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CC stared at the full dinner plate in front of her, resisting the urge to groan.
Why did she ever agree to this? What possessed her to accept Nanny Fine's invitation to the Sheffields' Christmas Eve dinner?
The mansion was an idyllic picture of holiday cheer. Maxwell, having been convinced to not leave for DC for the holidays at all this year, had insisted on Niles transforming the mansion into a veritable winter wonderland. Bright lights twinkled on the tree, pine garlands adorned every door frame — no mistletoe this year, making CC sigh in what she wanted to be relief — and the smell of roasted turkey saturated the air. The house felt straight out of an old movie, the black-and-white kind CC would catch glimpses of as a child on the television before her nanny would shut it off, claiming CC, the heiress and the debutante, had better and more useful things to do.
Considering where she ended up, maybe more time slumped in front of the TV would have been better. Sure, CC might not have had a job or an inheritance, but she wouldn't be trapped at the Sheffield table, listening to the children guess what their presents could be. She'd be alone either way.
Sipping from her glass, she grimaced. She wanted a drink stronger than the tepid champagne served with dinner.
She needed to leave.
CC studied her plate, picking at her carrots as the noise of the Sheffield household echoed around her. After the chaos last year of travelling back and forth to DC, with CC making the arrangements so Maxwell was home for Christmas at the children's and the nanny's request, Sheffield Productions had decided to send this year's donation through the mail so they could stay in New York for the holidays. CC had organized everything, giving Max more time to spend with his family and herself the chance to lock herself in the office and get some work finished.
No one thanked her. She didn't expect it at this point, but some vestigial emotion still gnawed at her.
The children, ignoring her, were fawning over their nanny, seated at Maxwell's right, far from CC at the bottom-left of the table. Fran talked to them so naturally — calm, sincere, always there for them — that made CC feel like she was watching from outside, gazing through a fogged-over window. She didn't understand how Fran could so easily connect with anyone.
Not her, of course. Even though Fran had cornered her the other day, insisting CC come to the Sheffield house for Christmas. She wouldn't take no for an answer. Further proof that Fran hated her, since CC was trapped in an amateur Hallmark film. They couldn't stand each other. They were fighting over the same man. Theoretically. Really, CC didn't care about Maxwell's dating life. But he was around. It was easy to pretend around him, to act how people expected an unmarried forty-something woman to act around an eligible, single man. It deflected the press, and the yenta duo, away from her actual personal life.
What she really wanted.
Her eyes flicked back to Fran. Unwillingly. She was laughing at something the boy said; who could possibly ever hope to ignore a noise like that?
So what if her gaze lingered a little too long? Fran stopped laughing, noticing CC looking at her, and smiled at her. She was infuriating.
She had a lovely smile. CC wasn't blind.
Caught, CC looked for a moment more. As she was about to come up with some reason for staring, the little one pulled at Fran's sleeve, distracting her.
"Fran, thank you for making Daddy stay for all of Christmas this year," the girl — Gillian? — said, grinning widely, showing off a gap in her front teeth. CC grit her own. This was getting far too saccharine for her.
CC forced herself to focus on her food, stabbing at the food. Nanny Fine had saved the holidays — again.
"Oh, angel, you're welcome," Fran said, putting her hand over the girl's own, "but it wasn't just me. Miss Babcock was busy gettin' all the office work done so your daddy could spend today with you. Right, Mr. Sheffield?"
Maxwell, mouth full of food, mumbled and nodded.
CC looked back up, eyes narrowed. What was she playing at?
People weren't nice to CC Babcock for no reason. They always wanted something. What the nanny wanted, CC didn't know yet. But things were starting to make sense, such as the nanny cornering her earlier this week and inviting her to dinner. Sure, she had gone on about togetherness and family and you missed my Chanukah party, did you get my invite and I want to spend Christmas with you, Miss Babcock, and the family. Why CC had agreed, she couldn't say. Why she even showed up at all was another question. But CC was starting to understand Fran's intent; Nanny Fine wanted something from her.
