Notes: An AU fic – Daphne married Clive and runs into Niles in London three years later. The idea (and title) for this fic came from reading the final scene from the original script of The Two Mrs Cranes, in which Frasier and Niles are comforting Daphne.

Niles: re: Clive I've got another one. He would have wanted you to move.

Daphne: I would've moved.

Frasier: Daphne, I'm sure if you just bide your time he'll give you a second chance.

Daphne: This was my second chance.

Niles: You'll get another. I believe that if two people are meant to be together sooner or later they will be. Years may pass, years filled with frustration and missed connections. But the day will come when they just fall into each other's arms and jet off to a beautiful Caribbean island, though France is nice too.

Daphne: I'm not sure I believe you, but thank you, Dr Crane.

Niles: You're welcome, Mrs Crane.

The names of the chapters are song titles, with lyrics from the relevant song at the beginning of each part.

Rated PG-13 for language and suggestive stuff.

My Second Chance

by dorianblue

Part One: Your New Cuckoo

I saw you there

I stopped and stared

The curly girlie smiled

You really were

Too close to her

And people just went by

- The Cardigans

Daphne sat staring out the window of the Tube, watching the blandness of the London underground pass her by. It had been one of those serendipitous days when she'd found herself thinking about the Cranes. Her quick visit to the antique sale had seen her almost crash into a smiling, balding man in a Zegna suit. When she'd gone for coffee at her favourite spot, a man with a cane and a dog on a leash had passed by the window. Of course, he'd been blind, but still …

She sighed. She only ever seemed to think about the Cranes when she was stressed out. The Doctors Crane would no doubt tell her that this was because when life got hard, she subconsciously wanted to revert to a time when she lived in a house full of men; the Crane patriarchy being, in essence, a more pleasant version of her childhood. Still, thinking about the Cranes wasn't going to solve any problems. She'd been living in London a month and still hadn't found any steady work. True, she had alimony from Clive, but she wanted to be working, standing on her own two feet again.

Her mind began to drift as she gazed around at her fellow passengers. Across the aisle and slightly behind her there was a slim, pretty woman with short black curly hair and gorgeous pearl earrings. It was her expression, though, that caught Daphne's imagination. She was staring dreamily at the man next to her, who was curled up tidily against the glass, fast asleep. Daphne's gaze now turned to the man –

She started, emitting a barely audible cry. The man was Dr Niles Crane! She clapped a hand reflexively over her mouth, squinting in his general direction. It was him all right. Good lord, she hadn't seen him in three years. Her delayed reaction was justified, then – plus, he looked different. His hair was shorter and darker, less boyish. His clothes were more casual, too – just as well, since the Tube was probably not the natural habitat of Armani suits and suspenders. His face, though, startled her with its familiarity – the angular features, the small, wry mouth, the hard corners of his jaw. Presently he began to stir and she turned away, jittery. She dug through her bag for her copy of the Evening Standard and held it discretely in front of her face as she spied on him from over the top of the page.

She turned back just in time to see him give the woman with the gorgeous pearl earrings a soft, lingering kiss, one that held the unmistakeable promise of sex. Daphne lowered the newspaper, fascinated. The couple smiled contentedly as he slid an arm around her and brushed his lips against her temple. He pressed his face against her hair, then, and shot his furtive glance all around the carriage from over the top of her head.

Daphne's jaw dropped as his eyes zoned in on hers. She saw them widen, just before she hastily, pointlessly hid behind the paper again.

"Daphne!" His voice sounded strangled, whether with amusement or fright, Daphne couldn't tell. She cowered behind the newspaper, mortified but still not quite ready to make eye contact again. He called her name again, less certain this time, more quizzical. Suddenly the newspaper was snatched from her hands, and there was Dr Niles Crane, grinning down at her. She realised suddenly that she'd been biting her lip, and when she released it her mouth flew into an unrestrained, joyful smile.

He seemed to falter a little then, looking at her in wonder. "Oh God, it is you ..."

Unable to take it anymore, seeing her friend looking down at her, so lost, she flung her arms around him, squeezing for all she was worth.

