herself that was unwilling to chicken out. She didn't know if it was out of a sense of duty or loyalty to the butler, but she couldn't bear to disappoint him, and she had promised she'd try.

She couldn't go back out now. Not when she hadn't been in the room for more than ten minutes. Knowing him, he'd probably not say a word about her cowardice, but the disappointment and the worry would still be there.

It was funny, in a fucked up way – Niles, the man she'd lived to torture for well over a decade, was the one person she couldn't let down. That fact alone had to be a clear indication of just how much her time at Thomas' little house of horrors had fucked her up…

"I…I guess…" she eventually replied, looking away from her therapist and towards her feet. "What…what…should I tell you about? Where would you like me to start?"

As she'd started to speak, C.C.'s body had also started to shake. She fretted with her blanket – she tucked and untucked it in a loop, all the while trying to ignore the fear clogging her throat and the burning shame that came with having the nerve of a fainting goat.

Honestly, how pathetic could she be?! If just starting a fucking session was turning her into a quivering mess, then how the hell was she supposed to talk about all the things Thomas had done to her?! How was she supposed to look this woman in the eye and recount the beatings she'd gotten for so much as breathing too loud?! And let alone talk about all the times he'd taken her to his bed?!

That last thought made the former producer wince and shut her eyes as a sudden flood of horrible memories washed over her panicked mind. She was soon drowning in them, unable to break to the surface as ghosts of Thomas' voice and hands pulled her deeper and deeper into the abyss…

God…she…she needed out…! She needed Ni––

"C.C., sweetheart, come back…!"

Dr Bialik's voice was the metaphorical lifeline that was suddenly but thankfully pulling her out of her sea of misery. C.C. didn't know when the therapist had gone from being snuggled up in her chair to sitting next to her, one arm around her back and her left hand holding C.C.'s, but it felt safe.

It felt grounding.

"That's alright – take deep breaths," Esther said in a soft, soothing voice. "You were having a flashback – it's not real. You are here now. You are safe…"

C.C. breathed in, and it shuddered its way out of her body.

"That's it," Esther murmured. "Just breathe. You're here, and you're safe…"

C.C. tried the whole breathing thing again, and this one ended up shorter but at least it didn't leave like a car that wouldn't start up right. And yeah, she was there. In Bialik's office. It was safe, the sofa was soft, the room was quiet. The only other person there was Bialik herself, an elderly woman with a fixation on butterfly clothing and a questionable taste in interior design. She was taking her through her breathing.

And, it just so happened to actually be working. The breaths were getting deeper again, slower, and smoother. It wasn't so exhausting to take them…

"That's it," the doctor encouraged. "Take all the time you need and just breathe. You're doing great…"

That had to be the sentence that would greet C.C. returning to full mental clarity! "Doing great"! That was a laugh and a half; what kind of stupid, pathetic little waste of air was she? She wasn't "doing great", she'd just lost it and she hadn't even been in the place ten minutes! How could she possibly be doing great?!

It took a special kind of dipshit to turn into human jello the second they heard the words "let's start the session". Could that same fucked-up jello-person actually handle the session itself?! She doubted it, but it wasn't like she could get out of it now!

" 'M sorry," the words barely left her mouth, and even they entered the world like they should have apologised for even existing. "I really am, I…I don't know what's wrong with me…"

Esther didn't balk, but she did pause for a second.

"There isn't anything wrong with you, Miss Babcock."

The scoff that left C.C. was louder than any of her apology had been.

"Oh, yeah, sure…!"

Yeah, there was absolutely nothing wrong with her at all! There wasn't anything wrong with fucking a session over royally before that session had even started! Everyone did that. You'd be the odd one out if you hadn't…!

"I mean it," Esther almost sounded a little hurt when she spoke. "You have been through something no human being should have to go through. It's only natural that you're hurting."

None of this felt natural to C.C.. She shook her head a little, down at her blanket-covered lap. Esther squeezed her hand tighter in return.

"It's okay to feel overwhelmed by it, too. Sometimes things feel like they're too much, and there's nothing wrong with that – or you, for that matter."

Her repeating that did nothing for C.C.'s ability to think it.

