A/N: Written as a prompt answer on tumblr. There is one word of strong language in here. I know some people don't care for that kind of language, but it was in the prompt.
Roz sprinted into her booth, threw her coat and purse on the chair, and sprinted out again.
"Roz!" Frasier yelled and she stopped momentarily, her feet dancing in place, restlessly. "You're late already, what is this madness?"
"I know, Frasier. I just need to, you know. I'll be right back."
"You need to what, Roz? I can't read minds." He chuckled to himself, obviously thinking he'd made some kind of clever joke. Roz rolled her eyes.
"The bathroom, Frasier. Figure it out." Then she was gone.
Monday, she thought, after finally having released herself. She had overslept, of course, and she'd barely had time to have breakfast. There was no way she could face Frasier without coffee running through her blood stream. But they were out of fresh coffee, the pimple-faced, bored barista told her; how could they be out of fresh coffee, she'd basically yelled, but the barrister had merely shrugged. So she'd settled for iced coffee. It had caffeine in it and that was all that mattered. Deciding that the day was off to a bad start, she took an extra cup with her.
Much to her bladder's chagrin. And it only got worse when she got stuck in traffic for over half an hour.
Monday, indeed.
Feeling lighter, she decided that the day could only get better from now on. Maybe she'd splurge on ice cream after work to make up for all of this. Ice cream drenched in vodka. Roz nodded to herself. She deserved that, she thought, and opened the bathroom door. Or tried to anyway. The handle was stuck and no pulling or kicking at it was helping.
"Are you kidding me!" She yelled into the empty room. Roz kept jiggling violently and finally something gave. Staring at her hands, she was holding the handle in her hand.
Apparently, the day could get worse after all.
Roz figured it would take Frasier no longer than 10 minutes to decide something was wrong. But that, too, was a miscalculation on her part. After 25 minutes, finally, there was a hesitant knock on the door.
"Get me out of here!" Roz exclaimed.
"Roz? Is that you? What are you doing in there? I had to put in the Best of Crane because how am I supposed to do my show without you!"
"I'm stuck, Frasier." She told him, leaning heavily against the door. She should have done the reasonable thing and just call in sick after oversleeping.
"You're what? The show for today is ruined, Roz. At least come out of the bathroom so I can yell at you in person."
"I'm fucking stuck!" She yelled through the door, her patience exploding inside her.
"Watch your language, Roz."
"Watch your attitude, Frasier." She mocked him. She needed to get out of this room, this station, and right back into bed.
"The door seems to be stuck." He told her and she groaned. She'd die here, she decided, her body sliding to the floor, limply. The cleanliness was questionable but at the moment she simply didn't care. Tears pricked at her eyes and she refused to cry. Something crashed against the door from the other side, startling Roz. It happened again and she was certain she could hear mumbled swearing. Frasier didn't swear. Ever. Her lips curled upwards at the thought of making Frasier use foul language and then, suddenly, he flew in. There was no other way to describe it. The door burst open and he flew in, arms flailing and legs wobbling, and almost crashing into the sink.
"Roz! My God, what did you do to that door." Frasier's breath was ragged.
"I tried to open it, you idiot. The handle came off." She waved it at him. "I'll go and inform the super."
"What about work?"
"What about it? You put in the Best of Crane, didn't you? You just gave us the day off, Frasier." Roz couldn't help but grin. She'd go home and go back to bed. Forget this day ever happened.
"Oh." And she'd rendered Frasier speechless – finally.
"Thanks for coming to get me, Frasier." Her voice softened as she approached him.
"Would you believe me if I told you I was worried when you didn't come back right away?" He asked her, his cheeks glowing in a soft pink. It could be from breaking down the door, Roz reasoned.
"No," she answered simply and his eyebrows shot up, "but thank you." Without thinking about it, she leaned forward and kissed his warm cheek. No stubble, she thought, relishing the feel of his soft skin. She traced the spot she'd just kissed with her fingertips until she could no longer stand Frasier's gaze.
"I guess we better go and… well, I guess we just go." Roz shrugged and Frasier nodded slowly as if trying to figure something out. Before he could, before he could say anything about any of this, Roz fled the scene.
"Roz, wait." She heard his voice from afar, but she kept going.
Maybe Tuesday would treat her better.