Chapter Text
I.
It's her first opening night. She's terrified it might end up her last.
With four sophomoric stinkers for the West End of London and three tepid turkeys here in New York, Maxwell Sheffield's shows are not setting the theatrical world ablaze. He's spent the last few months swearing that if this production isn't at least somewhat successful, he's done with show business.
If he makes the final curtain call on Sheffield Productions, C.C. Babcock will be out of a job.
She needs this. Not financially, of course, but she's trying to get her foot in the door of the Broadway community. If she wants to be taken seriously by her peers without just counting on the prestige of her family name, then her best hope is that she somehow managed to turn this lump of coal into a glittering diamond that will shine brightly on the Great White Way.
There's only so much one person can do, though. While blessed with a fantastic business acumen, she's no miracle worker. Not when faced with the struggles Maxwell often puts up against her common sense suggestions and not when she only wins half those battles. No wonder his seven previous productions flopped with enough force to register on the Richter scale.
As cast and crew mill around the hazy bar, anxious to hear what the reviews will say, she's almost too nervous to drink.
Almost.
She's too nervous not to drink.
"The good citizens of Lynchburg, Tennessee kindly thank you for single-handedly ensuring there will always be a job market in their community, Miss Babcock."
She glares at Niles over the rim of her shot glass as he plops down on the stool next to hers. "Stow it, Spic and Span. I'm not in the mood."
He leers right back at her. "Don't you hear that often enough from your dates?"
Somehow, with him here to pester her now, it becomes a little easier to handle the burn of her liquor. She tosses back the whiskey she's been nursing and signals the bartender for another. Niles asks for one as well.
"Speaking of job markets, nervous about your own impending unemployment?"
She grits her teeth. "I don't know what you're talking about. The show is going to be a great success."
"Keep telling yourself that, Willy Loman. At least I'll still have a job tomorrow morning."
Lord, how it frustrates her that he can unerringly pinpoint the very things that bother her and use them to his advantage without hesitation. He hasn't even known her that long.
"At least I won't need a job at all, Florence," she fires back.
"Of course," his tone becomes harsh. "I forgot. You have the street corners to fall back on. What's the going rate these days anyway? Pretty good, I bet, for a novelty such as yourself."
C.C. literally hisses at him like a feral cat for that one, and he doesn't bother to contain his mirth at her reaction.
Finishing off her shot (because it's more socially acceptable than clawing that smug look off his face), she indicates that she wants yet another. She's almost through that one before she speaks again.
"Anyway, you'd probably love it if Maxwell decides to pack up shop and go back to London."
He responds with a noncommittal shrug, but the hard set of his mouth makes her think he's not so thrilled by the prospect of a return to Merry Olde England after all. Odd...but potentially useful information for ammunition.
"No?" she chirps. "Well, I suppose it doesn't really matter what continent you're on when all you have to look forward to is reorganizing Maxwell's underwear drawer."
"Which is closer than you'll ever be to his unmentionables."
C.C. chooses to ignore that little dig. Just like she's choosing to ignore the fact that Maxwell's spent the entire evening doting upon that obnoxiously perfect fiancée of his. Ugh.
"Look on the bright side, Niles. If he drags you back across the pond, you can be reunited with your colony of ancient druids." She pauses a moment for dramatic effect. "Oh."
"What?" He eyes her suspiciously.
"I just realized that could be hazardous to your health." She barely manages to maintain a solemn expression. "As the world's oldest virgin, you would make a rare and impressive sacrifice to their gods."
"In that case, perhaps I should bring you back with us, Miss Babcock. I bet the gods have never been offered a tramp with your immense experience and girth before. They'd probably like you much better."
She sniffs and gives the sheer sleeves of her dress a prim yet self-conscious tug. Decorum be damned. She may end up scratching out those beady eyes before the night is over after all.
It's at that point a stagehand bustles through the front door, her fate - or doom as it may be - tucked under his arm. The air seems to leave her lungs and she loses all mobility as she watches the guy bring the stack of newspapers over to Maxwell. She's only vaguely aware of Niles gulping down the rest of his drinking and ordering a double before her vision tunnels. Everyone else gathers close around their producer's table while he and Sara start searching for the Arts sections of each edition.
A hush falls over the room, the rustle of newspaper replacing the din. Her stomach churns. Those last two or three shots were probably a mistake.
A few moments later, Sara suddenly squeals and hugs Maxwell, her paper still clutched in her hand. Maxwell grins and starts reading aloud a glowing review from the paper he's holding, and then another one. Even one of their harshest critics seems to like it, and that has everyone in the bar cheering and buzzing with excitement.
It's a hit. They actually have a hit on their hands, and her body is shaking with so much joy she can only manage a small smile when Maxwell comes up to her.
"I couldn't have done it without you, C.C," he tells her before turning to Niles and slapping him on the back. "Well, Old Man, it looks like we'll be staying in New York awhile longer."
Knowing now that she'll still have her job, C.C. closes her eyes in blessed relief...
...and promptly snaps them back open as someone grabs her face and plants a swift kiss right on her lips.
Being this up close and much too personal, she can't tell just who the hell is audacious enough to do this to her. Or imagine why. Half of the cast and crew developed an instant dislike of her the moment she walked into their theatre.
Her indignant "Mmmmppht!" and the flailing of her arms become the key to her release. The would-be Don Juan abruptly steps back at the protest.
As C.C.'s vision refocuses, an unflattering, hitching gasp emits from her throat.
Oh. God. That...that...toilet-scrubbing, Lysol-scented, rag-brandishing son of a dust bunny! How dare he!
Niles for his part looks just as shocked by his own actions as she is. "I, um...I'm not sure what came over me, Miss Babcock. I apologize." He grabs his drink and blends into the crowd in an instant.
Dazed by what just just happened - though she's not sure if it's because of the kiss or because he actually just apologized - she raises a hand to her still tingling lips.
It...wasn't that bad? Even kinda...pleasant?
No, she decides. Oh, no.
That had to be the whiskey talking. For both of them.
Chapter Text
II.
Midnight's approaching, a fact that would be a lot easier to deal with if her date was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he's on the other side of the room, and he no longer cares that he came here with her instead of that air-headed floozy who's draped all over him now.
C.C. wouldn't mind so much but it's New Year's Eve, damn it. Somehow this kind of crap always happens to her.
She grabs another flute of champagne from a passing waiter and inhales it in one gulp. It's probably her fourth or fifth glass past "too many", especially since she's throwing them back this fast and this early in the evening, but she really doesn't have it within herself to summon any sort of give-a-damn right now.
The room is full of couples laughing and dancing to Sinatra's old standards. The prospect of age-old traditions to be met looms over her. It only reminds her that, no matter what, she's always alone.
At two minutes before midnight, everyone gathers near the television to watch the ball fall in Times Square. From the corner of her eye, she spies Niles slipping away toward the kitchen.
She wobbles after him.
If she can't have a damned kiss from her wayward date at midnight, she'll end the old year and start the new one right in a different way: by flinging verbal darts at her favorite target. It's her preferred form of therapy and she needs it badly right now.
When she catches up to him, he's slumped against the kitchen counter looking utterly depressed. Were she anyone else, she might feel a little bit sorry for him. C.C. Babcock is not anyone else, however, so she delights in his misery. It's cheering to know there's someone far more pathetic than herself.
"Aw, poor Niles. Couldn't convince the plunger to suck lips with you instead of the toilet?" She cackles a little too loudly at her own joke.
He scowls at her. "Look who's talking. After your date saw you in the light, he couldn't get away from you fast enough."
She huffs. "At least I actually managed to show up with one."
He pouts at that one and they fall into an uncomfortable silence. She can't stand it. She can't trust him when he gets too quiet. It gives him too much time to come up with new tricks and taunts to try on her.
"So, any New Year's resolutions?" Not that she's in any way interested, but it's a distraction.
He eyes her with unmasked disdain. "Only to permanently scrub out that pesky scum stain that keeps resurfacing on the sofa in Mr. Sheffield's office once and for all."
She purses her lips in irritation. Damn him anyway.
Before she can come up with an appropriate comeback, a jubilant cry of "Happy New Year!" carries into the kitchen carries from the other side of the house.
