Chapter Text
The wine cellar door slammed shut with a metallic crack. Niles stood at the foot of the cellar stairs with slumped shoulders. The past few weeks had truly taken their toll on him. Last night had been the final low point. The crushing climax.
The rejected marriage proposal…
Niles had entertained the absurd idea that C.C. Babcock - the business partner of his employer, Maxwell Sheffield - might finally stop seeing him as “just the help” if he became successful. If he could stand on equal footing with her.
Ridiculous.
C.C. Babcock - “the Witch of Broadway” - would never see him as anything other than a servant. For twenty years, Niles and C.C. had shared a relationship built on razor-sharp remarks, constant bickering, and endless insults. She seemed to have no interest in changing that.
Niles, on the other hand…
Over the past few months, he had begun to realize that there were other feelings inside him. Deep feelings. And absurdly enough, one day he discovered that he had fallen in love. With C.C. Babcock. Niles shook his head slightly. “I’m such an idiot.”
And so it happened that Niles and Fran Sheffield - Maxwell’s wife and the former nanny of his children - came up with the insane idea of producing a stage play. To make Niles appear successful. To stand any chance at all, the two of them used Maxwell’s and C.C.’s names in the process. Which ultimately led to Sheffield-Babcock Productions being sued for a staggering amount of money, forcing Maxwell to rescue the two wannabe producers from disaster.
Well…
In the end, they had actually managed to open their play. Surprisingly, C.C. had genuinely seemed impressed. And then Niles had become overconfident.
He had proposed to her. She had refused. Laughed at him. Of course she had. What on earth had he been thinking? And yet, his heart was broken, and one thing had become painfully clear to Niles: he could not endure one more day under the same roof as Miss Babcock. Having to see her every day - unbearable!
Maxwell had tried to change his mind. He had said that he and C.C. should stop their silly childish games. He simply hadn’t understood how serious Niles was. Fran had practically begged him on her knees to stay. And yet, Niles’ decision was final.
The decision had been difficult for him, and yet he was certain it was the right one. Still, tonight he longed for a bottle of wine. Not to enjoy it- to endure the pain.
Niles had just disappeared into the very back row of shelves when the cellar door opened again and slammed shut with a loud bang.
C.C. Babcock froze in the doorway, one perfectly manicured hand still hovering near the knob. “Oh no,” she whispered. Then she rattled the handle. The knob came off in her hand. Her eyes widened in horror. “OH COME ON! You’ve got to be kidding me.”
From somewhere deeper in the cellar came a long, suffering sigh. “Wonderful,” said Niles dryly. “I had no idea there was such a large wine collection in hell.”
C.C. turned sharply. Niles stood between towering shelves of vintage Bordeaux, jacket loosened, one hand holding a bottle of red wine and the other a corkscrew. His expression looked exactly like hers felt: exhausted, bitter, and hanging by a thread.
“You?” she snapped. “Of course it’s you. Why wouldn’t it be you?” Niles lifted a brow. “I could say the same. Don’t you usually reserve your dramatic entrances for Mr. Sheffield’s office?” “Oh shut up, Butler Boy.”
She banged uselessly on the cellar door again. “NANNY FINE!” she screamed. “MAXWELL!”
Silence. Of course. She remembered her conversation with Nanny Fine when they had been trapped in this very cellar years ago. It had served as a bomb shelter. No one would ever hear them.
C.C. closed her eyes in despair. “This cannot be happening again.” Then she spun around. “Why are you even down here?” Niles stared at the bottle in his hand. “For the same reason you are, I imagine.” That stopped her for a moment. Because she knew exactly why she was here.
Everyone upstairs sat there deeply affected. Because Niles was leaving. Actually leaving. And they blamed her. Of course. She couldn’t bear their stares anymore. She needed a distraction. And it arrived in the form of a bottle of wine.
C.C. crossed her arms tightly, still waiting for his answer. He rolled his eyes. “I merely wanted a drink. A situation you should be all too familiar with, Babcock. And because heartbreak pairs wonderfully with merlot.”
“Oh please,” C.C. scoffed. “You’re hardly heartbroken.” Niles laughed once. Coldly.“Not anymore, Miss Babcock. You cured me of that rather efficiently.” The tension in the room thickened instantly. C.C. looked away first. Niles uncorked the bottle and took an unusually large swallow straight from it.
She blinked. “Good Lord. You really are unraveling.” “Careful,” he replied. “You almost sound like you care.” “I do not care.” C.C. scoffed. “Of course not,” Niles replied, taking another sip. He leaned casually against the wine rack, though his eyes looked tired. Truly tired. “I’m merely the servant who forgot his place.”