"I don't know," that seemed a safer option than just openly admitting what she'd thought. "I just…I get so…emotional…"

"Well, that's why I'm here," Esther replied. "To help you navigate those emotions, so you can learn to manage them. Then they won't be so overwhelming, in time."

C.C. let out another small scoff, "Yeah, in the days when I'm not cowering under the coffee table…!"

Esther didn't frown, but C.C. suspected she wanted to.

"Having a bad moment, a bad time, a bad day, is alright. You don't have to feel ashamed of those," she said. "I'll be there through it all, whether it's good or not. So you can take your time and lead at your own pace, because I'm not going anywhere. It's what I'm here for."

That washed over C.C. in the same way the ocean washed up on the shore. Sure, it had happened, but it was hard to say if it had actually done anything. Granted, it was good for Dr Bialik to want to make her feel better, but that didn't mean that it had or even could happen in the future. Acting like there wasn't anything wrong with C.C. whatsoever was probably a step too far, as well. Especially considering that was almost categorically untrue!

And yet Dr Bialik had essentially just told her the same thing that everyone else had been telling her. To cut herself some slack. Sort of. She supposed it made sense that she'd done that; a therapist would know better than anybody if someone wasn't normal. And people who weren't normal needed more time or to do different things than a normal person did, so it all added together…

So, maybe they did have a point. She wasn't normal, so she had to stop treating herself like a normal person trying to do "normal person" things in a "normal person" way or at a "normal person" speed. She had to find another pace.

It didn't make the burning sensation of frustration die out underneath her skin, though. The lingering question of why she couldn't just be like a normal person threatened to prick at her eyes, but she smothered it with the answer that being normal wasn't possible for her anymore. Going forward at this new, broken person pace was her only option, whether she liked it or wanted it or knew how to do it or not.

"I guess so," she moved her hand away from the doctor's to clasp both of her own together. "I just…I don't know if I can do it. I don't know how, or where to begin!"

"Ah," Esther began like a wise woman. "Luckily, that's what therapy is for. It's what I'm here for."

"To tell me where to start?" C.C. asked, her voice gaining a little strength. She even managed to look up. "Because I don't know! I don't know what to say, so is there something you want me to say?"

Esther shrugged a little, "I don't "want" you to say anything. Just…start wherever you feel is easiest."

C.C. felt herself deflate a bit.

"Wherever is easiest?"

"Easiest for you," Esther emphasised. "And that can mean anything you want it to mean, within reason. You might want to talk about your routine and what you're doing now, it could be about what was going on in the days leading up to your abduction. If there's another moment you feel you can talk about that's happened in the last eight months, we can talk about that too."

She was saying it all so casually…C.C. didn't know how she could. Even thinking about talking about any of that made her want to run out of there and straight back to her bed so she could forget about the world!

Her face must've been an open book about her feelings on the matter, because Esther continued.

"Or, you can decide not to talk about all of that yet. All of what happened around Thomas, and the house. You can talk about whatever it is you would like to talk about, and that feels easiest to put out there."

C.C. ran that over again in her mind. Another choice. She wasn't sure how she felt about making this one, though. If she hadn't come up with anything right away for Bort when going through one of his sessions, he'd suggest a topic. He'd have found something for her to talk about by now…

Esther Bialik really was a different kind of therapist. Letting her take a lead, with bare minimum of restrictions.

"I…I can really start wherever I want…?"

The doctor smiled back at her warmly, "Of course! Heck, you're paying for it – you should get the freedom of choice, at the very least…!"

Silence settled over the room, and C.C. thought Bialik looked momentarily uncomfortable. Just for a split second.

"That was a joke, I promise," she added. "You're allowed to choose because it's your therapy, you decide how we proceed throughout. Contrary to popular belief, it's not us therapist who are in charge – it's the patients."

Once again, silence descended over the office and enveloped both therapist and patient. This time, however, it didn't feel uncomfortable or tense – if anything, it only proved that Dr Bialik's words were slowly sinking into C.C.'s mind and heart. Even if therapy still loomed like a large, menacing shadow over her, the fact she'd never have to discuss what Thomas had done to her if she didn't want to was a more than welcome reassurance. After having been a doormat for the better part of a year, finally having the power to choose was doing wonders for her anxiety.