They both sigh, all too aware of how nearly all the guests in the house are beginning 1986, and how there will be no one for them to share the same. As the strains of Auld Lang Syne and laughter float around them, they both lift up their glasses of champagne and chug.
Niles tops off his glass again and then holds up the bottle to her. "More?"
"God, yes."
This time they clink their glasses together in a silent toast before sipping a little more slowly.
After a couple minutes, the last notes of the song and another cheer are heard, and C.C. figures it's safe to return to the party now. Only the most uncouth of couples will still be making out at this point.
She pushes away from the counter only to stumble right into that sorry excuse of a chambermaid. Trying to stay upright, she grabs a hold of his tuxedo lapels.
"God, you big lout. Watch out."
"You crashed into me, hag. Not the other way around." Not being any more sober than her, he grasps her waist for balance.
Reflexively, she grips his jacket tighter and looks up at him, eyes widening as the heat from his hands permeates even through the thick velvet of her evening gown. It radiates through her body, warming her all over in a way that has nothing to do with the room's temperature or even how many drinks she's had tonight.
Niles' eyes lock with hers.
There's a breath, a moment, and then it happens. Lips crash together. Hips meet hips. Limbs entangle around one another in a bid to draw closer and closer still.
It's a rather artless meshing of bodies but no less needful in desire.
Through the foggy cocoon of lust, it suddenly registers with both of them just who they're kissing. They simultaneously shove away and glare at each other as they gasp for air.
C.C.'s the first to break their staring contest, closing her eyes for a moment to collect herself before turning on her heels to stagger back out to the party. She's still breathless.
Her New Year's Resolution is to never let this happen ever again.
Chapter Text
III.
She finds him tucked away in the library. Judging from the loose slump of his limbs and the unsteady way he lifts the tumbler to his lips, he's nursing what must be at least his third glass of brandy.
Murmuring a spiritless "hello, hello", C.C. crosses the room to grab a tumbler from the liquor cabinet and sits down beside him, holding out the glass to him in a silent request that he share.
He looks up at her, wary and unwilling to do battle with her if she tries, but her heavy sigh serves as a wordless promise. For the moment, she's calling a temporary truce between them. Now is not an appropriate time for their admittedly petty squabbles.
C.C. grew to like Sara Sheffield quite well after a time, enough to call her a friend and mean it, yet she never managed to become too close to her either. Still, the sudden loss has her quite shaken. It's an unsettling reminder life's fragility, all too fleeting and able to be taken away in an instant.
Whatever she's feeling, however, can't possibly begin to compare with what everyone else in the household must feel, including Niles. He knew Sara longer and had forged a much closer friendship with her, after all.
She imagines he'd probably be quite surprised if he knew the sympathy she actually felt for him right now.
They pass an hour sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, saying nothing as they finish drink after drink. There's nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. The children are spending the rest of the week with Sara's parents. Maxwell locked himself in his bedroom the moment they returned from the burial service that morning. It's just the two of them for now.
She thinks she should probably say something at this point and looks over at him as she tries to come up with something. Instead, she ends up studying him.
It occurs to her that she's seen Niles wear many expressions in the last few years. The kind, tolerant smiles for those kids and their antics, his ridiculous faux pout coupled with a hint of exasperation that he wears when Maxwell sends him on some pointless errand, and of course, those triumphant smirks when he directs a particularly biting zinger her way.
This grim, sullen look on his face is a new one to her. She doesn't like it at all, so she decides she's going to change it.
Only she's not entirely certain how.
Unaware of her actions, she leans in closer, somewhat off-kilter from the booze. It's only when she's well into his personal space that she suddenly figures out just how to do it. Thankfully or regretfully, she's well-plied with liquid courage at this point, so it somehow doesn't strike her as the revolting and just outright bad idea it otherwise would be.
Niles has had enough to drink at this point that his cognitive abilities are even more dulled than hers. It's obvious that what she's about to do doesn't immediately register with him. He barely has time to raise a questioning eyebrow at her looming proximity before her lips brush against his, a soft offering of what little comfort she feels she can provide.
He doesn't react at first. His lips remain still against hers and it's only then that it occurs to her that she's probably just crossed one of those lines that should never be stepped beyond. This might be worse than if she'd come in here and pummeled him with her usual round of barbs.
She begins to pull back, ready to give the one genuine apology she'll likely ever offer him, but then his palms are on her cheeks all of a sudden. His fingers weave into her hair and coax her to stay, implore her not to stop yet.
His lips caress hers so softly that she can't help but sigh and melt just a bit as they both relax into the kiss. It's not meant to be the type of kiss to arouse, only to console, and yet her insides still flutter, her cheeks still flush.
For several long minutes, the world around them dissolves and shrinks down to just the two of them and this connection. They stay like that until she feels his hot tears against her cheeks, and they finally, slowly break apart, unable to look each other in the eye.
Shaken, she stands up and leaves the room on legs that feel boneless.
Later she tell herself it was only the moment. Only a mutual need to feel something, anything, other than the unbearable sadness that draped over them that day. It was only to remind themselves of the blood still flowing through their veins, of lives still left to live.
She'll only mostly convince herself.
Chapter Text
IV.
They're developing a pattern. Since it only seems to happen once every three to six years, Niles doesn't immediately recognize it until after it happens yet again.
This time, it starts with a prank, his best one yet in his not so humble opinion. Posing as Mr. Sheffield, he tricks Miss Babcock into believing their boss has a kink for certain barnyard noises.
She actually performs on his command and it's hysterical to him for about five minutes.
Then he finds himself becoming angry at her.
Contrary to what Miss Babcock may believe, the reason he finds her pathetic has little to do with whatever cosmetic adjustments she's had done, her alcoholic tendencies, or her lackluster love life.
No, it's the fact she reduces herself to a marionette at the slightest suggestion that a rich man (especially one in particular) might be interested in her. She shows up in a dress that appears to be spray-painted on and with a plan for seduction. Of course, all Mr. Sheffield's ever planned for her in return is a long night of paperwork, candlelight not included. And even though it's obvious she found the request bizarre and uncomfortable when Niles misled her, there she went, clucking and even flapping her arms like wings, a puppet dancing on the strings he pulled.
She's an intelligent woman and quite attractive, though he'll never admit the latter outside the privacy of his fevered imagination. Overlooking how unsuitable she and Mr. Sheffield would be together anyway, she should be able to find someone without resorting to such ridiculous antics just to please a man. They never work after all.
Analyzing the inner workings of C.C. Babcock's decidedly screwed up mental process is depressing. He needs a drink.
He settles on the couch with a glass of Scotch and listens to the slamming and banging that insolent shrew makes in the office. She's throwing quite a hissy fit over her little scheme gone awry. Again he wonders, just how dense can the old bat be?
With only the stomp of her heels upon the marble floor as warning, Miss Babcock storms into the living room.
She pays him no heed as she goes straight for the liquor cart and swipes the decanter of Scotch and a glass from it. As she apparently cannot be bothered to take the few extra steps around to the other side of the sofa, she kicks at his propped up legs, knocking them off the coffee table.
Niles grunts at her in annoyance. She dares to call him the lazy one?
He can't help but think that, for a woman of her pedigree who doubtlessly had her share of cotillion classes, she lacks a certain grace as she flops down on the sofa and pours herself a drink. She may believe he's the classless one, but she'd be so very wrong.
"You," she growls once she's taken her first sip. "are a bastard."
He almost laughs at that. "Well, you're no great prize either."
He expects her either to start groaning about her plans all shot to hell once again by "Nanny Fine" or to rip him a new one for his latest trick. Thar she blows in three...two...one...
Nope. This time she mellows.
Huh.
Her first glass is finished swiftly and she pours another, even tops off his own glass before settling back against the cushions.
"Niles, I don't make it a habit of drinking with the help."
Like she's doing him some favor by deigning to grace him with her unwanted presence. Please.
"I've never been any help to you."
"Exactly."
They clink their glasses together and take generous swigs of their drinks. She gasps a little bit at the burn of the liquor going down her throat.
"So tell me, Rochester, what'd you do to kill a day before I came along?"
"Truth be told my life was a little empty...but now I have a hobby." He says the last bit with a slightly singsong tone, hoping it gets under her skin.