"Oh, God, Daphne …" He released her and pulled back to watch, his eyes flitting from side to side as though his vision were swimming.

"It's nice to see you too, Niles," she grinned, his name slipping out naturally. "Although I'd never see you here, of all places. The Tube?"

He giggled. "Well, Frasier insisted we had to take at least one trip. Get the full London experience, so to speak. Of course, the Freudian in him led to some rather unfortunate puns which we chose to ignore."

She laughed. It was the same Niles Crane, alright. They sank down in their seats opposite each other, their knees touching.

"Well … wow," she exclaimed, finally needing to break the silence.

"Yeah," he giggled. He gazed at her in rapture for a few more seconds, before turning abruptly to call across the aisle: "Mel! Mel! Come here, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

The curly-haired woman with the gorgeous earrings approached, cautiously sitting down next to Niles. Daphne deflated, somewhat resenting the intrusion into their reunion.

"Daphne, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Mel. Mel, this is Daphne – a very dear friend."

"Really?" Mel said, shaking Daphne's hand politely. "Niles hasn't mentioned you before."

Daphne was taken aback. "Well, we – we haven't seen each other in, um, in quite some time," she stammered.

"Yes – Daphne left Seattle three years ago to marry an old flame," said Niles, filling in the blanks.

Mel seemed to visibly relax. "How romantic!" she smiled.

Niles squeezed his girlfriend's hand before turning back to Daphne. "So, how is old Clive, anyway? I do hope he's forgiven me for masquerading as your husband that time."

Daphne sighed inwardly, examining the floor, pock-marked with chewing gum. This was never fun – it had a dreadful, repetitive pang about it. It was sort of like the feeling she had as a teenager, just before her A Levels. "So, how's the study going?" well-meaning aunts and uncles would ask over and over, this being the standard pleasantry they trotted out when engaging with any eighteen-year-old. She would utter some inane, automatic reply, wanting to scream.

This was how she felt, except worse.

"Clive's fine, as far as I know. He and I … well, we split up three months ago," she mumbled eventually.

Niles looked like he wanted to jump from the train. "Daphne, I'm sorry. Are you doing okay?"

She nodded, managed a smile, even. "Yes. I'm living here in London now, actually."

"Oh, marvellous! Good for you, I mean." Niles stumbled over his words. "If there's anything I can do …"

"Anything either of us can do," Mel clarified.

"… You were so wonderful to me when Maris and I split, I really am grateful, I don't know if I ever told you …"

"Thank you, Niles," Daphne smiled, her tone signifying to him that he could stop talking now.

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry for being an idiot. I really had no idea that you two had … well … you know."

Daphne nodded philosophically. Well, how could he know?

She cast her mind back, to when she'd said goodbye in a metallic, impersonal airport, pledging letters and phone calls, but knowing in her heart of hearts that she'd never deliver on that promise.

She'd felt an overwhelming excitement and giddiness, and a vague sense of pity for the three men standing before her. All of them would have trouble getting on without her, she knew.

She hadn't felt sad or lonely, the warm tug of Clive's hand displacing her from the present and speaking to her of married life, a secure future.

She'd forgiven Mr Crane his short, curt, grunted goodbyes. The pain in his face was testament enough of what she'd meant to him.

She'd wriggled instinctively out of dear Dr Crane's bracing hug, smiling and well-wishing even as the tears slalomed out of the corners of his eyes.

And lastly, him. He'd pressed his mouth to her cheek for a good three or four seconds, and made a half-contented, half-sorrowful murmur when he hugged her. His eyes were glazed and dull; his manner, quiet and accepting. She felt guilty letting go of him.

He seemed to know something the other two didn't.

He seemed to know her excuses by heart, in chronological order. First, that she'd be too busy settling in and reacquainting herself with her family, her old friends. Next, that her relationship with Clive would be in its first flush of passion and she'd have little time for anything else. Then, that she'd start to miss them, and the prospects of hearing the eagerness in their voices over the phone line would seem too much to handle. But that would pass, and finally it would become too complicated to call, to explain why it had taken her so long, to claw for topics of conversation still relevant to both parties.

His was the most final goodbye of all.