She was still a long way away from being alright with having to go to therapy, but after having met Dr Bialik and hearing her stance about how their sessions were going to unfold, it simply didn't feel as daunting anymore. She supposed it was a matter of taking the metaphorical leap and just seeing how she fared.

Trial and error, simply put.

It was the only way to move forward, and at this point, she had very little left to lose. She could either stay stuck and let Thomas win, or she could try to build herself back up. C.C. doubted she would ever go back to being her old self, but any amount of progress had to be better than where she currently was. And again, if it all became too much, she had the chance to pull the break for as long as she needed.

Taking a deep breath, C.C. got ready to make the initial jump.

It was time to talk. No more stalling.

Here went nothing…

"I…I haven't been able to sleep much," she said, finally breaking the silence. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but judging by the proud smile on Bialik's face, C.C. might as well have shouted from the rooftops.

"How so?" Esther asked as she got to her feet and returned to her seat. Her notepad and pen were soon back at the ready, too.

"I've…uh…been having nightmares…" C.C. managed to choke out. "Mainly stuff he did to me during…during the time I was locked up. Try as I might I just cannot seem to get a full night's sleep and that…well…that makes me feel…uh…"

"On edge?" Bialik suggested.

The former producer nodded.

"I see," Esther hummed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Miss Babcock, but I read in your file that you were prescribed sleeping pills. Have they not been helping? They are a band-aid of a solution to this issue, of course, but there is no sense in you being sleep deprived until we manage to help you get the night terrors under control."

Not for the first time that morning, C.C. found herself cowering in her own shame.

"I haven't been taking them…" she mumbled, looking away from the therapist and down at her own feet. "Niles is in charge of my meds and I just…well…I didn't ask for them."

"And why is that?"

C.C. squeezed her eyes shut, shameful tears beginning to well up in the corner of her eyes.

"I didn't feel like I could…or…or even should," she answered, breath hitching up and catching in her throat. "I…I know handling my meds is literally part of Niles' job as my caretaker, but every time I even considered asking him for the pills I just felt so…ashamed. Like I'm this pathetic mess that can't even handle her own fucking dreams!"

She had to stop for a breath, and she pulled up and used the corner of her sleeve to dab at her eyes, starting to sniff as she did. A box of tissues practically manifested in Esther's hand, which she immediately offered to C.C..

God. Just when she thought she'd broken the pathetic cycle here she was, right back at the beginning again!

She ripped a tissue out of the box, "Thank you…"

Blowing her nose only made the whole thing ten times more humiliating than it already had been, and the humiliation reader in the room (i.e., her brain) was already reading numbers off the charts!

"It's not pathetic to be afraid of a nightmare," Esther withdrew the tissue box, putting it down to one side when it became clear that C.C. wouldn't need another for now. "It's perfectly natural, as it so happens. Don't you think that Mr Brightmore will understand that?"

Even hearing the question made C.C.'s insides twist unpleasantly. She squeezed a little at the tissue still in her hand.

"He'd understand," she replied, voice turning miserable. "But too much! He'd want to help, and he'd want to help in ways that will make things worse! What if he asks me about what happens in the…in the nightmares?"

"And what if he doesn't?" the doctor asked, clearly trying to make a point.

Pity for her, C.C. had thought about that one, too.

"Even if he didn't ask, just finding out and knowing about the nightmares existing would make him worry out of his mind!" she cried, the tissue seeking her face again in the ball of her fist. "I'm already doing enough to make him worry, I can't do anything else and become even more of a burden!"

The tissue was used up in no time. Esther offered the box again in a "please don't return this" sort of way by sliding it directly onto the sofa cushion next to C.C..

C.C. watched, not entirely thrilled that Esther hadn't replied. The silence started to grate fairly quickly, and she didn't know if it was because the old woman was thinking, or because she'd called herself a burden again, or if it was something else entirely.

"So no, I can't and I'm not going to ask," she continued. "I'm not about to go out there and make trouble!"

Esther looked at her curiously, pen already poised in hand.

"Trouble? What do you mean by "trouble"?"

Hesitation set in quicker and harder than concrete.

Oh, Hell.

