Frasier Crossover Fic
Title: Right Before Our Eyes (1/2)
Author: Dana E. Vassy (Lola's pseudonym)
Rating: PG 13 for language/references
Category: Character death, MSR
Spoilers: nothing in particular, just anything up until orison is fair
game though
Summary: Our agents investigate a disappearance in Seattle, learning a
valuable lesson from the
loss of others. Scully POV
Disclaimer: Chris you are the dude in the chair. Since you're well
solid like, better no sue me
right? Cuz that'd be well snide byreway. An ahm no hivvin it, right?
The folk, even the ginga
burd are yours and *the company's*, ken wit ahm saying? Luv Lola's
Gorbals lawyer xxxx Same
applies to the dudes that own Frasier, know?
Dedications: To Jamie for cracking me up by talking like the gorbals
lawyer for a solid hour lol
I watched Mulder's expression as we waited in the stylish hallway.
The place was slightly
upmarket compared to what we were used to. Pushing memories of halls
and bee stings from my
mind, I turned on my FBI persona as a slight blonde man answered the
door. He seemed nervous, yet
overly courteous. It was obvious he had not been sleeping well. After
the formal introductions,
he ushered us into the eclectic sitting room. I was impressed,
although it was not really my
style. Still, it was time to focus on the case.
We accepted the cappuccino offered to us as two other men joined us in
the living room. The
family unit was complete: Niles, Martin and Frasier Crane all seemed
equally edgy. I could have
cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife. As soon as we enquired
about the missing Ms Moon,
Niles dissolved into tears. I realised for the first time that he must
have some romantic
involvement with the woman. Was this guilt? Or sheer desperation?
The cynical side of my
nature for once lost out to my compassion. I felt overwhelming
sympathy for the man, as I knew
only too well the fear of losing someone close. First Melissa then
Mulder. I knew he would be
willing to take any route to saving her, and somehow I knew I wanted to
be there every step of the
way. God, caffeine was having a strange effect on me.
I saw that familiar determination on Mulder's travel-wearied face.
That nothing would stop him
from finding this 'abductee', a substitute for finding his sister.
Sometimes I wished that he
could let it go. Let everything rest – and try to deal with the actual
pain instead of avoiding
it. But who was I to demand a change in human nature?
I moved over to the dining table in order to question the oldest Crane,
Martin. He was a genuine
salt-of-the-earth type: no nonsense, and no pretences. Whilst his sons
seemed decent enough
people, they seemed to be living some sort of sheltered existence where
real life was replaced by
culture and career. Martin explained that he was an ex-cop, but had
found nothing so far that
might aid us in our enquiries. Daphne Moon was his home
physiotherapist, a quirky girl from
England, but someone held in great affection by the whole family. As
he saw me casting a worried
glance towards Niles, he told me about the crush his son had on Daphne,
even while still married
to his horrible wife. Niles had summoned the courage to finally tell
Daphne how he felt, only to
find her missing. That had been three days ago. But none of her
possessions were gone – the
only other strange factor was that her bedroom window had been left
wide. Scribbling a few
hurried notes, I asked to be shown the bedroom in question. Frasier
offered to show me while
Mulder tried to glean information from the now hysterical Niles.
My first judgement of Dr Crane had been too harsh, as I soon found out.
When we were alone, I
visibly saw the façade slip, and pain etched into the lines of his
face. He came straight to the
point and demanded to know whether I was optimistic about locating
Daphne. I felt terrible to fob
him off with the usual FBI doublespeak. On inspecting the room, I saw
nothing extraordinary save
for Ms Moon's good taste. CDs and videos were in neat, organised
piles on the shelf. The books
were an exemplary collection for any health care worker, or indeed for
any female over thirty.
Yet nothing suggested that she had been absent from the house at all.
To save Mulder the trouble, I led the formal questioning of Frasier
Crane. I found myself asking
more questions than necessary, as his conversation was so engaging. He
seemed very interested in
me, and it felt good to have a requited understanding with someone.
There was none of the
insecurity that Mulder could leave me with – I felt as though Dr Crane
was treating me as an
equal. For once, I was not being shut out for being in opposition. My
quasi-flirting drew
nothing more than a disinterested glare from Mulder.
Our chat was interrupted by the whirlwind arrival of Roz Doyle,
Frasier's producer on his radio
show. She barely got past brief "hello's" before making an obvious
beeline for Mulder. Her
opening line was something about a love of the FBI. I mentally rolled
my eyes and headed for the
kitchen with Frasier. The sound of flirtatious laughter followed me.
About an hour later, after proper inspection of the premises, Mulder
and I left the frantic
apartment. He said nothing until we got to the car. I let him drive
without complaint, as I had
no great affection for Seattle roads. As he started the engine, he
muttered something about
jealousy. When I questioned him about it – he brought the topic of
conversation around to the
case at hand. He had a hunch, but teased me by not saying anything
until he had the proof
required to convince me.
