Daphne, not being a fool, was aware that something was wrong with Niles in
the next few days, as he sat around the house and kneaded his hands
together and stared sightlessly into space and occasionally pulled her
close, hugged her fiercely, possessively. One time he managed to inhale a
bit of her hair, leading to some coughing and wheezing (and a subsequent
hair washing) which Daphne found amusing, once it was over, but which
didn't seem to amuse Niles at all. Nothing seemed to amuse him these days.
And he wouldn't make love to her, which - even over the course of a mere
three days - was strange enough to make her sure something was wrong. But
he wouldn't tell her what it was. "It's nothing," he'd say, avoiding her
gaze. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine."
But he wasn't fine, that much was perfectly clear to her, and it troubled her even more that he wouldn't talk to her about it. He'd always shared everything with her - well, perhaps not everything, that would have been impossible, but everything significant. And there were times when it had been hard for him. There had been that conversation that had been a turning point for both of them, when he told her he wasn't good enough for a goddess like her and she told him in no uncertain terms that she was no goddess and that it scared her that he thought about her that way. The conversation - this one took place in merciful darkness - when he fretted, out loud for the first time, that he was an inadequate lover and he'd never be able to satisfy her. The joint conversations, in those first few awful- transcendent days after they'd first gotten together, when they worried together about what they'd done to Donny and Mel - the conversations where they'd each worried the other was considering going back to the jilted spouse. And other things. That young patient of his who'd committed suicide a few months back, Niles had been broken up about that, and Daphne had been the only person he'd talk to about it. And then there were the trivial worries that were elevated to grand catastrophes in Niles' mind. Losing the wine club presidency to Frasier, again. Losing that Turkish prayer rug (he'd been yearning for another one ever since Roz ruined the first one he'd bought) at auction. All the tragedies, great and small, of his life. And he'd never hidden anything from Daphne. Until now.
After a few tentative attempts to get him to open up, all of which were rebuffed shortly, Daphne gave up and concluded that he'd probably tell her what was wrong, in time, and that there was no sense worrying. When the time was right, he'd open up.
She was right. And by then, the tardiness of the revelation was the last thing she had to worry about.
She watched him, puzzled and then troubled, as his lips stumbled and stuttered over the words he was having such trouble finding. A blood test, she understood that, but why was he having it done? What -
He said the word AIDS and it all began to make sense. Barely. If she let it.
"AIDS," she repeated, looking at him quizzically. He couldn't look at her by then. She didn't quite understand why.
"I don't understand, Niles. Is this for a patient of yours? Why are you so upset?"
"No!" he cried, much too loudly, standing up and immediately sitting back down. She'd never seen him so agitated. "Daphne, I -" Good God, he was nearly crying. She stood up instinctively, to cross the room and take him in her arms, but he waved her back down. "I'm trying to tell you, Daphne - this - this isn't about anyone else. This is about me." A long, tortuous beat. "And you."
"You," she said slowly. "And me?"
"Yes." There was nothing left in his face of panic - nothing but pure, stark horror. "I have AIDS, Daphne. I have HIV."
Silence.
"And you." He got that far before he had to bury his face in his hands, shaking. "You." he tried again. Couldn't manage it.
"I have it too," she finished simply. Both of them were grateful for the initial shock. Both knew he could never have gotten the words out.
"I don't know," he said, and now the tears were coming in a flood. "It isn't certain. it's possible that. but you'll have to be tested and oh my God Daphne *I am so sorry!*" He was sobbing outright by now. She crossed the room, stroked his shoulder gently but absentmindedly, and waited for it to sink in. There was a long pause, punctuated only by Niles' brief, tortured sobs.
"But. I don't." she said finally, struggling to find words to stem the tide of terror that threatened to engulf her. AIDS, she thought, and shivered so convulsively that it rocked Niles. "I don't understand," she said, clearing her throat finally. "How would you know this?"
"I told you. I had a blood test done."
"I know, but oh, my God, Niles, are you already - feeling sick?!"
"No, no," he said, wiping at his eyes. "I - er. Someone - told me."
"Who could possibly have told you?!"
"It was - ahem," he said, as if clearing his throat would make things any easier. "It was Mel," he managed finally.
"*Mel?!*"
"Um. Yes."
"But how would Mel - oh, my God." she said finally, falling back against the couch. "You mean she - you mean you -"
"She is - infected as well."
"No. No! It wasn't enough for her to make your life a living hell for months on end, she had to -" Daphne began, voice rising in defensive outrage.