It does. She slams her glass on the coffee table, stands up ready for battle, and snarls at him. "I loathe you."
Perfect. This is the version of Babcock he prefers. This one he knows just how to handle. He responds with a sneer. "I despise you."
"Servant."
God, she's repugnant.
"Trollop."
She's loathsome.
"Bell. Boy."
She's exasperating.
"Brunette."
She's really turning him on.
It's bizarre. He's not entirely sure either of them can take full blame for it this time. The fury in her eyes morphs into something he doesn't have time to try and define before they find themselves moving in sync toward one another. Her arms fling around his neck. He snakes one arm around her waist. The other ends up caressing the soft skin of her bare back, and then they are making out in earnest.
The combination of her skilled lips upon his with her hands moving into his hair and the heated sensation her skin against his is too much, though, and yet he can't bring himself to disengage. Instead, he can only manage to curl his hand away and into a fist, an external manifestation of his inner struggle to fight his baser instinct of doing far more than just kiss. All he can think of is how far it is to his bedroom, whether the sofa will make a suitable alternative, and if she's actually thinking what he's thinking.
She tugs even him closer.
He thinks she is. It's the last coherent thought he has for the next few moments.
The slam of the front door doesn't register with either of them right away.
Somehow it does permeate through their lustful trance, though. They pull away from each other to find Mr. Sheffield and Miss Fine gaping at them from the foyer. It's the first time he can recall Miss Fine ever being speechless. He'd probably appreciate that fact a little more, but he's not yet capable of forming a complete sentence himself either.
He follows his partner-in-shame to the door.
"Goodnight, Maxwell. Fanny Nine."
Miss Babcock's slip is not lost on him. A perverse thrill shoots through him to realize she's not as unaffected as she appears. Before she walks out the door, she turns back to him one last time.
"Swine."
Oh, like he's going to let her have the last word. No way.
"Chicken."
For added effect, he blows her a little kiss as well. Just a teensy one.
She shivers.
Miss Fine and Mr. Sheffield continue to stare at him as he pulls a handkerchief from his suit jacket and wipes away the lipstick he's sure is there. He's not looking forward to the interrogation his best friend will try to give him in the morning.
"Goodnight, people." With as much dignity as he can muster for someone just caught making out with an ogress, he makes a hasty exit before they manage to snap out of it.
The disturbing thing that he doesn't quite want to acknowledge is that he's not nearly as drunk as he was the last three times this happened. He's barely even tipsy.
What perhaps might be even more unsettling is the fact that he's almost certain he can say the same for Miss Babcock as well.
Chapter Text
V.
He's not entirely sure what he expected her to wear to this wedding, but somehow this wasn't it.
He's seen her in business attire that makes her look more intimidating than an NFL linebacker, and he's seen her in elegant cocktail dresses and evening gowns designed to entice financial backers into parting with their money. On a few rare occasions, he's even had the chance to see her in jeans.
Tonight, though, Miss Babcock breezes out of her penthouse as a vision unlike any he's ever known. The dress is long and white with rosy floral accents and wide flowing sleeves, and he finds himself wanting to reach out to touch the gauzy material that hugs to her curves. Her hair is pinned back, a few curled tendrils escaping from the updo to frame her face. She's even traded in her customary blood red lipstick for something in a softer shade of pink.
The look is entirely appropriate for a spring wedding, but it's also so very much not Babcock. He can't help but stare. She looks like an angel.
Thank goodness he knows better.
"Snap out of it, Shake N Bake, or we won't have time for those drinks. God knows I'm gonna need 'em." She gives him a self-satisfied smile that tells him she's aware of just how appreciative he is of her attire.
He needs to get himself back on steady ground. "My apologies, Miss Babcock, it's just I've never seen a reptile in a dress before."
She narrows her eyes at him but the corners of her mouth still remain curved upward just a little. "You know, Niles, I don't have to attend this little hootenanny you're dragging me to."
"Oh, like you have better plans this evening."
She pretends to consider this for a moment, and then with a self-deprecating sigh and shake of her head, she gestures for him to lead on.
From Miss Babcock's apartment, they head to a bar not less than a block from the church. He expects her to go straight for the Smirnoff. She did note that she was going to be expected to tolerate a roomful of his peasant pals for an entire evening, after all. Instead, she surprises him again by sticking with just a simple daiquiri.
It's him that ends up calming his nerves with a snifter of brandy, go figure.
The wedding is lovely. He's thrilled for his friend and his lovely bride. With Miss Babcock being astonishingly cooperative at playing the role of a loving date, he's even almost able to forget that this event officially makes him the last of his friends to still be a bachelor. It's quite easy, though, when she keeps her arm looped through his during the entire ceremony and even as they exit the church. She exchanges pleasantries with his friends with unforced politeness, charming anyone who speaks to her. Even her occasional snarky remarks are for his ears only and probably look like she's simply whispering endearments to her supposed lover. To anyone observing at them, they surely look like a genuine couple.
Tonight, he can almost pretend it's real. Not that he necessarily wants it to be a real thing with her specifically; this is Miss Babcock, after all, and she'd never go for it. It's nice to not feel so alone in a crowd for once, though, and he's grateful to her for that.
The reception has an open bar and he almost suggests that they both abstain from taking advantage of it. He hasn't forgotten their track record. It's just becoming more difficult to rationalize why it always seems to happen and still keep his heart out of it.
On the other hand, it is free, it doesn't come with the price of Mr. Sheffield's disapproving glares and grumbles, and the wait staff are more than accommodating about keeping their goblets full. Why turn down a good thing?
After dinner is served, the requisite wedding traditions are followed. The wife of one of his friends somehow cajoles Miss Babcock into participating in the tossing of the bouquet.
To his everlasting glee, it's a young girl who's not more nine years old that catches the coveted flower arrangement.
She looks at him with narrowed eyes as she comes back to their table says, the expression on her face clearly broadcasting a distinct message of "Don't even start, Dough Boy!" He always ignores those glares, however. He's not going to stop now.
In fact, he's never going to let her forget this.
"Oh, poor Miss Babcock," he whispers in her ear as soon as she sits back down. "You're going to have wait forever for that little girl to grow up and find someone to marry. You'll be even more of a shriveled up old prune than you are now!"
He barely manages not to choke on his mouthful of wine when she pinches him on the waist with a stunning amount of force.
Since she suffered the supposed displeasure of participating in the bouquet toss, she insists it's only fair that he be equally humiliated by not catching the garter. Of course, she never could have counted on it sailing right into his hands.
He twirls his prize around his finger as he saunters back to his seat, a smug smirk he cannot contain spread on his face. Miss Babcock smirks right back at him this time and shakes her head.
"Really, Niles. You should've let that go. All those poor single men now have to wait on a lost cause like you to find a bride!" She snatches the little scrap of elastic and lace from him and stretches it between her index fingers.
He tries to grab it back. "That's mine, you little imp."
"Whatever. It's not like you're ever going to have a use for it." She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Or are you? Hmm. Maybe you can use it as a headband. Keep the sweat out your eyes the next time you have to scour the bathtubs. That or perhaps Maxwell can cast you in a production of The Rocky Horror Show. Now there's a mental image."
She gives a mock shudder.
"Only if he casts you as Rocky. Then again, maybe Eddie would be more appropriate." He gives her body the once over. "You're well padded enough for it."
She slingshots the garter at his chest in retaliation.
Outwardly, he presents an aura of calm disinterest as he slips it into his pocket. His mind goes elsewhere, though. He can just imagine that garter gracing a certain pale, slender thigh.
That mental image is enticing.
Oh, dear. He's really gotta stop this train of thought. He's having enough trouble separating reality from fantasy enough as it is tonight. So instead, he suggests the next dumbest thing he possibly can considering his current state of mind.
"Dance with me?"
"You want me to be seen by all these people tripping the light fantastic with an over-sized dust pan?"
"Really, Miss Babcock, with the kind of clientele you keep, I thought you'd be used to a little voyeurism by now. Besides, I put in a request for the Chicken Dance just for you."
She growls playfully at him and swats at his arm. "If that's the case, I think I'd better ask for a little Seger. I demand an encore of a certain performance of yours in return."