CC considered demanding answers from Fran now — so she could finally leave — but was foiled by Niles wheeling out a cart of desserts. Even CC knew better to interfere with the nanny's sweet tooth.
As the evening wore on, CC tried desperately to escape. She could interrogate the nanny another day. The holiday cheer was too exhausting. They moved into the living room, and she kept trying to slip out. She was foiled at every turn: Niles here, Fran there, even the boy once noticed her attempt to shuffle towards the front door.
Now, as she sat in an armchair as the children clamoured around the base of the tree, she wondered if she could sneak upstairs and climb out a window. Anything to get out of here.
Max and his children were vibrant and at ease with each other. Fran interacted effortlessly with them, and even Niles, slightly off to the side, seemed comfortable. CC, from her spot by the fireplace, felt more like an observer than anything else.
She sat, sipping at her wine, as the evening stretched on and on. Niles probably made some comment, and she was sure she responded, but the details were lost in the fog of alcohol and emotion clouding her head.
She let herself look at Fran. Just a little. A Christmas gift to herself. It should be illegal to look that good in a red tartan minidress.
At some point, she saw Fran looking back. She might have winked. CC glanced down at her glass too quickly to tell.
She couldn't let Fran know she figured out why she had been invited. That was all.
Eventually, Maxwell declared that the children could open one gift. They stood around the tree, debating which one they should pick. CC leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Her head pounded.
She managed to rest for a moment, almost peaceful, before she heard someone come over. Her heels tapped against the ground in a rhythmic pattern — Fran. CC opened her eyes to see Fran sitting on the arm of her chair, holding a small, wrapped package. CC turned to glare when Fran didn't move from her perch.
"Maxwell meant the children, Nanny Fine. Your maturity may match theirs, but your age sure doesn't," CC said, laughing at her own joke.
Fran rolled her eyes, pouting. "Actually, it's for you."
CC took it from Fran’s outstretched hand. She made sure to grasp it carefully, taking care their fingers never touched. Fran’s short red nails shone in the light of the tree.
The label had her name scratched down in Fran's loopy handwriting, encircled in a cartoonish heart. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to yell or cry or throw up.
Fran put her hand on her shoulder, leaning down near CC’s ear. “Are you gonna open it?”
CC shrugged her away. The wrapping paper crinkled as her hands shook. She put the gift down on her lap.
Fran’s hand didn't move, lightly gripping at CC’s shoulder. CC ignored her, focusing on her glass and gulping the remaining wine down. She swore she felt Fran press her nails into her skin, could picture the small red crescents blooming under her touch.
Probably just a muscle cramp.
A full-volume screech from the television turning on made Fran jolt a little and pull her hand away. The boy was fiddling with the controls, trying to plug some new toy into it. Currently, it was tuned to a news channel showing a map of the city overlaid with scribbles showing wind and temperature. CC couldn't hear the newscaster, but the presentation — all bold letters and exclamation marks — suggested urgency.
"Looks awful," Fran said, leaning further into CC's shoulder, towards the TV, "I've never seen it that cold here."
A burst of wind screamed outside, rattling the side of the house. CC stood up, and Fran slumped forward onto the chair without her support.
"Miss Babcock doesn't have to worry about the cold," Niles said, smirking from the couch. "She's full of hot air."
Before she could fire back, the television blasted loud noise as the boy yelped in success. The noise from the video game overpowered the room, along with him and the little one shouting in delight. Fran moved closer to Niles, and CC could see her mouth moving, but even her voice was lost under the noise.
CC grit her teeth, leaving the package on a table and turning away from the living room. She took advantage of the chaos to head towards the kitchen. She needed something stronger than wine to get through the rest of the night. Something that would drown the ridiculous ideas in her head.
Whiskey would do. And she knew where Niles hid the best of Maxwell's stash. Finding the bottle tucked away in a high cupboard – novice work, really – she took an empty glass and poured herself a generous amount. Maybe now she could figure out a way to leave without someone stopping her.