"No! Daphne, no," Niles said, raising a hand to stop her. "It wasn't - I -"
"What?" He heard the anger in her voice and forced the words out.
"I gave it to her, Daphne. I had - I - I gave it to her," he said again, and closed his eyes. More silence.
"Let me get this straight," she said eventually, and Niles opened his eyes, unable to read her tone. "You have had HIV since before you began dating Mel; you infected her with it." He nodded, noticing that she didn't include herself in that category, not yet. He was unspeakably grateful for that. "So, Niles, who else have you -" They both heard the fury bubbling up in her voice; he closed his eyes again, with the complete apathy of a man who is living his oft-anticipated worst nightmare and finding it exactly as he expected, as she fought to quell the anger. "Anyone else?" she said finally.
"No. No one else."
"You're sure."
"Yes."
"Just Mel?"
And you. "Just Mel."
"How is she?" Daphne asked, after a pause.
He opened his eyes in surprise. "What?"
"Mel. The woman you - Mel. Your ex-wife. How is she?"
"I - Daphne, I don't think we should be talking about this right now."
"Why not? I'm concerned about her."
"Why?"
"You just said she has AIDS, Niles! She may be a pain but she didn't deserve that!"
"All right, all right. I don't know how she is."
"How was she when you talked to her?"
"Er. Not so good."
"What do you mean, not so good?"
"Daphne, this doesn't matter right now! I've just told you -"
"I know what you told me and it does matter! She was your wife!"
"I just think we should be talking about -"
"About what, Niles?" Her voice was rising, her breathing speeding up, and he realized with a sickening sensation that he should have answered any questions she had about Mel or anything else, if it would have postponed this confrontation. "About what you just told me? About how you have AIDS and now I have it too? About how you've killed me, Niles, that's what that is, how you've killed me in slow motion? About how I'm probably never going to see my fiftieth birthday and maybe I won't make my fortieth? About how we're never going to have children, not unless we want them to have AIDS too and die before they're four, about how I thought I had the best part of my life ahead of me and now it turns out I have nothing! Is that what you want to talk about?" She was screaming. He was crying. They both listened to the echo of her last few words. Rattling against the pull-chains on the fan.
That was the end of the conversation. There were no more words left.
Eventually Daphne, who had sunk into an antique rocking chair, drained by her tirade, stood up again. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then shook her head and left the room. He sat there, still crying silently, staring at his reflection in the glass top of the coffee table. She poked her head back in briefly.
"How is Mel?"
He swiveled his head towards her. "What?"
"How is she."
He was too exhausted to lie to her. "After she called me to tell me about the blood test she took an overdose of Valium."
She was watching him carefully, seemingly unsurprised by the information. "Is she going to be all right?"
"I think so. The paramedics should have gotten there in time. And there's been nothing in the obituaries."
"So where is she now?"
"Probably the psych ward at the hospital, that would be standard procedure for a suicide attempt."
"Mel. In a mental hospital?"
"I suspect so." He closed his eyes again. There was a brief moment of accusing silence.
"Have you visited her?" Daphne asked eventually.
"No. Why?"
More silence. "No reason," she said eventually. There was a pause, in which he thought she'd left, till she spoke again. "You know - you can be quite a weak son of a bitch, Niles."
He struggled to say "I know." The words didn't quite make it. He nodded a little.
"Goodbye," she said, and that time she left. He waited a second.
"I can't believe you're thinking about her at a time like this," he called after her finally, unable to bear the weight of that final reprimand. How could anyone think about anybody else when they'd just been diagnosed with AIDS? How could she possibly fault him for neglecting Mel at a time like this?
"Well, I guess that puts me one up on you, then, doesn't it?" she called back, and he could hear her getting her coat and purse.
"Where are you going?"
"Out."
"I think you should stay here now, Daphne. You haven't processed -"
"I will process -" spitting out the word - "much better away from here. Away from you."
"But you'll need to talk -"
"Maybe I'll go and visit Mel. She and I should have a lot to talk about." And slam went the door.
For a second he resumed staring sightlessly at the glass surface of the coffee table. Then his focus shifted, and he became aware of the image of his face, staring out at him from the glass. He watched as one tear, nearly invisible in the reflection, made its crooked path down his cheek. Looking at himself. The light from the overhead lamp seemed to change, growing murkier, dimmer, and yet somehow his face stood out in clearer resolution. He studied himself for an infinite moment.
He broke just as a second tear was dropping off his chin. With one incoherent cry, he leapt forward and smashed the glass. His reflection shivered into oblivion as the pieces flew every which way. A largish piece speared his big toe, sending up a brief fountain of blood. Health hazard, that blood was now.