C.C. kicked her way through the block hardening in her mind. She'd come this far already, and it wasn't as though Bialik would let it go after she'd opened her mouth and just let a word like "trouble" fly!

"The kind of trouble I used to get if…"

Her lip started trembling, her insides hurting like they were being gripped harder and harder with every word. The tears were coming back, and she had to feel around for the next tissue in the box.

"If I even so much as dared to say part of what I thought! Before. Back when I was in, um…"

Lightly flicking a hand in the direction of the window, before burying half of her face in the tissue, was apparently enough of an explanation of what she meant. Esther nodded.

"I see," she said, tapping her pen on the pad. "And you didn't ask for trouble there, either, but it was brought anyway?"

The tissue had started to collect tears. C.C. barely moved her mouth away from it to mutter an answer.

"You can say that again…!"

Esther made a noise that sounded faintly like "hmm". C.C. couldn't begin to imagine what "hmm" could've meant in this scenario. And, as the good doctor was finding out now, it wasn't as though she was going to start asking!

"Do you think that the same trouble would happen if you were to tell Mr Brightmore about your nightmares?"

"No."

C.C.'s answer couldn't have been more immediate. No, of course not! Niles was kind, and gentle, and would never…never do the things that Thomas had …but it didn't matter! It wasn't the same situation! Trouble didn't always have to come in the form of smacking, or getting screamed at, or having a shoe thrown at your head. Sometimes it came in other ways, and it was just as bad then.

Nothing good would come of her trying to talk to Niles about this, that was for certain.

Esther lowered the pen down to her pad, which she set in her lap. She'd been, from what C.C. could tell beyond the tissue, looking more thoughtful in these last few minutes than she had been before.

"And yet, there is still hesitation," she said softly. "I understand, of course. Back when you were being held in Thomas' house, you didn't have a choice over anything at all. It's had a knock-on effect with your ability to do and say what you need."

C.C. pressed the tissue to her face again with a sigh. Great, yet another area where it turned out she was broken…!

"But, it's also a part of your recovery process to slowly start doing things that you did before," Esther carried on. "To go back to the things that you did before. And that includes asking for things you need, when you need them."

Something in C.C. immediately recoiled, and the tissue dropped into her lap – along with her hand.

She'd felt herself pull a face, too, but she didn't realise how much of one until Esther lifted a hand briefly, as though trying to soothe or get her to stop something.

"I know, it sounds frightening. And it might be overwhelming to try and do it, but I promise it is important. You need to try and go through these things, to do them and see what happens."

She paused for a moment, thinking more deeply about it than she had before – if such a thing were possible. She even started pinching her chin between her thumb and finger!

"You work in the theatre as a producer, is that correct?"

C.C.'s heart broke at the realisation that she didn't know if she could answer that anymore. She coughed, and the tears came back to her eyes.

"It…uh, kinda…I mean, I did…"

Bialik appeared to bite down on the inside of her lip and then release it.

"Well, when you were working, would you have ever let a show go ahead without there first being a rehearsal?"

Instinctively, at a level so deep it was almost primal, C.C.'s stomach turned over in stressed-out revulsion and disgust. It was so horrible to even think of a show going ahead without there being a rehearsal first, it actually made her tears stop in their tracks!

A few playwrights and directors, who'd been so far up their own asses they'd basically been human wheels, had tried to convince her to "consider" letting their performances go ahead without rehearsals. Something about it being the only way to capture a truly "raw" performance, or some shit. The only "considering" C.C. had ever done in that regard was consider whether or not she could hit them with a car and get away with it if she used a rental under an assumed name.

"Of course not!"

It was the only reasonable, sensible answer. Especially seeing as she definitely wasn't gonna tell Bialik about the whole "car" thing.

"Well, this is the same principle," Esther explained. "You'd never put on a show without having practised everything first, and learning to ask for the things you need is the same. It's all about training yourself up and getting better, so it all goes smoothly in the end."

C.C. couldn't help being a little weirded out by the notion being implied.

"So…so you're saying I need to practise asking for things…?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. That's the whole idea," Esther told her. "You're not a burden to anybody around you, and you're not asking for the moon and a rocket ship to get you there. Right now, all you want is a small amount of medication that you're going to use to help yourself get better."