He chuckles and maybe blushes just a little bit. "I think that one's best reserved for somewhere a little less public."
"True. No point in traumatizing the entire room with the sight of you in your bloomers. It's bad enough I had to witness it."
For all her bluster, she still stands up and places her hand in his outstretched one, permitting him to lead her out onto the dance floor.
If there's one thing the two of them can manage to do without violence or tears, it's dancing. They really haven't too many opportunities nor the desire to cut the proverbial rug together over the years, at least not until recently, but Miss Babcock has proven to be an adept partner the few times they've taken to the dance floor together. She has a decent sense of rhythm and picks up his cues with ease. Dancing with her is the way dancing is meant to be done.
"Your friends are surprisingly lovely people. Why on earth do they hang out with the likes of you?"
"I'm not sure, but then they seemed to like you somehow, so that certainly doesn't speak well of their good judgment in people. Perhaps I need to reconsider who I call friend, hmm?"
"They probably like me because I took on a charity case like you."
He laughs, twirls her, and then they're both quiet for a few moments, simply swaying in time to the love song that's currently playing.
"Thank you for attending this with me, by the way."
She shrugs. "I owed you one."
The song reaches its conclusion and so he dips her. She laughs in that deep, delightful way he rather likes; it's a sound she doesn't make often enough in his opinion and it reminds of the last time they danced together not so long ago.
As he guides her back up, she leans into him a little more than she previously was and looks at him in a way that leaves him kind of breathless. He tries not to think anything of it, but then her hand slides up his chest and around his neck, and she steps a little bit closer.
He realizes with a start that she's about to kiss him.
"Exactly how much have you had to drink tonight, Miss Babcock?" he whispers just as her lips are about to touch his. There's only one time this ever happens and he feels he should remind her of that.
Her lips brush against his as she whispers back. "Only just enough."
Oh god.
They've been here several times before, but this time, it's different somehow. This isn't the result of celebration or consolation. This isn't an accident waiting to happen. It's starts out soft and tentative yet mutually deliberate. There's a certain sense of romance that all their other kisses have lacked. He can taste the faint hint of wine upon her lips and something else, something indefinable that simply must be C.C. Babcock. Whatever it is, it's more pleasant than any other liqueur he's ever known. His heart beats in a new tempo and he wants more.
Her hand, the one still clutched in his, tightens its grip as he deepens the kiss. The room seems to melt away. The center of his universe become just the two of them. Then he feels her tongue slip out to caress his lower lip, a gentle request for even more of him, and he thinks he might just die of euphoria. His lips part more to grant her wish, and-
"Oof!"
"Aah!"
Suddenly, their faces are smooshed together by the slam of something large colliding into Niles' back. He spins around to get a look at their assailants. The very drunk best man and his equally inebriated date blink back at them before slurring their apologies and stumbling elsewhere.
The moment is broken.
Niles sighs as he turns back to her. Miss Babcock, for her part, buries her face against his shoulder for a few seconds and groans before pulling back from him. He closes his eyes as she does, figuring that she probably had some sense jolted back into her and she'll give him what for now.
But for the third time that evening, she surprises him yet again. When he opens his eyes, the look of remorse she gives him before she steps away is not because the moment happened...but because it had to end.
For the first time in eighteen years, he allows himself to admit that it's possible what he feels for her isn't just a mere crush anymore.
Chapter Text
VI.
Her mood just might pass for almost happy as they assist each other into the townhouse. It's a welcome improvement to see a genuine smile from her again after watching her sulk through most of the wedding and the reception.
Niles guides her up the stairs as best he can, but he's hardly a portrait of sobriety himself at the moment, so it takes far longer than it should for them to navigate the steps. There's just so many of them.
They get there, though, and he guides her to what he hopes is one of the guest rooms before stumbling onward to his own room. Once there, he spends longer than he cares to admit trying to figure out how to free himself from his tuxedo.
After finally managing to get rid of the blasted monkey suit, he dresses for bed and shuffles toward his bed. He starts to lay down only to pop back up again as, in a moment of clarity, it occurs to him that he's probably going to have one hell of a hangover come morning. Maybe he should take a few preemptive measures to prevent it from turning into a real humdinger?
Assuming he doesn't forget what the hell it is he's doing on the way there...
He opens his bedroom door only to slam right into a very stunned Miss Babcock.
"Damn it, Niles, you startled me!" She grabs hold of the door frame for support. "Is this the bathroom?"
He actually has to turn around to make sure it isn't.
"Nope."
"Well...?"
"Well, what?"
"Where is it then?"
His brow furrows as he takes a moment to think about it and then he signals her to follow him.
"I thought I'd get a glass of water. Try to keep the hangover from being as bad. I bet you can't tell, but I'm really, really drunk right now."
"Noooo."
"Oh, don't get snide with me, Clorox Queen. Not like you have any room to talk."
Stupid as it is, he missed this the most while she was away at "The Place" and they haven't had nearly enough opportunity to indulge in it. Not with all of the recent wedding frenzy and Miss Babcock's ongoing recovery.
Stopping to look back, he gives her a mock glare. "You do realize I could just leave you to wander the halls like a goblin."
She laughs and looks just as pleased as he feels. "This coming from someone who could actually pass for one."
"Oh yeah? You, you're, uh...look..."
Well, damn. That was short-lived, he thinks with an inward sigh. His mind is willing but much too impaired to participate in the kind of verbal lashing they both crave.
He's still stammering for a decent insult when she leans - or slumps, to be more accurate - against him. One arm snakes around his shoulder while she strikes what is meant to be a provocative and alluring pose. Lucky for her, both of them are far too intoxicated to care or exhibit any awareness to that fact that her advances are far more comical in appearance than seductive.
Her voice drops an octave. "I'm what, Niles?"
He shivers as he realizes that all that liquor hasn't impaired some portions of his body.
Deep breathes, old man.
"I'm sorry. What was the question?"
"I..." Her brow furrows in thought."...don't know."
She giggles then and buries her face against his shoulder and that doesn't help his developing predicament at all.
A faint voice inside his head warns him against the ideas this situation has him entertaining, that no matter how honest they seem to become about their attraction while three sheets to the wind, they really shouldn't move it between the sheets while in such a condition.
It whispers that they both deserve better.
Facing her directly, he chooses to ignore it. "C'mere."
She tilts her head to consider him for a moment. "Okay."
When she steps close to him and presses her body to his, he cannot suppress a gasp at the sensations that course through him. He wants to blame the pleasurable suffusion of warmth and dizziness on the many drinks he's had but no spirit should make him feel like this. It's agony. It's torture.
It's bliss.
"Wow, Niles, is that your can of Pledge or..." Her eyes darken.
"Oooo, that's an original one, Babs," he manages to rasp. "You're losing your edge."
She wiggles her hips against his. "Am I? You sure about that?"
That tenuous, thin strand of control he's clinging onto snaps.
Somehow they end up against the wall, her pinned beneath him as he captures her lips. There are no preliminaries, just open-mouthed kisses and tongues and moans. Her hands are on his ass, as if begging him to be nearer, inside her, anything; his left hand slides up to grasp her breast, causing her to whimper. There's little doubt where this will end up, and this time, there's nothing to stop them, not even each other.
The thing about kissing this woman is that she always leaves him breathless. He finally has to pull away for a moment and bury his face against her neck while he tries to recall just how breathing is supposed to work. She continues to shower little kisses upon his cheek, his neck, in his hair.
"One of these days, Miss Babcock..." Niles murmurs against her skin once he's regained some of his equilibrium. "One of these days, we're going to do this without hitting a bottle or three first."
They look up at one another.
"Yeah right," they both say at the same time and smile before it starts all over again.
His lips brush against a sweet spot right behind her ears and her knees almost buckle from the sensations that evokes. She clings onto his upper arms as if that's the only thing keeping her upright. It's entirely possible that it is.
"Oh...oh...ooooh..."
He pulls back and laughs at her all of a sudden.
"What?" she growls.
It's a ridiculous thought to be having right now, all things considered. He chuckles again. "Well, with you wearing a robe that looks like it's from the North Pole and saying-"
She's not amused. Her right leg wraps around his left and yanks his body to hers once more. It's a warning and it's a promise.
"Shut. Up."