"Miss Babcock!"
The nanny’s quickly approaching voice shook CC from her thoughts. Fran was very hard to ignore. "What is it, Nanny Fine?"
She stopped in front of CC, smirking when she noticed the bottle in CC’s hands. “Didn’t feel like going back to the wine cellar again?”
CC ignored her. Fran pouted, moving closer and holding the present in front of her. "I wanted to see if you were leavin'."
CC couldn't help but sulk a little. She didn't have to make it so obvious. "Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair soon enough," she said, giving a pointed look at all the curls piled on Fran’s head. A few had fallen loose, framing Fran’s face. CC, fighting the urge to tuck them behind Fran’s ear, grabbed the bottle tighter.
Fran touched CC's shoulder again. "That's not what I meant," she said, pulling her hand away at CC's scowl, "I wanted to make sure you took your gift."
CC grunted in disinterest as she took a sip of her drink. "Do you want one?” she asked, tipping her glass at Fran, trying to change the subject. The idea of taking the present from Fran’s hand, a gift Fran wanted her to have, something Fran saw and reminded her of CC…
Thinking about Fran thinking about CC the way CC thought about her – it was too much. Impossible. CC wouldn’t know how to react.
Even worse, what if it was some meaningless trinket? A random object Fran stuffed in a box just to check CC’s name off a list? Maybe she was just an afterthought.
That would be worse than hatred.
As CC realized this, Fran stole the glass from her hand and replaced it with the gift. She stepped back, towards the counter, smirking as she took a sip. The bright red stain of her lipstick overlapped slightly with CC’s more neutral colour. CC stared for a moment, entranced by the thought of the colour mixing elsewhere, before coming to her senses.
She couldn’t let herself fall into a world that didn’t exist.
CC stood a little taller, hardened her voice. "I'm not interested in your knockoffs, Nanny Fine."
"It's not a knockoff. My cousin —"
CC didn't hear what Fran said next about which cousin did what. The wind outside rattled the windows. It felt like it howled directly in her ears. She needed to leave, get out, get away from Fran's hand on her arm, Fran’s lips on her glass, from anything Fran.
"I don’t want it.”
"C’mon, Miss Babcock. I called in a favour for this months ago. The least you could do is look."
"I really don't care."
A pause. Fran stood steadfast, taking another sip from CC’s glass. CC grabbed it back and gulped the remaining whiskey down. She stifled a cough while her throat smouldered.
CC knew she shouldn’t, but the familiar heated embrace of alcohol was fuelling her curiosity. "Why?”
Fran smiled, her eyes lidded from the drink and shrugged. "I wanted to do somethin’ for you. You deserve…” she paused, chewing on her lip, “well, more. Around here. It’s the least I could do.”
Her cheeks were flushing, probably from the alcohol. But as she finished speaking, Fran glanced away, refusing to make eye contact. CC’s heart sank. Was she lying?
“And I'm not expectin' anythin' from you, Miss Babcock."
Fran smiled, leaning one hand against the counter. She looked so at ease, so genuine, as if she actually wanted to do something nice for CC.
CC almost believed her.
But no one was ever kind for no reason, without wanting something in return. And CC wasn't interested in finding out why. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep until the holidays were finally over. When things were back to tired, old, miserable normalcy.
"Good. I haven’t been thinking about you," CC lied, shoving the package back into Fran's arms. "Why would I ever bother?"
The nanny, still reeling a little at the force of CC's shove, flinched. She opened her mouth to talk, but CC turned and stormed away before Fran could speak.
CC didn't want to hear what she would say. She couldn't want it.
Reaching the door, CC stupidly, cruelly, allowed herself to look back at Fran. She held the gift in one hand, her mouth half-open, her eyes narrowed in an emotion CC couldn't identify.
They stood for a moment, staring, silent. CC shook her head. "Have a good holiday, Nanny Fine," she said, before turning and leaving through the back door. It slammed behind her.