Deep blue eyes dropped to meet deep blue blanket. C.C. had let go of her latest tissue and started to grab at the material instead.

"It's alright," Esther's voice was back to its grandmother tenderness. "And there's no need to feel it's wrong, if that feeling's been circulating in there."

Slowly, C.C. let her eyes leave the blanket and look back up at the doctor.

"You really think so?"

At least it made one of them, if so.

"I do, and I'm not going to rest until you do, too," Bialik rearranged herself in her seat, slapping the pad back down in her lap when she was done with a light plap. "You deserve to be able to have a good night's sleep, and to get the rest you need. And if these pills are what it takes for you to get that, then you need the pills. You are not a burden for asking for something you need."

C.C. shifted uncomfortably. The blanket was starting to feel a little warm against her body, and all this talk of her not actually bothering anybody by asking for things wasn't sitting right with her.

"I don't…know," she really didn't, and she hated it. "Hearing what you're saying, that I'm…not a burden…it doesn't stop me from feeling like one. And having to…to ask, and then explain when people start asking questions about it…it all makes it worse!"

Esther shook her head and let her shoulders rise and drop.

"But you don't have to answer. There's no onus on you to explain anything about this, when people ask," she said. "If you're not ready, you don't have to explain anything at all. And if someone starts talking about something that might lead to something you find uncomfortable, you can always set a boundary."

Apparently, that gave her an idea. She snapped back to her notepad and put pen to paper, scribbling something away furiously.

"In fact, we're going to make that something to work on. Setting boundaries for yourself when you don't feel comfortable. At the same time, we'll also work on you asking for the things you need."

C.C. remembered Esther's little analogy about asking for the moon and the rocket ship. Somehow, starting work on asking anybody for anything felt about as attainable as going to space…

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

The question came out ruder than C.C. had intended, and she immediately ducked her gaze away from the therapist. Shit, why had she just been that way? It wasn't this sweet, kind, helpful old lady's fault that she was stupid, and found it impossible to do something as easy and everyday as asking a question…!

Esther seemed to take it in stride, though. Not that she deserved in the slightest to have to.

"You can do it just as I've already told you. Practise, and learning by doing it. It'll be easier if you start small, and work your way up."

She probably took C.C.'s silence exactly for what it was: a quiet moment of sadness and panic because she didn't know where to begin. She might've picked up on the guilt radiating from C.C.'s form, too.

"Tell you what, why don't you start with what we've just been talking about?" she asked, oddly brightly for one who'd just had a near-stranger snap at them. "Tonight, before you go to bed, ask Mr Brightmore for the pills so that you can take a dosage."

"But…" C.C. still felt bad, and unsure, and a whole host of things that were now all screaming at her that this was a bad idea. "But what if he asks?"

She could already see the look on Niles's face, the moment she told him about the nightmares. The words "epitome of devastation" actually sprang to mind, and it made the idea of locking all of this up in a vault where she never had to look or think about it again seem extremely attractive…

"You can just tell him that you don't want to talk about why you need them," Esther replied. She made it sound so easy and straightforward, it was a wonder how stupid C.C. had been to not think of it. "You can tell him you just need them."

Yeah, C.C. really and truly did have to be running on empty in the brain department to miss that she could just say she didn't want to talk! And excuses like not wanting to listen to Niles be sad and worried and whine, or to have him press her wherever he thought possible about it, didn't hold up when she'd done the same thing with him for over a decade and not cared one whit! She'd actively enjoyed keeping him in that kind of suspense before, if anything.

Had this been what she was missing?

"Or, if your feelings change before then and you decide that, in the moment, you can and do want to talk about it, you can do that as well," Bialik added. "Otherwise, all answers lead to you saying you don't want to talk about it, you just need them because you haven't been sleeping well."

It…didn't sound so awful, the more the doctor kept on talking.

"And then what?" C.C. asked, her eyes having crept back up from where they'd been hiding down by her front and the blanket that she was slowly peeling off herself to let some of the heat escape.

Esther smiled gently, "And then you see what happens. You won't know until you get out of that comfort zone you've dug for yourself. Taken that first baby step that you need to take to get to the next one, without it being overwhelming."

"Really?" C.C. asked, playing with the edges of the blanket by folding them between her fingers. "You…you think it'll do something…?"