He shuts up. Hell, with her rotating those magnificent hips of hers against him like this, he's considering taking an oath of silence so long as she keeps doing what she's doing right now. In fact, he's not capable of thought anymore.
It's beginning to look like this may happen right out here in the hallway when she suddenly gasps and pushes away from him, cheeks flushed bright red.
"Your room. Now. Where is it?"
That's a really good question. Are they even on the right floor? She has a lot of gall to keep asking him for all these directions while he's in this condition, too drunk and too feverish from what she can do to him to be able to think clearly.
Oh, whatever. If there's a soft, flat surface wherever they end up, it'll do. With that in mind, he guides her back down the hall and they stagger through the first doorway he sees.
The reality is that they do indeed make it to his own bed.
But the reality is that other than a few more fervent kisses once they do make it there, little more progress is made.
The reality is that they both pass out, the effects of the alcohol and the long, emotional day finally catching up to them at a seemingly inopportune time. At some point in the middle of the night, a bleary-eyed Miss Babcock gets up to use the facilities. She pays no heed to her surroundings as she shuffles out of the room and ends up returning to the guest room on the way back.
They never know for sure that's what truly happened. All they have left in the morning is blurred images of what happened. May have happened. Was about to happen. The rest gets lost in the throbbing pain of hangovers and the commotion brought on by the disaster-prone Sheffields' disappearance.
Both hope it didn't happen...if only because they both know they'd want to remember every last detail if it did.
Chapter Text
VII.
She spends half of the cab ride to her penthouse in a hollow stupor. One slip of her finger on that damned tape recorder, and her entire life unspooled in a matter of minutes.
It started the same way all their little spats do. They're simply incapable of speaking to each other without snide remarks slipping out even when they're on sunnier terms, and the climate between them has been downright thunderous the last few days.
If anything, it seemed to go pretty well at first. When Niles' patience snapped after her recorder went off, he reverted back to a more familiar version of himself and that relieved her. For the first time in two days, she knew how he worked, could anticipate with alarming accuracy every kind of verbal weaponry he'd try on her.
An animal joke? Insinuations about her weight? Questioning her femininity? Check, check, and check. All the hallmarks of one of their typical disputes were present, so of course she didn't take him any more seriously than she did the rest of his whole stupid charade.
It looked to be shaping up to his best finest one yet, likely would have been had she fallen for it. Instead, she played along. She wanted to beat him at his own game this time. Let it be her finest moment and her sweetest victory over the Tilex Troll this time.
For a while, she was quite impressed. It was the strangest game he ever tried to play with her, and my, oh my, did he ham it up with the extra proposals and the spurned wannabe lover act. She assumed he didn't want to be the first to concede defeat despite the fact it should have been apparent that she'd figured out the whole song and dance. His reactions seemed so genuine that even the entire Sheffield family was convinced of his distress. They played right into the palm of his grimy little oven mitt, pitying him and naively suckered into trying to lure her into his trap as well.
That man might not be ready for the big leagues on Broadway quite yet, but he probably could stage his act and garner an Obie for his performance. Bravissimo, Butler Boy. What a fine method actor he might have been.
Except she was wrong about everything. Before she could begin to understand what was happening, he changed their unspoken rules. From common cheap shots to utter seriousness, he switched so swiftly that she's still struggling to comprehend what happened even now, a mere ten minutes later.
While nothing within their tumultuous pseudo-feuds has ever been considered off-limits, there's always been an understanding that they don't mean most of it. Much of what they say to each other isn't true at all and the things that are always have been flaws in which they're already self-aware, even if neither are proud of nor pleased by having such things pointed out on a regular basis.
Niles knows that he's squandering his intelligence and talents in a thankless job with a pitiful income. He points it out to everyone even more often than she does. A misplaced sense of loyalty to the Sheffields and an almost uncharacteristic dearth of confidence have led him to waste half of his life cleaning up other people's messes. He's also the laziest and nosiest person she's ever met.
In turn, C.C. knows she's self-centered and arrogant. She's never liked change not brought about by her own hand and she seeks stability with a variety of vices, alcohol in particular. As various aspects of her life have spiraled out of control the last few years, though, it's helped to dull her ever-increasing sense of panic. It's the one aspect of her life she's kept under control for the most part.
Or so she believed.
There's always been an understanding that they don't mean most of what they say to each other, that most of it isn't a genuinely held belief, but this time Niles meant every word.
Even worse, he's right about most of it.
But the most galling part of all, the part that perhaps shocks her the most? She just stood there, frozen, as he cracked apart and crumbled all of her fanciful illusions. She couldn't even look him in the eye as he predicted a fearful future for her, as she realized herself how desperately she didn't want such a reality.
As she realized with a great deal of confusion that there never was an act after all, and even his proposals were sincere in intent if perhaps lacking in heartfelt desire.
It pisses her off.
She failed to fight back, to prove him wrong. She didn't point out the parts where he's dead wrong nor did she demand he explain himself to her. That's just not like her at all.
And as for his proposals? If he finds her so delusional, so damned messed up, then why the hell would he want to marry her? To save her from herself? Out of some ill-considered crusade to try and fix her? Desperation?
She doesn't think he'd try to marry her for money at least, but that's cold comfort at this point.
It's clear that she needs to move on from this toxic environment – another thing he's right about, damn it. Before she can, though, she needs to know just what on earth is going through that muttonhead's half-baked mind.
"Hey, driver, turn this rattletrap around. I need to go back."
She spends the rest of cab ride back to Maxwell's house trying to calm back down again.
Niles is almost ready to take his first sip of wine when his bedroom door swings open and the bottle is yanked from his hand. He looks up and expects to find Mrs. Sheffield hovering over him.
Instead, he gets Miss Babcock.
How he manages to keep his eyes in their sockets at the sight of her, he'll never know. After the scene they made in the living room a little while ago, he doubted they'd cross paths ever again. He's not sure whether to be dismayed or elated that she's here, whatever her reason.
As he peers up at her, baffled by her reappearance, she examines the wine label. He half expects her to bash it over his head. Instead, with a shake her head, she clutches the acquisition to her chest lest he try to snatch it back from her.
"Nope, not this time."
Dismayed. He's not sure what she wants but he's definitely dismayed now.
Crossing his arms and leaning back against his headboard, Niles tries to maintain an air of cool indifference. He's worn his heart on his sleeve enough lately, and for doing so, all he's gotten in return is the spiked heel of a Manolo Blahnik through its center.
"Just what the hell are you doing here, Babcock?"
She's calm, eerily so. "The only thing I hate more than you being right is me proving your point for you."
He rolls his eyes. He can't help it. So much for indifference then.
"Well, thank you, Miss Cleo, for that intuitive glimpse into your psyche. I'm glad we clarified that point. Now gimme that back. I'm quite certain you can afford to restock your bar without stealing from me."
Her lips thin a bit at his snide tone but she remains almost unruffled by his sarcasm, like she's determined not to let him get the best of her for once. Her tone is firm and measured when she speaks again but she sounds tired rather than mad, and that's almost more of a surprise than her materializing in his room.
"First of all, Niles, you don't get to declare that I'm the raging drunk here only to send yourself into a stupor an hour later. Secondly, we're not going to be able to have the conversation we need to have if you're even the slightest bit intoxicated."
"Hypocrite," he mutters, not wanting to give her an inch. "That's your natural state."
"If I can do this sober, then so can you."
A rather childish part of him takes satisfaction in the peevish strain that's creeping into her voice. Good. He's not ready to absolve her of what little sense of contrition he figures she may be experiencing right now. When and if he does reach that point, he suspects there will be several states if not the entire Atlantic Ocean between them, along several years of trying to heal.
"Oh, please. Like I'm supposed to believe you didn't crack the champagne the moment you realized you're truly rid of me this time." Never mind how much he still doesn't want to be rid of her. Not even now.
Niles stands up then, his intention to continue with his packing, but that juiced-up harridan blocks his path. Her face scrunches up with something that might be fury, and for a moment, he thinks she might slap him. Or choke him. Something violent no doubt.
He's ill-prepared for what she actually does.
She grabs him by the tie and yanks him forward. The kiss is hard and only lasts for a few moments, but it's enough to make her point.