Outside, the cold air hit her like a slap, a stark contrast to the warmth of the mansion. The chill was almost enough to make CC turn right around, burst into the house, and submit herself to the family's gaze, their pity, Fran —
Almost enough.
She could hail a cab. There was no snow. It was just a little cold, a little windy. She could wait.
It only grew colder as she moved from the back terrace to the sidewalk in front of the house. The wind roared around her, and it only grew stronger as CC came out onto the open sidewalk. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to wait for too long. Reaching the street, CC looked around for a cab, one hand absentmindedly reaching for her purse to grab the fare. When she grabbed at nothing, she swore. Her purse was inside. In the front hall closet. Hanging with her jacket, with her leather gloves tucked neatly in an interior pocket.
Another gust battered her, somehow blunt and sharp at the same time. New York City wasn't supposed to be this cold. It didn’t help that she had refused a Christmas-themed sweater inside, not wanting to crease her new vest and dress shirt. Just her luck, CC supposed, as she involuntarily shook from the chill.
She couldn't go back in. She couldn't face them again, even to get something warm to wear. Everyone already questioned why she was even there to begin with, why she ever bothered to show up. They didn't actually want her there.
And she couldn't see Fran again. Not today. She could still see the hurt in her expression burned into her eyelids every time she blinked. CC knew she couldn't avoid her forever, but she could stay away for one night, at least.
It was cold and dark, but her apartment wasn't that far away. Only a few blocks northeast. CC could manage that, even tipsy and without a jacket. Even after the disaster of the past few hours. She could walk.
Her teeth wouldn't stop chattering.
The streets were eerily empty as she walked along East 75th. Everyone with any sense was inside, warm and safe. Inside with people they cared about. Loved. For a moment, CC allowed herself to wonder what that was like. To have a home where the picture frames held photos of actual people. To let them in.
The wind brought CC back to reality quickly. Her eyes were watering from the force and the temperature. Her tears froze on her lashes. It was hard to blink, to clear her head.
CC rubbed her hands together, trying to get the blood flowing. Her fingertips were numb, and the numbness slowly trickled down her fingers, into her palms. The wind continued howling through the city, the buildings like mountains along the empty valley of the streets, intensifying it. She kept her head down, trying to stop the wind from slicing her face.
And she walked.
And walked.
And walked a little more.
She didn’t know where she was. When CC could lift her head against the gale, it was too hard to see through the ice in her eyes. She knew she was crossing streets, seeing the sidewalk change to asphalt and back beneath her feet as she kept walking.
Eventually, grass bordered the sidewalk. She was in a park but had no idea which one. CC tried to look around, but her vision was too blurry to concentrate. Her whole body shook involuntarily. She grasped at her own arms, trying to cradle herself and hold the heat in.
It didn’t work.
CC stopped her march forward as she hit a railing. Dragging one of her hands up her body, she rubbed at her eyes and cleared some ice away. Still shivering, she looked around. The park looked vaguely familiar, so she hadn’t wandered too far. The railing she rested on overlooked a wide river. The wind slammed into the water’s surface, making it surge and swell. She could see an island, and a shore beyond that, dotted with yellow light.
The shaking had stopped, but she was so tired. She couldn’t feel her hands. Her eyes would barely stay open.
The city lights danced on the surface of the water, the difference between the buildings, the sky, and the depths imperceptible. Would it really make a difference if she was above or below the water if the lights still shone on her? She was so cold and numb, it was possible she was already living beneath the river. Maybe it would carry her home.
“Miss Babcock!”
CC groaned, closing her eyes and putting her head into what she thought were her hands. Now she was hearing things. Even the wind was mocking her now.
“Miss Babcock!”
She was going to freeze to death in a park, and her last thoughts will be of a woman with whom she shared a harrowing relationship. She groaned again, sliding against the railing to the ground.
It was strange. It wasn’t as cold down here.
The voice got closer, calling her name repeatedly. CC didn’t open her eyes. Something grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently.