C.C.’s jaw tightened. “Oh stop being melodramatic.” “You humiliated me,” Niles grunted. “You proposed to me in public!” “Yes,” Niles snapped suddenly. “Because I love you.”
Silence crashed down between them. C.C.’s breath caught. He’d never said the words directly to her before. Not like that. Niles looked away immediately, like he regretted letting it slip. C.C. recovered first, anger rushing in to protect her.
“Oh come on, you don’t love me,” she said sharply. “You’re obsessed with me because your life is dull and pathetic.” Niles gave a humorless smile. “Ah, modest as always. Everything always revolves around you.” “You’re a butler with delusions of grandeur. Producing one ridiculous play doesn’t suddenly make you a leading man.” “No,” he agreed quietly. “Clearly not.” “And marriage?” she continued, voice rising. “To you? Please. I’m not giving up my penthouse to live in some tiny servant’s room.”
Niles stared at her for a long moment. Then something in his face hardened. “Do you know what your future looks like, Miss Babcock?” Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?” “Where are you going to be ten, twenty years from now? You're going to be saying Merry Christmas to your friends in rehab and wondering what might have been.” C.C. gasped. Niles stepped closer. “You are going to spend the rest of your life pining for a man who doesn't love you and who's married a woman half your age.” C.C. fixed Niles with a blank stare. “Shut up!” He continued: “Open your eyes. They're married. They're starting a family. In ten years you’ll still be alone in that enormous apartment with only that puffball dog for company … while you desperately cling to a fantasy that should have died years ago.” C.C.’s face went white. “I said SHUT UP.” “And one day,” Niles said quietly, “you’ll realize you traded the possibility of being loved for pride.” C.C. shoved him hard. “SHUT UP!” The bottle nearly slipped from his hand.
C.C. turned away from Niles abruptly. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Like armor. Niles shrugged. Then he shook his head in resignation. “I really thought that beneath that polished layer of ice there might actually be a heart. There were moments between us when I was almost certain of it. Apparently, I was mistaken.”
C.C.’s breathing became sharp and uneven. The cellar suddenly felt too small. Too dark. She turned and started pounding violently on the door.
“LET US OUT!” Her voice cracked. She was screaming now. “NANNY FINE!” She hit the door harder and harder. “MAXWELL! HELP!”
“Miss Babcock,” Niles said carefully, “stop that.”
“HELLO! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME!”
“Miss Babcock-”
“I CAN’T BREATHE IN HERE!”
She yanked at the broken handle uselessly, panic spiraling across her face. “Niles do something!” Niles moved toward her carefully. “Calm down, Babcock.” “Don’t tell me to calm down!” “You’re hyperventilating.” “I AM NOT… ” Her breath hitched painfully. Niles caught her shoulders. “Miss Babcock!” “Get off me!” She shoved at him again, wild-eyed now.
“I can’t - I can’t stay in here - cannot breathe - ” She started hyperventilating again, her eyes wide with panic.
Niles took her by the shoulders again. And suddenly he kissed her. Hard. The words died instantly against his mouth. For one stunned second she froze. Then she kissed him back. Violently. Her hands gripped his jacket as though she might drown without him. Years of tension exploded all at once. The insults. The constant circling around each other. The unspoken sexual tension.
Niles backed her against the wine racks, kissing her like a man starved. C.C. tangled her hands in his hair, breathless and furious and desperate all at once.
When they finally broke apart she stared at him, shocked by the look in his eyes. What she saw in his gaze was no mockery or wit. Only desire and need. Real, undeniable need.
Then she pulled him back down to her. This kiss was even deeper. Even hotter. Niles’ hands slid along her waist while she tugged impatiently at his tie. “Bloody hell,” he muttered against her mouth. “Still think I’m ice cold, Butler Boy?” “At the moment,” he said hoarsely, “I’m trying very hard not to burst into flames.”
Somewhere between angry kisses and desperate laughter, clothing started disappearing. His jacket landed beside a crate of champagne. Her blouse followed moments later. Neither of them stopped long enough to think about consequences. Not when his hands touched her like she was something precious. Not when she moaned his name as his lips explored her body. Not when they finally gave each other exactly what they had both secretly wanted for far too long. Something that C.C. in particular had not wanted to admit.
The cellar air turned warm with breath and skin and twenty years of unresolved tension finally snapping beyond repair.