It's also enough to make him want her just that much more in spite of himself. Damn her for that.
The hurt on her face is genuine when she steps back and glares at him for a long, agonizing moment.
"Did that taste like I've had anything to drink recently, Niles?"
That wasn't supposed to happen, wasn't part of her plan, but damn it, he just would not let the subject go. She had to do something to make her point.
He's still dazed and comically slack-jawed when she darts out the door and across the hall to the nearby bathroom. It's only a short delay, however, before he scurries after her just in time to see her pour the contents of his wine bottle down the drain.
"Just what the hell are you doing?!" he hisses from the doorway.
She drops the empty bottle into the wastebasket, then crosses her arms as she turns back to him and leans against the sink. "Dumping this out! What does it look like I'm doing, Lysol Lips?"
He may be well within his rights to be upset with her but good lord, she is losing patience with his refusal to allow this conversation to move forward.
"No, you simpleton, I mean why are you even here?"
She takes a certain amount of satisfaction in seeing him as baffled and harassed as she's felt in recent days. Good.
"If you'd been listening instead of arguing with me like usual, maybe you would have heard the part where I said there are some things we need to discuss."
"Like what?" That petulant expression of his that she hates so much is starting to appear again. It makes him look like an overgrown toddler.
"When we both leave this household for good tomorrow-"
"W-what?!" he chokes out. "When we both leave for good?"
"I'm also resigning but that's not the point." She ignores the fact that he's still sputtering at that revelation. "The point is that we need to set the record straight. I have some questions you need to answer and a few misconceptions I want cleared up, then we can go on our merry ways."
He rubs his left temple, still shocked by her bombshell. "I think this would go over a lot better with that wine you just dumped out."
That's it. What little bit of calm bearing she's maintained evaporates. She should've known better than to think she'd be able to handle confronting their many issues with anything resembling patience and serenity.
"Oh, sure, because getting thoroughly tanked has served us so well over the years!" She snaps, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Great idea. Except that it accomplishes nothing more than both of us being even more confused than before. No, I'm not doing it anymore, Niles. This time it's just you and me, both of us with clear minds."
While her anger ignites, the fire and fury that compelled him to chase after her extinguishes within him and he steps away to go back to his room. "You've already made it perfectly clear what's on your mind, Miss Babcock."
She scrambles after him in case he tries to lock himself inside. "No, I don't think I have, actually. Furthermore, I still haven't the foggiest idea what on earth is really going on in yours."
Niles looks back at her, stunned and a little bit disgusted. "That much should be obvious as well."
She shakes her head and sighs. "Not really, Niles."
For the first time in two days, he forces himself to look at her without the haze of dashed hopes coloring his objectivity and he's stricken with the worst realization.
"You really thought it was a prank."
"Well, yeah," she says. Her eyebrows raise, as if to ask if it really has taken him this long to figure her out. "Until about half an hour ago, of course I did. It is our preferred mode of communication."
Oh, what a mess he's created.
He's spent much of the past couple days wallowing in self-centered pity and nursing the acute ache in his heart left by her rejections. Not that the proposals were supposed to happen, not like that, never beyond the ethereal realm of his daydreams, but...well, they did and he couldn't just snatch back the words once he said them.
Well, he could have. Perhaps he even should have. She'd have been none the wiser and he would've saved face by playing off the whole thing like another one of his tricks. Unlike his soon-to-be former employer, however, in matters of the heart, Niles prefers to stand by his words and actions, however ill-timed and ill-considered they might be.
He must admit he never considered her point of view at all, though. He's been so absorbed in his own torment that he never stopped to think about how she perplexed she might be as he fumbled his way around in pursuit of marital bliss. It never occurred to him that that perhaps all the fondness he has for her actually wasn't radiating off of him, a bright neon sign of desire and adoration. It never crossed his mind that she'd maintain the standards of the old rulebook, that she wouldn't notice he'd thrown it out for something much more satisfying than resolving one's frustrations, sexual and otherwise, through witty repartee.
The last forty-eight hours make a little more sense now.
And yet...
It's not at all rational to feel such a way, but he must admit he's disappointed in her. Throughout the years, they've had moments together that transcended their usual routine and outward emotions. Even in the early days, when he genuinely detested her and her feelings were very much mutual, a distinct undercurrent of animalistic magnetism existed between them. Over time, and particularly in the last couple years, it's shifted from good old fashioned lust to something deeper, something flirty, affectionate, and - at least for him - loving.
He knows she's not always the most observant creature, but is she really that oblivious to the depth of emotion between them? So much so that she'd believe this to be another prank?
"I thought you knew me well enough to realize I would never joke about something as serious as this."
"So did I," she admits. "but then I thought you knew me well enough to know I'd need a little more romance than being pummeled with proposals out of nowhere. I may be lonely, Niles, but I'm not quite as desperate as you must think I am."
Chastened, he looks down the hall for a long moment and then holds his bedroom door open for her. "You'd better come on in. If the Sheffields hear us, they'll want to intervene again, and I think we both know that'll cause more trouble than it's worth."
She nods and steps inside before turning to face him again. She wastes no time jumping straight into the conversation she's demanding.
"I'm not in love with Maxwell, you know. Not anymore anyway. You were right about many things you said earlier, but you were totally off base with that one."
He'd probably fall over if he didn't have the door behind him as support. "Then why-"
"Why not?" she cut him off. "It's no secret that Nanny Fine and I don't like each other. It annoys the hell out of her. And even better than that, it really seems to annoy the daylights out of you. You know how much I like that."
She gives him a small smile. He wishes he had it within him to reciprocate. This attempt at civility, though, isn't yet cause for celebration as far as he's concerned.
"With all due respect, Miss Babcock, absolutely nothing's changed about how you behaved around him or treated anyone else, so that's a bit hard to believe."
"Look, Niles, I didn't spend three months receiving intensive psychiatric therapy only to walk out of there in the same mental condition I was in when you first sent me there."
His stomach churns at the mention of her breakdown. He hates himself for the role he played in pushing her to that point. The pranks and taunts went too far sometimes, but he never intended to break Miss Babcock's spirit in the process. Shuffling over to the edge of his bed, he sits down and tries to breathe his way through the urge to throw up.
"I owe you an apology for that, by the way," he whispers.
Her eyes widen at his admission and then she looks away from him and swallows.
"Thank you. To be fair, though, I really did need it. Yes, you may have exacerbated a few of my issues, and if you want to feel bad about something, then there ya go, but you were never the root of any of my problems. Those were already there long before you ever thought to add dirty dish water to my coffee or call me the Wicked Witch of the Upper East Side." She wraps her arms around her waist, her discomfort in being this open with him apparent. "If anything, you may have kept me somewhat grounded. You never let me become too wrapped up in my wishful thinking. I might've had my little crackup even sooner if it hadn't been for you and it's possibly I might have been too far gone to bounce back from it."
He can't believe she's admitting any of this to him.
He's not sure whether to be grateful or feel worse than ever.
"Anyway, I was in love Maxwell at one point, but that's faded over the last few years."
"Mind if I ask why?"
She shrugs. "Some of it was realizing I just couldn't compete with Nanny Fine, but a lot of it was Maxwell himself and how he treats me. It's one thing to brush off a romantic overture, but even when things are strictly business, more and more I've felt less like a partner and more like just a convenience or an afterthought to him. If I'm lucky."
"He also has a tendency of cutting you out from things you have every right to be a part of. In fact, he's been doing that for years."
"That too. It's like that party Wendell Kent threw. If he wants to drag around her around to things like that, then fine, but I should have been there too. Especially since Nanny Gilligan tends to muck things up. I'd at least have the opportunity to perform a little damage control."
He arches his brow at her. "Is that what they're referring to those kind of sexual favors as these days?"
It's reflex. It's twenty years of habit. The words are out of his mouth before he even thinks about them, and he cringes as he realizes how inappropriate the comment is to the moment, how he may have just undone any progress they've made.
To his immense relief, she actually laughs and playfully swats his shoulder.
A little bit of tension leaves his shoulders and she finally seems to relax a bit as well. Maybe they'll be able to reconcile after all.
"C'mon, have a seat. I feel like I'm staring up at a mastodon and I'm getting a crick in my neck."