"I don't see any reason it couldn't," the doctor answered. "Just don't try too hard, or go overboard. And remember every effort is progress, even if it's still too much to make some decisions and choices."

She tapped her pen against the notes she'd made on her pad, and beamed brightly.

"And that's it! That'll be your homework for this week. Start making some small, select choices, and start asking for the things you want and need when you're at home."

C.C. clamped her fingers down on the blanket. So, the doc really was expecting her to do it. She had to do it. It was just a…a simple matter of getting out of her comfort zone and trying something…not new, but something she had to re-familiarise herself with.

Bialik was right, whether or not she was afraid of the consequences. And trying again to integrate herself into the normal world sounded about as non-scary as trying to pull herself out of an old well she'd just fallen into. No one was gonna come along and pull her out of it, no matter how hard she screamed – she had to do it herself. But it was all well and good sitting and talking about doing that. "You just grasp at the sides and pull yourself up!", a well-meaning professional would probably say. But what if it wasn't stable? What if the sides came in and she fell and it buried her under a ton of dirt and rocks and rubble?

What if it all went wrong when she did try? And, as was likely to be the scenario, what would Bialik do when she found out that C.C. had chickened out?

Esther made a face like she could see C.C. was half on the verge of verbalising one of those questions. C.C. didn't know which one would've come out of her mouth, she just hoped it wasn't the last one because she was damned sure that that would've meant trouble, too.

"Is something the matter?" the doctor asked. "I'm not expecting it to be perfect, if that's worrying you."

C.C.'s insides regarded that statement with suspicion. She'd had plenty of school teachers in the past who'd said similar, only to hand out grades that were practically punishments for not doing things quite right or their way. Granted, Bialik was a world away from how those old biddies had been, but still…

She wished that she could just trust, but far too much had happened for that.

"You're not?"

Bialik shook her head, "No. And neither should you. This whole thing is a practised process, it's not instant. You should give yourself some time."

That was the most welcoming thing C.C. had heard in a while in this whole session so far. At last, she was getting the validation she needed! A doctor, a trained professional, was confirming that she wasn't a normal person and shouldn't be trying to do things at the same speed as a normal person. There was probably some stuff that the doc would tell her later on, that she shouldn't be trying to do at all.

So, perhaps that made what Bialik had said not so bad after all? The thought of trying to practise stuff like asking for things probably was weird and unwarranted when you were trying to think like a normal person. But she wasn't one, so maybe practising was just the way that non-normal people went about things? Maybe they lived their lives seeing how they did as they went along?

She didn't know how ready she was for that. She didn't know if she could start, or if it would go right if she tried. But maybe that wasn't supposed to stop her? Maybe she'd never be ready, like a lot of other not-normal people were never ready, so she just had to suck that up and do it anyway? If everyone else did…

That along with the promise she'd made to Niles, was as good a reason to try as any.

She didn't manage to smile back at Esther, who'd been waiting as patiently as she always seemed to for her to speak, but she did manage a nod.

It wasn't ideal, but it better than nothing at all. And "nothing at all" was the bar she'd set herself.

"Okay. I will."

Esther's beaming face really did remind her of a grandmother.

"Excellent!" she shifted in her seat again, pen as always poised in hand. "Now, let's carry on. Perhaps if we start with something like…"

C.C. was listening at the start of what the doctor was saying, but the relief and strangely out-of-place sense of hope she was starting to get almost made it hard to concentrate. It…it didn't make her feel happy, as such. It was more like a sense of brighter determination. And maybe even that was too optimistic for her own good, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care. Not now. Not when she knew she'd been operating under the wrong assumptions, and through this new therapist she was probably going to find the right one.

At least, she hoped she would. Bialik had said the whole thing was trial and error, and that probably included sessions and the processes she used. Maybe if there wasn't anything to this one after all, there would be something to the next?

And if there was something to either of them, maybe there was something to her? Maybe she'd be able to talk and act like a normal person one day, even if she knew she'd never actually be one?

As the session continued and she fell back into listening to the doctor fully, she only had one thought. If anyone could help her explore and further that hope, no matter how overtly optimistic it was, she was – weirdly relaxedly – certain it was Esther Bialik.