Ignoring it, he stretched out full-length on the couch, burying his face in the pillow, his tears beating hard and fast into the material, spurting like the blood with each of his heartbeats. He lay there and cried and prayed that when the time came for him to rise, the world would have vanished.
But he wasn't fine, that much was perfectly clear to her, and it troubled her even more that he wouldn't talk to her about it. He'd always shared everything with her - well, perhaps not everything, that would have been impossible, but everything significant. And there were times when it had been hard for him. There had been that conversation that had been a turning point for both of them, when he told her he wasn't good enough for a goddess like her and she told him in no uncertain terms that she was no goddess and that it scared her that he thought about her that way. The conversation - this one took place in merciful darkness - when he fretted, out loud for the first time, that he was an inadequate lover and he'd never be able to satisfy her. The joint conversations, in those first few awful- transcendent days after they'd first gotten together, when they worried together about what they'd done to Donny and Mel - the conversations where they'd each worried the other was considering going back to the jilted spouse. And other things. That young patient of his who'd committed suicide a few months back, Niles had been broken up about that, and Daphne had been the only person he'd talk to about it. And then there were the trivial worries that were elevated to grand catastrophes in Niles' mind. Losing the wine club presidency to Frasier, again. Losing that Turkish prayer rug (he'd been yearning for another one ever since Roz ruined the first one he'd bought) at auction. All the tragedies, great and small, of his life. And he'd never hidden anything from Daphne. Until now.
After a few tentative attempts to get him to open up, all of which were rebuffed shortly, Daphne gave up and concluded that he'd probably tell her what was wrong, in time, and that there was no sense worrying. When the time was right, he'd open up.
She was right. And by then, the tardiness of the revelation was the last thing she had to worry about.
She watched him, puzzled and then troubled, as his lips stumbled and stuttered over the words he was having such trouble finding. A blood test, she understood that, but why was he having it done? What -
He said the word AIDS and it all began to make sense. Barely. If she let it.
"AIDS," she repeated, looking at him quizzically. He couldn't look at her by then. She didn't quite understand why.
"I don't understand, Niles. Is this for a patient of yours? Why are you so upset?"
"No!" he cried, much too loudly, standing up and immediately sitting back down. She'd never seen him so agitated. "Daphne, I -" Good God, he was nearly crying. She stood up instinctively, to cross the room and take him in her arms, but he waved her back down. "I'm trying to tell you, Daphne - this - this isn't about anyone else. This is about me." A long, tortuous beat. "And you."
"You," she said slowly. "And me?"
"Yes." There was nothing left in his face of panic - nothing but pure, stark horror. "I have AIDS, Daphne. I have HIV."
Silence.
"And you." He got that far before he had to bury his face in his hands, shaking. "You." he tried again. Couldn't manage it.
"I have it too," she finished simply. Both of them were grateful for the initial shock. Both knew he could never have gotten the words out.
"I don't know," he said, and now the tears were coming in a flood. "It isn't certain. it's possible that. but you'll have to be tested and oh my God Daphne *I am so sorry!*" He was sobbing outright by now. She crossed the room, stroked his shoulder gently but absentmindedly, and waited for it to sink in. There was a long pause, punctuated only by Niles' brief, tortured sobs.
"But. I don't." she said finally, struggling to find words to stem the tide of terror that threatened to engulf her. AIDS, she thought, and shivered so convulsively that it rocked Niles. "I don't understand," she said, clearing her throat finally. "How would you know this?"
"I told you. I had a blood test done."
"I know, but oh, my God, Niles, are you already - feeling sick?!"
"No, no," he said, wiping at his eyes. "I - er. Someone - told me."
"Who could possibly have told you?!"
"It was - ahem," he said, as if clearing his throat would make things any easier. "It was Mel," he managed finally.
"*Mel?!*"
"Um. Yes."
"But how would Mel - oh, my God." she said finally, falling back against the couch. "You mean she - you mean you -"
"She is - infected as well."
"No. No! It wasn't enough for her to make your life a living hell for months on end, she had to -" Daphne began, voice rising in defensive outrage.
"No! Daphne, no," Niles said, raising a hand to stop her. "It wasn't - I -"
"What?" He heard the anger in her voice and forced the words out.
"I gave it to her, Daphne. I had - I - I gave it to her," he said again, and closed his eyes. More silence.