“Leave me alone,” CC moaned.
She heard a gasp after she spoke, and suddenly she was wrenched up to a standing position. There was weight pressed up against her front, the railing behind her holding her up.
Something soft rubbed against her face, and she could see again.
CC squinted down at Fran. She was wearing some puffy, bright-coloured monstrosity, her hair contained within a hood and a dark blue scarf around her neck.
She was talking. CC couldn’t concentrate. It was distracting, having Fran rub her hands quickly up and down CC’s arms.
"I'm not cold," CC murmured, trying to pull away. And she wasn't, really. There was a heated glow in her, oozing through her limbs. Into her brain, her tongue. It was like the warm sludge of alcohol, but better. Warmer. Her eyelids drooped, the ice on her lashes still blurring her vision, but she wasn't concerned. She was ready to fall asleep, but she was a busy woman. That's all.
And her hands! The numbness in her fingers had ignited. Her hands were on fire. Burning. Burning so much it hurt to touch, hurt when Fran touched her. And she wasn't even wearing gloves.
CC felt the warmest she had ever been.
"Miss Babcock!"
Why was Fran still talking? "Be… quiet." She was so loud; CC could barely hear herself over the nanny's voice, the wind, the ice in her mouth.
Fran pulled her from the railing, away from the stars, and back towards the windy streets. She tried to pull herself away, pull herself back, under but Fran was stronger than she looked. Something was wrapped around her, and then she was walking again.
She was practically dragged through the streets, stopping momentarily when Fran would pause to rub her arms again, tap at her face, or squeeze her hands. The trip was a blur, and CC might have finally fallen asleep at some point.
She must have, as she came to in her own bed, cocooned in a pile of blankets with a space heater running in the corner. Her bedside lamp was on, saturating the room in an orange glow. The alarm clock beside it showed it had barely been an hour and a half since she had left the mansion.
Feeling sluggish, she tried to untangle herself, but couldn't. She could lift them enough to see she had changed, wearing a pair of warm pajamas instead of her party clothes. The logistics of that didn't interest her at this point.
What did interest her was the sounds she heard in the apartment. The bedroom door was closed. Chester was barking on the other side, at someone moving around in the kitchen. They shushed Chester, and the door swung open. Fran walked in, with a warm compress in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. When she saw CC sitting up, she beamed. “You’re awake!”
CC leaned back against the headboard. “Barely,” she said, her voice a whisper of its usual self.
Fran rushed over, placing the mug on the table. The drink smelled like ginger, and even its steam worked to warm CC up.
“You don’t have to talk,” Fran said, placing the compress across CC's collarbone. “Just get warm.” She put her hands on the cloth and pressed it down gently. CC could feel the heat immediately seep into her.
"What happened?”
Fran rolled her eyes at her, her grin more strained than before. “You left without your coat, so I ran and grabbed it. The news said it’d be so chilly,” she shook her head a little, grimacing. “But when I went outside, you were already on the sidewalk, and you weren’t stoppin’. I had to go back and get my coat before I could follow you.”
CC shifted in place, uncomfortable. She hadn’t known Fran had chased her through the cold, windy streets. She didn’t want Fran to see her like this. She didn’t want Fran to be hurt like she was.
"But I couldn't catch up until you stopped. And I saw you fall, and –” Fran let out a long, shuddering sigh. “I thought –”
She grimaced, turning her head to try and hide it from CC. When she looked back, she was smiling again, tightly. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’ve been readin’ Gracie’s Red Robin manual, and it said to get you as warm as I could.”
CC could only shake her head and grabbed Fran’s wrist. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her hands were still numb, so she couldn’t feel Fran as she gripped her.
“Why would you do that?” CC growled in a weak voice. “Why did you follow me?”
Fran ripped her arm away, eyes wide. “You saw the news! It was a record-breakin’ cold front!” Her voice was rising in pitch, growing hysterical. “You could have –”
“Stop,” CC said, suddenly exhausted. She let her head go back. “I don’t want to fight right now.”
