a.n. Once again, I was doing uni work only to be distracted by Fraiser reruns. This will be a two-shot based on the episode: A Mid-Winter Night's Dream.
disclaimer. I don't own Fraiser or any of the characters within it. Tragic, I know.
Unfaithful
.It Was A Dark and Stormy Night.
Adultery.
A loaded word. A temptation.
A sin.
She comes to me soaked to the bone and shivering, tendrils of brunette hair sticking to her cheeks and the pale column of her neck. Her lips are blue, her teeth are chattering, but she smiles at me like she's happy to be standing on my doorstep in the middle of the most violent storm Seattle has seen in years.
I shepherd her inside: one hand on her back, the other by her elbow to brace her. It's a gentlemanly gesture, a chivalrous gesture, an 'I don't want you slipping on the stairs and hurting yourself' gesture. I tell myself this, but several less than pure adverbs dance like devils in my mind. A longing gesture, a covetous gesture, an 'I wish there were less layers between your skin and mine' gesture.
I push them away.
"Come in Daphne, warm yourself by the fire. How did you get so wet?"
"One of your trees blew down in your driveway. I had to walk the last hundred yards." She places her damp bag on the Italian upholstered lounge as she says this, but she looks so cold, wet and beautiful that I can't bring myself to care. I help her with her coat, which peels off to reveal a pink sweater and a shocking yellow and brown patterned vest. Again, I don't care. She could wear a garbage bag and still look like a princess.
But she's not my princess. And I mustn't forget that.
"I must say, you have a beautiful home," she says, looking around and taking in the elegant wooden interior Maris and I worked so hard to create.
"Oh, well thank you. Actually, it was in Maris's family for four generations. When I was an mere intern I used to drive through these hills, never dreaming that one day I'd live in one of these great mansions. Then one afternoon, there was Maris, looking so helpless, banging on the gates with her little fists and a tire iron."
Daphne stands by the fire now, rubbing her dainty hands together in an effort to warm herself. She looks up at me confused. "They'd locked her in?"
"No, no, that was much later." Suddenly conscious I'm still holding her coat, I move to hang it up before continuing my story. "No, this time she was returning from the antique mart with a rare bell jar once owned by Sylvia Plath, when the gates failed to open. So naturally I stopped to offer my assistance, and as our hands touched there was a sudden spark of electricity, then as if by magic the gates parted before us, and we took it as a sign."
"You knew you were meant to be together."
She smiles at that, and I can't help but smile a little at the memory as well. Those were good times, happy times. Maris and I had been in love then...
"Yes. We were married just three short years later."
Or, at least I think we'd been in love.
Thankfully, Daphne notices the Glockenspiel on the coffee table before I have time to ponder this thought further. She leans in close, eyes wide, a hint of awe in her voice:
"Look at this, it's beautiful!"
"It's a Glockenspiel. We bought it on our honeymoon in Zürich." I move back towards the lounge and take a seat at Daphne's side. "I brought it down from the attic to remind Maris of better times. It used to play beautiful music, and now it doesn't." The urge to laugh rises in me then, but the taste in my mouth is too bitter. "How's that for irony?"
I clap my hands to my thighs and get to my feet, suddenly filled with a queer mixture of disappointment and sadness. Variations of the same question I had asked myself before leap to mind, resonating louder than ever: Do I love Maris? Did I ever love Maris? How did we get where we are and how do I fix it? Such questions cannot be answered in one night. It is best not to ponder them.
"Well, let's get you into some dry clothes, so you can get started on dinner, and we can get you home in time for your date!"
I head for the stairs but just as I crest them, I hear a strangled whimper from the couch. Something clenches in my chest and I look over the balustrade.
"Daphne?"
The whimper sounds again, but it's more of a sob this time. Daphne's crying. My princess, is crying.
I head back down the stairs and walk towards her. My pace is slow and wary, and it strikes me that I have absolutely no idea how to act in this situation. My heart tells me that I should race towards her and scoop her up in my arms because surely an angel such as she should not be crying. My head, however, rejects the notion. I'm her friend. Her married friend. The very reason she is here is to help me make dinner for my wife.
I can hide my desire, but not my concern. I step closer to her.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Nothing."
"No, no, it's definitely something. I'm a psychiatrist, I can read the signs."
A blind idiot could read the signs, and she seems to get the logic. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't want to spoil your reunion with Mrs. Crane, but..." She looks down at the tissue in her hands and scrunches it between her fingers. "Eric broke up with me."
An inexplicable surge of happiness flares within me at the news that community college dropout is out of her life. The sight of her tears helps me to repress it, and I take a seat on the lounge ready to comfort her.
"He did?"
"Yes. He said he couldn't commit to me and his music. He had to stay focused. I knew it was an excuse – I've heard his music!" She pauses to dab her eyes, giving me a moment to process this new information. Eric dumped Daphne for his music? What a rubbish excuse! But then again, was there any good reason to break Daphne's heart? I didn't think so. If I had the chance I would...
Daphne picks up where she left off, pulling me out of the maelstrom of my thoughts. "He must have another girl."
Without warning, she crumples forward and buries her head in my chest. I lean back, trying to escape something I want far too much, but with the back of the lounge behind me there's really nowhere to go.
Consumed with a potent mix of guilt and desire, I wrap an arm around her, half-expecting Maris to creep up behind me. She snuggles in closer, and I can feel her hot breath and tears through the fabric of my shirt. The sensation ignites something in me, and my heart triples its speed. It's hammering in my chest. It's a wonder she can't hear it.
"Well, he's a fool, Daphne, and if he can't appreciate you then you're better off without him."
She offers me a brave smile, but the pain in her voice is unmistakable. "Right now, I'm not so sure, but thank you, Dr. Crane."
She trails off, and I'm suddenly aware she's never been this close to me. I can feel every breath as it shudders through her chest, every beat of her heart through my palm. Her hair is just beneath my nose and it smells like honey and rain. I can't help but reach a hand up to stroke it.
The moment dies when the phone rings. For a moment, I think I can silence it by pressing a finger to my lips, but I quickly think better of it.
"Niles Crane. Oh, Maris!"
I leap to my feet, all but throwing Daphne off me. I wasn't cheating, I was just holding her. Comforting her. Maris doesn't ever have to know. Just keep breathing, talking. Calm down.
"Where are you? What do you mean you can't come home? Well, it's not that bad a storm!"
The words are barely out of my mouth when a blast of thunder and lightning all but contradicts me. Surprised, I jump a little and turn to see Daphne with her back to me in front of the fire place. She's bent over, brushing out her hair in an act I'd never thought seductive until now. My mouth falls open a little, and I fight to keep my voice steady.
"Oh Maris, I really think you should come home. No, no, well of course I don't want you traveling if it's not safe. Yes, yes, I understand. I'll see you tomorrow."
I hang up the phone, and by this time Daphne has turned around to face me. She looks at me with interest, and I step towards her. "Well, it seems like it's just the two of us."
She closes the distance between us. "You mean Mrs. Crane won't be coming?"
Lightning strikes again. The lights flicker momentarily before plunging us into darkness. I look at Daphne. She's lit from behind by the firelight and I can see the dried rivulets of her tears shimmering on her cheeks. I want to lick them off.
"Oh my, there goes the electricity," she says. "What do we do now?"
Oh my, Daphne. I have many ideas.
a.n. Hehe... Bit of a rude cliffy, I know, but good things come to those who wait!