TWO DAYS LATER
Seattle motel room
I collapsed, exhausted, on to the uncomfortable bed. But with my
current level of fatigue I could
have lain on broken glass, just to get off my aching feet. If only I
weren't so damn small -
then I could be easily seen without the aid of three-inch heels. A
cautious rap on the plain
wood door rudely interrupted my peaceful moment. No prizes for
guessing who. With a groan I
dragged myself to open the thing, cursing under my breath. The good
Catholic girl in me had
evidently not made the trip to Seattle. However, I was in for a
surprise…
Title: Right Before Our Eyes (1/2)
Author: Dana E. Vassy (Lola's pseudonym)
Rating: PG 13 for language/references
Category: Character death, MSR
Spoilers: nothing in particular, just anything up until orison is fair
game though
Summary: Our agents investigate a disappearance in Seattle, learning a
valuable lesson from the
loss of others. Scully POV
Disclaimer: Chris you are the dude in the chair. Since you're well
solid like, better no sue me
right? Cuz that'd be well snide byreway. An ahm no hivvin it, right?
The folk, even the ginga
burd are yours and *the company's*, ken wit ahm saying? Luv Lola's
Gorbals lawyer xxxx Same
applies to the dudes that own Frasier, know?
Dedications: To Jamie for cracking me up by talking like the gorbals
lawyer for a solid hour lol
I watched Mulder's expression as we waited in the stylish hallway.
The place was slightly
upmarket compared to what we were used to. Pushing memories of halls
and bee stings from my
mind, I turned on my FBI persona as a slight blonde man answered the
door. He seemed nervous, yet
overly courteous. It was obvious he had not been sleeping well. After
the formal introductions,
he ushered us into the eclectic sitting room. I was impressed,
although it was not really my
style. Still, it was time to focus on the case.
We accepted the cappuccino offered to us as two other men joined us in
the living room. The
family unit was complete: Niles, Martin and Frasier Crane all seemed
equally edgy. I could have
cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife. As soon as we enquired
about the missing Ms Moon,
Niles dissolved into tears. I realised for the first time that he must
have some romantic
involvement with the woman. Was this guilt? Or sheer desperation?
The cynical side of my
nature for once lost out to my compassion. I felt overwhelming
sympathy for the man, as I knew
only too well the fear of losing someone close. First Melissa then
Mulder. I knew he would be
willing to take any route to saving her, and somehow I knew I wanted to
be there every step of the
way. God, caffeine was having a strange effect on me.
I saw that familiar determination on Mulder's travel-wearied face.
That nothing would stop him
from finding this 'abductee', a substitute for finding his sister.
Sometimes I wished that he
could let it go. Let everything rest – and try to deal with the actual
pain instead of avoiding
it. But who was I to demand a change in human nature?
I moved over to the dining table in order to question the oldest Crane,
Martin. He was a genuine
salt-of-the-earth type: no nonsense, and no pretences. Whilst his sons
seemed decent enough
people, they seemed to be living some sort of sheltered existence where
real life was replaced by
culture and career. Martin explained that he was an ex-cop, but had
found nothing so far that
might aid us in our enquiries. Daphne Moon was his home
physiotherapist, a quirky girl from
England, but someone held in great affection by the whole family. As
he saw me casting a worried
glance towards Niles, he told me about the crush his son had on Daphne,
even while still married
to his horrible wife. Niles had summoned the courage to finally tell
Daphne how he felt, only to
find her missing. That had been three days ago. But none of her
possessions were gone – the
only other strange factor was that her bedroom window had been left
wide. Scribbling a few
hurried notes, I asked to be shown the bedroom in question. Frasier
offered to show me while
Mulder tried to glean information from the now hysterical Niles.
My first judgement of Dr Crane had been too harsh, as I soon found out.
When we were alone, I
visibly saw the façade slip, and pain etched into the lines of his
face. He came straight to the
point and demanded to know whether I was optimistic about locating
Daphne. I felt terrible to fob
him off with the usual FBI doublespeak. On inspecting the room, I saw
nothing extraordinary save
for Ms Moon's good taste. CDs and videos were in neat, organised
piles on the shelf. The books
were an exemplary collection for any health care worker, or indeed for
any female over thirty.
Yet nothing suggested that she had been absent from the house at all.
To save Mulder the trouble, I led the formal questioning of Frasier
Crane. I found myself asking
more questions than necessary, as his conversation was so engaging. He
seemed very interested in
me, and it felt good to have a requited understanding with someone.
There was none of the
insecurity that Mulder could leave me with – I felt as though Dr Crane
was treating me as an
equal. For once, I was not being shut out for being in opposition. My
quasi-flirting drew
nothing more than a disinterested glare from Mulder.
Our chat was interrupted by the whirlwind arrival of Roz Doyle,
Frasier's producer on his radio
show. She barely got past brief "hello's" before making an obvious
beeline for Mulder. Her
opening line was something about a love of the FBI. I mentally rolled
my eyes and headed for the
kitchen with Frasier. The sound of flirtatious laughter followed me.
About an hour later, after proper inspection of the premises, Mulder
and I left the frantic
apartment. He said nothing until we got to the car. I let him drive
without complaint, as I had
no great affection for Seattle roads. As he started the engine, he
muttered something about
jealousy. When I questioned him about it – he brought the topic of
conversation around to the
case at hand. He had a hunch, but teased me by not saying anything
until he had the proof
required to convince me.
TWO DAYS LATER
Seattle motel room
I collapsed, exhausted, on to the uncomfortable bed. But with my
current level of fatigue I could
have lain on broken glass, just to get off my aching feet. If only I
weren't so damn small -
then I could be easily seen without the aid of three-inch heels. A
cautious rap on the plain
wood door rudely interrupted my peaceful moment. No prizes for
guessing who. With a groan I
dragged myself to open the thing, cursing under my breath. The good
Catholic girl in me had
evidently not made the trip to Seattle. However, I was in for a
surprise…