C.C. rolls her eyes. "Follow that up with a comment about my age, Methuselah, I will ensure that you end up as part of the fossil collection in the Museum of Natural History."
Still, she sits down next to him, though she does avoid looking directly at him. She bites her lower lip and traces a pattern on his bedspread with her index finger, the silence stretching between them until she manages to screw up the courage to ask the question that's seems to have bothered her the most.
"Why did you ask me, Niles? Is it because I've put up with you for this long, because you feel sorry for me or what?"
He can't help but gawk at her. She honestly doesn't get it and he is floored by how dense she can be.
"Why does anyone ask for a person's hand in marriage, Miss Babcock?"
"Oh gee, I don't know, Niles. Tax breaks, social standing, sex, boredom, whatever. I mean you can't possibly have asked me because you love me."
He waits until Miss Babcock looks over at him and hopes the truth will show on his face.
"Can't I?"
Her lips part but she's unable to breathe or speak as she stares at him, searching his eyes for confirmation. Finding it, she closes her eyes to stop the tears that threaten to fall.
"You know, you're kinda doing things out of order here." she murmurs. "That's important information that a woman likes to know before she's bombarded with proposals."
"I hardly planned it that way, but all things considered, would you honestly have believed me if I tried that first?"
She doesn't know the answer to that, to be honest.
"And I did attempt to tell you a couple times. Once right before I found out Colon broke up with you-"
"Collin."
"I think Colon suited him better."
"Okay, I'll give you that one." She offers him a watery smile and then her voice becomes soft and childlike. "So those flowers really were for me?"
"Yes, but I chickened out."
"And the second time?"
"Several weeks ago. It wasn't much better than my first try. You came into the kitchen. I was walking out. I kinda said it under my breath as I went."
"Oh. I don't remember that one."
"I think it was right before Mrs. Sheffield confessed to you about the fines we racked up."
It's the wrong subject to bring up right now. The fluttery, pleasant feeling that's developing in her stomach forms into a knot instead and she draws a deep, agitated breath. It may not be logical for her still to be upset about a transgression against a company she's decided to leave, but C.C. can't help but scowl about it.
"Oh yes," she huffs. "Now that part I remember. What on earth possessed you two to do such an imbecilic thing anyway?"
He has the decency to look both contrite and a little scared of her.
"It was Mrs. Sheffield's idea."
That much she believes but it doesn't excuse his part in the whole ordeal.
"And yet you went along with it!"
"Only because I was desperate!"
She realizes that, by losing her cool over this, she's ruining what was almost a very special moment, and furthermore, she risks not getting any more of the answers she needs...
...but her temper flares anyway. What he did was pretty damned stupid.
She glares at him and pounds her fist into the mattress. "You're soooo damned desperate to make a quick buck, so fame-hungry or whatever, that you fraudulently used our names to produce a play! And worse than that, it flopped!"
If she's truthful with herself, it's really that last bit that upsets her the most. If he had to go and do such a thing, the least he could have done was make it a success.
"No, you old fool!" He matches her glare and his speech becomes emphatic. "I was soooo desperate because I wanted to impress you. I wanted you to see me as worthy enough for you, not just a common, penniless housemaid."
Oh. Wow.
Like a long, sharp nail into a tire, his words deflate her indignation and leave her immobile. Again.
"You...you did it for me?"
He nods and returns to a calmer tone of voice.
"I thought perhaps if I could do something successful, if I could change your perception of me and prove that I'm capable of being more than just the Lurch to the Mr. Sheffield's Gomez, maybe you'd consider giving me a chance." Heaving a dejected sigh, he shrugs. "But you see how well that went. We racked up all those fines, the play was a failure, and...and you were just as disenchanted by me as you always are."
For the second time in as many minutes, she's not sure what to think. Her emotions twist between shame and awe. Mostly, though, she's more than a little touched that he went to such lengths. No one's ever cared enough to make such an effort for her, even if this one didn't work out as intended.
"For what it's worth, now that I have all the background behind this whole fiasco, I'm not as disenchanted as you think I am. I...well, I never was," she admits. "And the play wasn't so bad. You two just didn't know how to market it."
That said, she's not going to let him totally off the hook. She pins him with a stern look. "If you ever pull a stunt like that again, though, I'll have you strung up by your Scrubbing Bubbles."
His eyes widen and he leans away from her.
"I won't," he promises and then holds up three fingers. "Scout's honor."
C.C. can't resist an opening like that one and surprises him by suddenly giving him a beaming smile.
"Aww, Niles, I didn't know you were a Girl Scout!"
He feigns a sour expression. "I refuse to be insulted by someone who possesses enough back hair be a Wolf Pack's mascot."
She's probably the only person in the world to find such comfort in an insult, but in that moment, she realizes they'll be okay. The smirk on her face softens into a more gentle smile.
"So...what now?" he asks.
"Well, for starters, you shouldn't resign."
"I'll stay if you do. This job holds little appeal if you're not here to pester." He nudges her with his shoulder.
She snorts at that.
"So, whadda say? Truce?"
His expression is hopeful. She considers the idea for a moment and thinks about how much she really doesn't want to leave her job. Or him if she's honest with herself.
"Okay, yeah. Truce."
To seal the deal, he extends his right hand out to her. Solemnly, she places her hand and his and they shake upon their agreement, but before she can slip out of his grasp, he tightens his grip on her hand and raises it to his lips to press a gentle kiss onto her knuckles.
C.C.'s not able to suppress the delicious shiver that sweeps through her.
"That's only one of the many reasons I asked," he admits.
"Huh?" She's still a little too flustered by her reaction.
"Chemistry. I don't know about you, but for me it never feels like this with anyone else but you."
No, she thinks, it's not just him.
Still holding her hand, he presses it to his chest, near his heart. "Can I ask you something?"
"Depends on what the question is," she says, wary of what he wants.
If he tries to propose again, she still doesn't think she's ready for that. She's not sure she ever will be. For a few interminable moments, he seems to weigh whether he should ask her whatever it is after all, and that long pause does nothing to quell her anxiety.
Just as she's ready to bolt from the room before they both embarrass themselves, he finds his voice.
"How do you feel about me? I mean, seriously. Beyond the obvious, beyond all the frustrations and the physical attraction, is there any sort of sentimental affection for me at all?"
"I, um, well..." She tapers off, frustrated.
Good grief. Her feelings toward this man are complex and often conflicting, and despite thousands of dollars and hours on her therapist's sofa, she has no definitive answer to this question. How the hell is she supposed to explain it to him when she can't even figure it out for herself?
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighs. "God, Niles. I'm really not sure where to start or how to put it into words."
"Try?" he pleads.
Well, she did insist that there would be no more misunderstandings after tonight. He's managed to be nothing less than upfront with her. She's owes him this much.
"I am..." She glances at him for just a moment, and somehow within his pale blue eyes, she gains a little strength. "...attracted to you. Obviously. No matter how much I fight it, it's there. It doesn't ever go away. And yet, you aggravate me in ways that no other person ever has. You leave me feeling so horribly vulnerable and I hate that. Absolutely hate it and then you a little more just for making me feel that way. Half the time, I don't know whether I want to shove you down a garbage disposal or up against a wall, and if it's the latter, I'm still not sure whether it's because I honestly want to have my way with you or simply because it might shut you up for a few minutes."
As she admits to that last bit, his eyes darken with what she recognizes to be arousal. It makes her heart beat a little faster.
"Some days, Niles, I don't want to be anywhere near you, and some days, you're...almost my best friend. You know almost everything there is to know about me. You're probably the only one who wants to. In a way, that's comforting, but for the most part it's actually absolutely terrifying. I'm just so confused when it comes to you."
The expression on Niles' face is grateful to her for opening up to him like this. He reaches out to tuck a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear and it's all she can do not to sigh audibly at the action. He then rests his hand on her shoulder, his thumb stroking against her neck, causing her to lose focus.
"For what it's worth, Miss Babcock. I frequently feel the same way. You're the wickedest, most bull-headed, exasperating creature I've ever met. But I also know that no matter how angry you often make me or what I say to the contrary, I'm never happier than when we're together."
"I know. Me too. That's the scariest part of all." Her voice cracks as blinks rapidly to fight back the tears that threaten to fall, but a couple still manage to escape and track down her cheek.
