Author's Note: I do not own Frasier or any of its characters. This story is a multichapter alternate universe of 8x20, "The Wizard and Roz" and will feature all characters. Reviews are always sincerely appreciated, and I hope you enjoy.
She's psychic. We've decided to find it charming.
Dr. Frasier Crane, "Dinner at Eight"
"Ah, the weekend warriors have returned," quipped Frasier from the dining table, glancing up from his book as apartment door opened. Daphne ran inside playfully, chucking as her boyfriend bobbed after her.
Niles Crane could not recall a time where he had felt so deliriously free, where he had felt such a sheer zest for life. Daphne had been chatting animatedly all throughout the elevator ride, but he had spent the time lost in wonderment over the amazing turn his life had taken. There was a time not long ago when he would have balked at taking a communal class at any place called a recreation center, but the presence of the woman he loved could turn any malodorous exercise space into Xanadu. There was a time when he would have ridden the elevator alone, wiping down the buttons before pressing them, daydreaming about stolen time with a goddess – but now he stood beside her, in no hurry, not even having to pull out his handkerchief because she always pressed 19 before he could even remove it from his pocket. Niles had never known he could be capable of such happiness. He wondered if this was how his father felt with his mother. If the subject had not still been raw after all these years, he may even ask.
Daphne flounced across the living room toward Frasier, who was smiling amusedly. "Yeah, you'd better watch out, Dr. Crane. I'm getting pretty good at kickboxing," she informed him. Niles had no sooner perched himself proudly beside her than she performed a sudden front kick which snapped in the air beside his, affording a very clear view of those parts of hers that drove him absolutely wild. For the sake of decency, he didn't say anything that Frasier might construe as disgusting or disturbing or good God, Niles, you make me want to gauge out my eyeballs with one of our father's fishing hooks in a postmodern retelling of Oedipus. But Niles couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he could persuade Daphne to try some of her skills out in a slightly different context…
"It's true," he confirmed, filing the image into his subconscious for further analysis. "She hits so hard they're calling her the British Pound."
"You hit pretty hard yourself there, Nails," returned Daphne, leaning forward and planting a quick, chaste kiss. Forget roundhouse kicks, a single touch of her lips could incapacitate him far more readily than any assailant. "I'm going to hop in the shower."
"Nails?" asked Frasier dubiously. Niles watched his girlfriend walk away until her form disappeared around the corner.
"Oh, you scratch one guy…" he murmured. Suddenly, he was hit with a quick wave of a familiar dizziness, as if his knees had just entered the beginning stages of becoming marmalade. "Oh, my electrolytes are plummeting. Care to join me in a sherry?"
"Ah, actually, I'd love to, Niles, but I'm off to see Dr. Tewksbury." Frasier rose from his chair and began putting the book away. Niles was already at the bar, two sherry flutes in one hand and the decanter in the other.
"Oh, I didn't realize your mentor was still in town." Niles had been under the impression that Tewksbury had left sometime after the miniature fiasco of the Sea Bee Awards, since Frasier had not mentioned him after that night, regardless of any and all prodding. In fact, there had been very little Frasier did mention for the past three weeks since his winning the Lifetime Achievement Award. Whenever he did speak, it was invariably morose ramblings about lost childhoods, bad dates and wasted time – or else he was stubbornly playacting that nothing was amiss. Their father had called it a midlife crisis, and the jealous brother side of Niles was inclined to agree if only because a midlife crisis was something he could make good fun of. But the therapist side of him couldn't bring himself to ridicule Frasier, nor to confront him, or do anything besides watch him closely and make mental note for future reference.
"Yes," replied Frasier, wrenching Niles out of his pensiveness. "And because of it, I've been the fortunate recipient of some informal therapy. It's really been quite enlightening. You know, I consider myself lucky to be in the hands of such a master."
"Well, I'm happy for you, Frasier. He is a gifted psychiatrist, even if I don't share your god-like worship of him." Niles found that, despite the ribbing, he meant every word. Distantly, he wondered how much Daphne had to do with his newly mellowed edges. A lot, probably.
"I simply have a healthy respect for the man, Niles. It's hardly worship." Did Niles detect a hint of defensiveness? Frasier's face was plastered with one of his fantastically indignant expressions, and as he started toward the front door, Niles perched on the edge of his father's unfortunate recliner, stretching his legs out in front of him and swirling the pale golden sherry in its flute, watching the sucrose cling to the sides.
"Oh, please, you're one step away from seeing his image appear in a tortilla," he insisted. This was truly his favorite type of sparring match. Frasier appeared to be winding himself up for the second round when Daphne came flying in from her bedroom hallway, blue terrycloth robe fluttering around her knees. She was practically running, her hair only pulled halfway up from her face, and no sooner did a startled Niles set down his sherry flute on the coffee table did Daphne begin to speak.
"Niles! Thank heavens you're still here!"
"What's wrong?" he asked, bewildered and slightly frightened.
"You can't go to work on Monday."
"Why not?"
"I just had a psychic vision that something bad's going to happen to you!"
"Oh, come on, Daphne…" he reasoned.
She cut him off. "Niles, I'm serious! I know you don't believe in visions, but it's important to me. Promise you won't go."
"I'm sorry, my love, you know I would do anything for you, but I have an appointment with a very disturbed patient that day and I think we're on the verge of a breakthrough –"
"Niles Horatio Crane, I cannot believe you!" she snapped, strangling his words for a second time.
"Wh – excuse me?" Daphne looked positively crazed, eyes flashing somewhere between worry and anger, hands flexing into fists at her sides. He remembered their class that morning – where she had kicked a disturbingly realistic sand dummy with great force in a very sensitive location – and took a step backward.