Fran nodded as she moved the compress to CC’s forehead. Their eyes met, and CC could see that Fran’s were wet.
The cold, numb wall in CC’s chest cracked, a pang of guilt striking where her heart would be if she believed she had one. She sighed.
“Listen,” she said, “I wasn’t listening to the news. I forgot my coat when I left. I made a stupid mistake, that’s all.”
Fran nodded slowly, looking away as she rearranged the blankets. "Okay."
CC closed her eyes, happy to have avoided any more awkward conversation.
“But,” Fran started, as CC groaned and opened her eyes again, “you ran out because of me!”
“Not just you. I’m not good at holidays. Remember last year?”
“But I was –” Fran bit her lip, stopping herself. “I feel awful.”
A familiar spark of rage started to burn, deep inside CC. “I don't need your pity," CC spat.
Fran sighed. "I'm not pityin' you. " Her hand moved up to cradle CC's face, her thumb stroking her cheek. CC couldn’t help herself from leaning into her touch but made sure to keep glaring. “I’m not!”
CC raised an eyebrow. "Why are you doing all this for me? The party, the present, this," she gestured at herself under the blankets. "Why are you bothering? What do you want?"
“Well, this is ‘cause I don’t want you to freeze,” Fran said. “But everythin’ else? I… I want to know you, CC.”
CC bristled at the use of her name before Fran put her thumb gently on her lip, silencing her.
“We've known each other for two years, but I don't know you. Not really. And I know we don’t always get along, but I still like you. I like what you've let me see,” Fran said, glancing away at the admission. “So, I’ve been tryin’. To get you to like me, as much as I like you. To know you better. But nothin’ seems to be workin’.”
CC still didn’t understand. Fran didn’t hate her?
Her confusion must have been obvious. Fran shushed her, smiling in a way that didn't reach her eyes. “I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I just wanna help you feel better.” Fran turned away, reaching for something. “You should try and rest. We can talk later."
She took her hand away, and CC couldn’t help but whimper.
Fran shrugged. "Or not. Whatever makes you better."
CC nodded reluctantly. She was slipping into sleep.
She felt soft fabric fall against her chest and looked down. The blue scarf Fran had worn outside was draped across her. “Your present,” Fran said, as quietly as possible for her. “I’m sorry I opened it.”
“It’s okay,” CC whispered. “I should have taken it.”
Fran nodded as she put her hand on CC's forehead.
CC relished the brief silence before remembering Fran's sad smile. The insistence they could talk later. CC knew she wasn't in a place to have a long conversation, but she realized she had to say something.
"Fran," she said, watching her eyes widen at the sound of her name. “I do want to talk more. Later.”
She paused, relishing how those few words made Fran beam. She finally had done something right.
"And… thank you," CC said, rolling her eyes in fake horror at being polite.
Fran couldn't hold in a laugh. "Was that so hard, sweetheart?"
CC reached up to her forehead, touching Fran’s hand with her own. It was hard to speak again, but not because the cold had filled her up, hardening her. Now, she was… safe. Warm. CC couldn't remember the last time she felt so warm.
Gently, she grabbed at Fran’s hand, pulling it down to her shoulder. She held it in place, using Fran’s touch as an anchor to reality.
"I’m here, CC,” she said, squeezing gently, “I’m here as long as you want me.”
"I… want that," she said, her voice low.
It was all she was able to say for now, but with the way Fran's face lit up, the way she sighed a little in relief, CC knew that it was enough for now. That Fran understood.
They sat together for a while, CC losing track of time as she closed her eyes but struggled not to fall asleep. She was safe, content, sitting in silence together with Fran. She gently rubbed CC's shoulder and arm while murmuring. Eventually, she felt the bed move as Fran grabbed the now cool cloth and went to get up.
Wanting to keep her close, CC reached out and grasped Fran's smaller hand in hers.
Her hand was warm.