Niles brushes them away and leans his forehead against hers.
"I love you, C.C."
It's not the first time she's heard those words nor the first time that she's believed it.
It is, however, the first time it truly means something to her. As she gasps out a noise that's between a laugh and a sob, Niles gathers her into his arms and softly kisses her cheek.
"Where do you want this to go?"
"I don't know," she whispers as she relaxes into him and rest her head on his shoulder. "I don't know. I can't make you any promises right now."
He nods. "Okay. That's honest enough. I can accept that."
"Can we just take it one step at a time and see where it leads? No pressure?"
He pulls back slightly and cups her face in his hands. "Baby, I'll take anything you'll give me, even it's just for the next few minutes."
She regards him with a calculating eye and then scoffs.
"Really, Minute Maid? I should hope you'll last longer than that."
Nothing has ever made her feel so good about a decision than the way his eyes light up when he realizes what she just offered. It's only there for a moment, though, before that delighted sparkle changes into something more mischievous.
She gasps as she suddenly finds herself pinned down onto his mattress.
"Trust me, sweetheart, it's going to take far more than just a few minutes."
With the full weight his body against hers and the sensations that evokes within her, it occurs to C.C. that she may be the one that will have trouble lasting very long instead. She closes her eyes and bites her lower lip to repress a moan at the thought.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she murmurs, trying not to sound as aroused as she already feels. "Shut up and prove it, Soft Scrub."
He adjusts his body in order to hold her tighter against him. "Take that back."
She blinks at him. He probably thinks she's playing coy, but really, she's too turned on to think straight. "Take what back?"
"There is nothing," he whispers against her lips. "that is soft about me right now. Take it back."
This time, C.C. does moan as he rolls his hips against her to emphasize his point, and though a part of her tries to formulate a witty comeback, it's a lost cause. Nothing else really matters when he can make her feel like this. Her hands grip his biceps as he presses his lips to hers, a tentative greeting that slowly deepens when she offers no resistance. Her blood rushes in exhilaration.
Being with Niles like this...it's thrilling and divine and all that heart-pounding magical stuff she said she wanted.
She breaks away from him and buries her face into his neck while she tries to compose herself. "God, Niles, I'm never going to drink again if this is what it's like to kiss you sober."
He pulls back and, for the first time in two days, he grins at her at her.
She thinks she's never seen anything so beautiful.
He's known C.C. Babcock for twenty years. At times, he's outright despised her even as he found himself inexplicably drawn to her.
Thirteen years ago, he allowed himself to stop wrestling with his disturbing attraction and started coming to terms with the idea that it was okay to appreciate her in the physical sense, even though nothing within that abhorrent she-devil reflected her outer beauty.
Almost ten years ago, Niles recognized he was wrong about her in some ways. Beneath the cool, hardened exterior existed a fragile heart that sheltered itself from a variety of torments. Knowing this doesn't change much, but it causes an irrevocable shift within him.
Within the next five years, many of the aspects of Miss Babcock's personality that he once found most disagreeable swiftly started to become the things that, heaven help him, now rather endeared her to him.
Two years ago, he acknowledged that it wasn't just infatuation anymore. She who he once considered to be his worst nightmare somehow transformed herself into the center of his dearest dream.
One year ago, he knew without a doubt that there would never be anyone else for him. He'd never be worthy of her but he hoped nonetheless. He wanted everything yet understood that he was setting himself up for disappointment, yet that became less and less acceptable over the passing months.
Within recent weeks, he knew he needed to act. He had to know if there was even the slightest chance.
Over the last two days, he made a mess of everything.
The last couple hours have been the most anguishing of his entire life.
The last couple minutes have been the most joyous.
It can only get better from here.
He lifts one hand to her cheek and then weaves his fingers through her hair as he leans down to place a trail of kisses along her neck. She's breathless with anticipation even before his lips brush against the sensitive area of skin by her ear, and she whimpers when he gets there. He lingers there, licking, nibbling, and teasing until she writhes against him in unsuppressed abandon, those little whimpers growing into deep moans.
The reality of having her in his arms like this is overwhelming to his senses. Being given the unabashed freedom to kiss her, to touch her, to know he's going to make love to her, it far surpasses any fantasy he's conjured up over the years.
He disengages from their passionate embrace to sit up and helps her do so as well. With her hair tousled, skin flushed, and a wanton look on her face, he thinks she's the sexiest thing he's ever had the privilege of beholding. In fact, for all her fabled beauty, he bets Aphrodite had nothing on this woman.
He leans in to worship her lips again with slow, gentle caresses while he reaches down with shaking hands to unbutton her red jacket and slide it off her shoulders.
"You know, Niles," C.C. gasps when his hands slip under her shirt to caress the bare skin he finds there. "If you draw all this foreplay out too long, the main event really will only last a minute for both of us..."
"Quiet, wench."
"Mmm, somehow I don't think quiet is what you really want," she purrs in his ear before playfully nipping at the lobe.
He growls.
No longer content to remain passive, she stands and tugs him to her. This time there's no lingering nor any shyness as they come together. Even as their tongues tangle, she works to unknot his already loosened tie and makes hasty work out of freeing him from his shirt. They're swift to help each other undress, only breaking apart as the need for air or removal of clothing requires.
When bared to each other at last, Niles admires her as she slinks back into bed and sprawls out upon the sheets. With a radiant smile, she holds out her hand to him in invitation.
The actuality of the moment hits him full-force then. For several seconds, he cannot move and he cannot breathe as it washes over him. She's still here. It's not a joke. It's really going to happen.
The frantic pace that's gotten them to this point diffuses when he grasps her hand, their fingers interlacing as he slips into bed next to her. Reaching out to brush back her hair, he studies her face, the brightness of her eyes, her expectant expression.
He tries to memorize everything.
The feel of her soft skin against his, her arms and legs wrapped around him, anchoring their bodies together as they seek a rhythm. How she sighs his name when he traces his hand down her body and the delicious sting of her nails scratching at his back to urge him for more. The way her skin tastes as he bestows little kisses above her breasts and how the rapid beat of her heart matches his own.
She's under him and above him, and soon all he can focus on anymore is the driving need to bring them both to a blissful culmination. Her body goes taut, straining as she nears the pinnacle, and at last, the sound of her satisfied, guttural cry of triumph fills his ears. It's only a matter of moments before he follows her.
Trembling, C.C. curls up against him and they don't move for several minutes, just simple holding each other as they bask in the afterglow and wonderment of it all. He smiles when he realizes that their breathing has synchronized.
As he looks at her, Niles thinks that, though she seems exactly the same, something is different. There's a certain softness and joyfulness to her countenance that's never been present before now, a glow from within that he doesn't think is just the result of really good sex.
He won't dare to put a name to it yet. He's certain that she doesn't fully realize it herself.
At any rate, it's more than he thought possible after this afternoon.
"Was it as good for you as it was for me?" He teases but he's a little nervous of her answer all the same.
C.C. licks those oh so delectable lips as she rolls out of his arms and sinks back into her pillow. She tries to scrunch her face up in a display of mock disgust. The effect is ruined by the fact that she can't quite contain her satisfied grin.
"Eh. You'll do, I guess."
"You little minx." He attempts to make a face back at her, but he's no more successful than she is at containing the giddy sense of elation bubbling within him. "I'm the best you've ever had and you know it."
She laughs softly as he tickles her ribs. "That's an awfully bold statement considering we only have this one time to measure by. Could've been a fluke."
"You think so? Do we need to do some more trial runs, more rehearsals just to be sure?"
Grasping his right hand from where it rests on her hip, she guides it round her waist as she turns and snuggles up with her back against him.
"Absolutely." She tilts her head back to brush her lips against his as she whispers, "Rack 'em up, let's play again and again. But in a little bit."
His breath catches.
He didn't realize he needed to hear it nor did he think it possible to feel happier than he already is, but her confirmation carries him to a level of euphoria he can't recall ever experiencing.
She wants this to happen again.
As he watches her drift off to sleep, he dares to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, one more dream or two of his might come true after all someday.
AllTheSnakes (Guest) on Chapter 3 Tue 04 Dec 2012 07:17PM UTC
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