"So, you're going into work, then?" she asked, crossing her arms. Niles could practically hear Frasier's self-satisfied smirk behind him. "You're just going to blow off me visions and go off to work! Don't you care about me at all?"
Her callous words pierced into Niles's chest, right between his ribs. Recognizing that the small tiff was quickly descending into the danger zone, Frasier had slipped wordlessly past them and into the kitchen.
"My love," Niles practically whispered. "I adore you, more than life itself, you must know that, but this session could be detrimental to my patient's health – Daphne, as a psychiatrist, I simply can't allow such a moment to slip by for the sake of a psychic vision!"
His voice had risen to its normal register by the final moments of his short speech. He puffed his chest out pridefully, and leveled his girlfriend with what he hoped was a lovingly diplomatic glance. But her eyes only smoldered with something dangerous he was not accustomed associating her with, and this coupled with her impressive height – made all the more noticeable by the step she was standing on – made Niles feel very small indeed. He felt himself wishing he could travel back in time and change the whole conversation. Truly, it was amazing how quickly he could singlehandedly ruin a perfectly good morning.
"Well," began Daphne, her voice low and suspiciously calm, chin tilted upwards. "My apologies, for thinking you loved and respected me more than that."
"But Daph –"
"But nothing!" she snapped. Her eyes were damp and sad. Niles wanted nothing more than to hold her and take away every ounce of pain he had caused, however inadvertently. He stepped forward to do just that, but Daphne held out a hand, stilling her boyfriend in his place. Her voice was soft when she spoke again. "Niles, I love you, but I have a very, very bad feeling about you going into work on Monday. You simply can't go in, not if you love me."
"Daphne…"
"Just remember this, Niles Crane. Your patient will still be there on Tuesday. But if you can't do this one little thing for me, then I may not be."
Niles was suddenly struck with the sensation of his heart turning to cold slush, dropping down his chest cavity, and pooling in his designer tennis shoes. His mouth opened and closed convulsively, and he reached a hand out for the love of his life, but she was already gone, disappeared into her room. The sound of the door slamming reverberated in his skull.
He waited until the walls had stopped vibrating and the room had stopped spinning before stumbling back into the small dining area, sinking into one of the plush chairs. His sherry sat forgotten on the coffee table, but Niles couldn't care less at the moment. He let his head drop into his hands and focused on even breaths; a panic attack would be no help at a time like this.
Niles was pulled from his spiral by the sound of Frasier emerging from his exile.
"Wow," mused the elder brother softly, lowering himself into the chair beside Niles. "That was scary."
Niles couldn't help the flood of irritation that overcame him. Had everyone gone mad today? First Daphne threatening to end their relationship, and now his own flesh and blood appearing to take the side of pseudoscience over psychiatry?
"Don't tell me you believe in that stuff!"
"No, I meant the way she can manipulate you like that." At this flippancy, Niles felt his blood pressure spike into previously unknown territory. Could Frasier not see how upset his younger brother was about this argument with the love of his life? Was a little compassion too much to ask?
"Frasier!"
"You know, Niles, if you let her cow you into cancelling your workday, you'll be compromising your ethics as a medical professional. Especially if this appointment is as detrimental as you make it out to be! Now, you and I share our jabs, but I would never question your competence as a psychiatrist, and I know that you wouldn't dream of purposefully committing a misstep in a patient's treatment plan for the sake of a perceived vision – even if it does come from Daphne."
As much as he was loath to admit it, Niles knew that his brother had a very valid point. He had worked his entire life toward professional recognition, and he would be a poor sham of a psychiatrist if he allowed his personal life to compromise his ethics. But none of that solved the rift that had popped up suddenly in the first healthy relationship of his life.
"Yes, I know all that, Frasier. I do. But Daphne –"
"Sod Daphne, Niles!" snapped Frasier in a burst of anger that took Niles aback. "If she would really end your relationship over this then she does not respect you, she does not respect your profession – she's no better than Maris or Mel!"
"How dare you!" yelled Niles, pulled up from his seat by righteous anger. He glared at his older brother, who also stood and moved uncomfortably close to Niles. The four inches of height Frasier had to his advantage made Niles instinctively shrink inward. Not for the first time that day, he was struck with an overwhelming sense of weakness, of powerlessness.
"How dare I? How dare you!"
"Me?
"You!"
"I've had just about enough of this!" raged Niles, turning away from his brother and stalking blindly towards the front door. As he passed the coffee table, he impulsively swept his hand down to grab the sherry flute and threw it hard upon the harvest wheat carpet. It shattered, scattering shards of glass into the fibers, the expensive spirits soaking in a yellowish halo around the destruction. For a moment, everything was quiet. Niles stared hard at the ground, not sure whether he wanted to break more of his brother's priceless fixtures and tchotchkes, or to collapse in a heap amongst the shards of glass and cry until the salt bleached the stains from the carpet. He regretted every word he had spoken that day.
"GET – OUT!" bellowed Frasier, with all the force of his radio voice. Niles was only too happy to oblige. He stomped straight through the glass and out the front door, letting it slam satisfyingly behind him. He called the elevator and rode it down to the garage. He stalked down the rows of vehicles and unlocked his Mercedes and climbed into the driver's side and sat down and shut the door behind him and was angrily jamming the seatbelt into its buckle, eyes clouding with the angry tears he thought he had grown out of crying, when he saw a discarded hair tie resting on the dashboard, which he knew would smell like her, like cherry bark and almonds, and it was only then that he truly began to sob.