This had been what he'd needed for years, though he hadn't dared to admit it to himself or anyone else. A change. And what a change!
Niles stretched his arms overhead and moved to look out the nearest window. Paris, city of light, bustled by quickly, it's people so cultured and vibrant that he'd often wondered how he had ever found the strength to leave. He must have forgotten; so drawn in to the world of the upper class, the bourgiose of Seattle. None of it mattered to him any longer- he'd felt it in his bones, years ago, when his priorities had changed. Love and friendship had taken its rightful place of importance over wealth and power. When a man's priorities changed, his setting must follow.
He had not returned to France since that ill-fated honeymoon with his first wife, years and years ago now.
Niles paused at that thought. He was a twice-divorced man in his forties, who had uprooted himself in an effort to forget the past. He was alone in France- he had no friends in this country, this entire continent, and his family had no idea he was there. He had disappeared from Seattle only the day before, the seventh day of his absence from his daily life. Frasier might have assumed him depressed and in need of solitude with a bottle of wine; how surprised his brother would be, to learn of what he'd done!
Was he running from something or genuinely in need of this life-shift? Only time would tell. He didn't want to analyze himself for too long, he was sure that what he would discover would not be encouraging. In fact he was tired of analyzing people altogether; he wanted a change of profession as well as everything else.
Enough of this, he thought. I have come to Paris. I can make a life here, I can start fresh here. More than anything, I need to start over.
He glanced around himself. The hotel room had not been booked in advance, one of the few things he had not prepared for in the cold determination of the past week. He shook his head, irritated that the jet lag of his journey would not likely dissipate for days. He had slept in his clothes, so exhausted was he upon finally arriving and settling into the room, and had to stop himself from smoothing the wrinkles in his shirt.
Niles clenched his jaw. Always so fastidious. That feminine attention to appearance. You idiot, Dad was right all along. And you knew the kind of man she wanted. No wonder she...no, stop thinking about that. About her. That's over.
He ran a tired hand over his face. I can't go on pretending to be an aristocrat. So what if my shirt is wrinkled- why am I wearing a suit, anyway? I'll leave those in the past with everything else. Did I ever care so much about clubs and wine and fashion? It's time I left that all behind and started living like a man!
A man.
All this time, and he had never once acted like a real man. Favoring soft words over action, "mastering his baser instincts", ignoring the pursuit of what he truly desired for the sake of some misguided sense of honor. Yes, he'd been the friend, the shoulder to cry on...and what had it earned him in the end?
No more.
Niles took a deep breath, stretched again, and began to make phone calls.