"Let me get this straight," she said eventually, and Niles opened his eyes, unable to read her tone. "You have had HIV since before you began dating Mel; you infected her with it." He nodded, noticing that she didn't include herself in that category, not yet. He was unspeakably grateful for that. "So, Niles, who else have you -" They both heard the fury bubbling up in her voice; he closed his eyes again, with the complete apathy of a man who is living his oft-anticipated worst nightmare and finding it exactly as he expected, as she fought to quell the anger. "Anyone else?" she said finally.
"No. No one else."
"You're sure."
"Yes."
"Just Mel?"
And you. "Just Mel."
"How is she?" Daphne asked, after a pause.
He opened his eyes in surprise. "What?"
"Mel. The woman you - Mel. Your ex-wife. How is she?"
"I - Daphne, I don't think we should be talking about this right now."
"Why not? I'm concerned about her."
"Why?"
"You just said she has AIDS, Niles! She may be a pain but she didn't deserve that!"
"All right, all right. I don't know how she is."
"How was she when you talked to her?"
"Er. Not so good."
"What do you mean, not so good?"
"Daphne, this doesn't matter right now! I've just told you -"
"I know what you told me and it does matter! She was your wife!"
"I just think we should be talking about -"
"About what, Niles?" Her voice was rising, her breathing speeding up, and he realized with a sickening sensation that he should have answered any questions she had about Mel or anything else, if it would have postponed this confrontation. "About what you just told me? About how you have AIDS and now I have it too? About how you've killed me, Niles, that's what that is, how you've killed me in slow motion? About how I'm probably never going to see my fiftieth birthday and maybe I won't make my fortieth? About how we're never going to have children, not unless we want them to have AIDS too and die before they're four, about how I thought I had the best part of my life ahead of me and now it turns out I have nothing! Is that what you want to talk about?" She was screaming. He was crying. They both listened to the echo of her last few words. Rattling against the pull-chains on the fan.
That was the end of the conversation. There were no more words left.
Eventually Daphne, who had sunk into an antique rocking chair, drained by her tirade, stood up again. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then shook her head and left the room. He sat there, still crying silently, staring at his reflection in the glass top of the coffee table. She poked her head back in briefly.
"How is Mel?"
He swiveled his head towards her. "What?"
"How is she."
He was too exhausted to lie to her. "After she called me to tell me about the blood test she took an overdose of Valium."
She was watching him carefully, seemingly unsurprised by the information. "Is she going to be all right?"
"I think so. The paramedics should have gotten there in time. And there's been nothing in the obituaries."
"So where is she now?"
"Probably the psych ward at the hospital, that would be standard procedure for a suicide attempt."
"Mel. In a mental hospital?"
"I suspect so." He closed his eyes again. There was a brief moment of accusing silence.
"Have you visited her?" Daphne asked eventually.
"No. Why?"
More silence. "No reason," she said eventually. There was a pause, in which he thought she'd left, till she spoke again. "You know - you can be quite a weak son of a bitch, Niles."
He struggled to say "I know." The words didn't quite make it. He nodded a little.
"Goodbye," she said, and that time she left. He waited a second.
"I can't believe you're thinking about her at a time like this," he called after her finally, unable to bear the weight of that final reprimand. How could anyone think about anybody else when they'd just been diagnosed with AIDS? How could she possibly fault him for neglecting Mel at a time like this?
"Well, I guess that puts me one up on you, then, doesn't it?" she called back, and he could hear her getting her coat and purse.
"Where are you going?"
"Out."
"I think you should stay here now, Daphne. You haven't processed -"
"I will process -" spitting out the word - "much better away from here. Away from you."
"But you'll need to talk -"
"Maybe I'll go and visit Mel. She and I should have a lot to talk about." And slam went the door.
For a second he resumed staring sightlessly at the glass surface of the coffee table. Then his focus shifted, and he became aware of the image of his face, staring out at him from the glass. He watched as one tear, nearly invisible in the reflection, made its crooked path down his cheek. Looking at himself. The light from the overhead lamp seemed to change, growing murkier, dimmer, and yet somehow his face stood out in clearer resolution. He studied himself for an infinite moment.
He broke just as a second tear was dropping off his chin. With one incoherent cry, he leapt forward and smashed the glass. His reflection shivered into oblivion as the pieces flew every which way. A largish piece speared his big toe, sending up a brief fountain of blood. Health hazard, that blood was now.
Ignoring it, he stretched out full-length on the couch, burying his face in the pillow, his tears beating hard and fast into the material, spurting like the blood with each of his heartbeats. He lay there and cried and prayed that when the time came for him to rise, the world would have vanished.