Away From It All (part 3)
By Amy (amydekanter@yahoo.com)
Niles was worried about Daphne. Someone else - someone who was not a seasoned Daphne-observer - may not have noticed that she turned her face away a lot, trying to make the action seem casual. She also hid behind her hair and kept her eyes down until the slight red-rimmed swelling subsided. She had been crying again.
It pained him that she was suffering but he did not intrude again. She was making such an effort to hide it from him, especially since she had emerged from her room after packing. Silent earlier, she now made a visible effort to be sociable, helping with dinner, bombarding him with questions, barely allowing him to answer one before asking another. It was a classic tactic often tried by his patients when they wanted to draw focus away from themselves, skirting topics that were the very reason they had come to see him in the first place.
While it was his job as a psychiatrist to prod at his patients' walls, Daphne was not a patient and he felt it prudent to respect her boundaries. For the time being, at least.
He answered her questions; all of them safe, most of them revolving around the cabin, the lake, the general geography and history of the land. By the time dinner was over she knew as much as he did about Shady Glen and Niles wondered how they would fill the rest of the weekend.
Daphne, it turned out, was way ahead of him. After they washed up, she asked to look at his books. Niles settled on the couch with his own weekend read and studiously turned pages as he watched her.
While normally he preferred that people not touch his treasured possessions - it gave his cleaners far too much work to do later - he loved to think of the intimacy of Daphne's fingerprints on anything that belonged to him.
Sadly, it was not to be. Daphne walked about like a well-behaved child, seen but not heard, hands clasped before her, playing uneasily with her fingers as she had since they had met at the apartment earlier. Her mind seemed somewhere far away and yet not for she kept looking at him; sometimes a glance, sometimes for several seconds, not really acknowledging him but frowning as if trying to determine something.
In his profession he was used to seeing people fret about his office while they came up with the courage to say what was on their minds. Perhaps she was trying to decide whether to trust him with whatever secret she carried.
What could possibly be affecting her so much? Donny was the most reasonable explanation, for people are affected most by what and whom they most love.
Which, incidentally, explained why he could not concentrate on his reading. Niles flipped another unread page. He still could not believe they were here. Together. Alone.
Perhaps he never would fully believe it and it was perhaps better that he did not. As long as this remained a dream, Mel had no chance of becoming less than the reality she was and would be for the rest of their lives.
So far nothing in his small library seemed to have caught Daphne's interest. Niles felt bad that he had never taken the time to invest in the kind of books he knew she liked. Once, when he had imagined he would bring Daphne here, he had stocked up on her non-perishables and bought CDs of romantic music she liked, but no books. Not that in his fantasies they spent much time reading, but all the same.
It would have been so easy to do this small thing for her, considering that he no longer had to worry anyone would see him browsing through self-help sections. One could now order online the babblings of self-proclaimed gurus of happiness and have the books sent in plain, brown wrappings as shameful material had been home delivered for generations.
Niles tried not to feel defensive as Daphne sighed over his collection of works by Middle-Eastern Poets. He had to concede that at least her self- help books were preferable to other reading material he had found strewn around his brother's house. The ones with bare-chested men and nearly-bare- chested women on the cover, reclining at impossible angles and panting at each other, eyes half closed and unfocused in a manner typical of drug addicts.
Why in the name of god Daphne read those things was entirely beyond him. For one thing he had had yet to see a cover in which the heroine's beauty could even begin to measure up to Daphne's. For another, the heroes' thick arms and barrel chests spoke of a stage on the evolutionary ladder where opposable thumbs had just recently come into fashion.
Maris used to read those romances as well and, in an effort to delve into the baffling psyches of two women he desperately wanted to understand, Niles had once taken it upon himself to try and read a few of them. He had emerged from the experiment more confused and depressed than before. Never mind that the books were victims of inexcusably flawed writing, research and logic, they also revealed an appalling shortage of male protagonists who were venerated members of the psychiatric profession. Oh, no. Preference was given instead to pirates or gypsies or soldiers of fortune, men who could not tell a fine wine from bathtub gin. Nary a Yale graduate among them.
Indeed, if any male character showed the slightest bit of sensitivity towards the arts or good life, it was the man abandoned in favour of some grunting Neanderthal who had not even mastered the concept of buttons and therefore had to keep ripping off his ill-gotten girlfriend's clothing. The only bright side to Niles' reading experiment was that they encouraged him to start looking at Daphne's blouses in a brand new way, taking appreciative note of any that were potentially - and deliciously - rippable.
Niles gave himself a mental wake-up punch. See? This kind of train of thought was the very reason he should not be anywhere in the vicinity of Daphne. Not without Mel's firm grip on his leash.
True, tonight Daphne was wearing a safe green and yellow sweater of forbiddingly sturdy knit but still, this sort of thinking was bad. Very bad.
"Oh, what's this?" Daphne spotted something on the top shelf. As she reached for it, her sweater raised enough to treat Niles to a sliver of smooth bare flesh along her waist. Around Daphne, nothing felt better than bad.
Daphne stood on her tiptoes, stretching further thus defining the lines of her calves, her thighs, her. Niles took a quick swig of his wine. It was the same effect she had had on him for years, married man or not. How did she do it?
"It's a puzzle," Daphne said.
"Not really," he said, leaping to her defense. "Not considering you are so . oh, you mean. yes." She was holding a jigsaw puzzle. Perhaps he had had enough wine for the evening.
"'His Last Term as Governor: A Crime Scene Mystery'." Daphne sat down next to him.
"You get clues from the puzzle to solve the mystery," Niles explained. "I bought it for Dad last year to give him something to do while he was here if it got too cold for the outdoors."
"Too cold?" Daphne snorted. "That old git will complain about his daily walk around the block if there is a single drop of rain but he'll sit on an ice-cube for eight hours as long as you put a fishing rod in his hands." Niles hid a smile. Daphne rarely spoke of his father without injecting some long-suffering comment about how difficult he was, but every Crane man knew she loved 'that old git' as much as any daughter ever loved her own father.
"Super-sleuth," Daphne read.
"I wanted to challenge him." Niles said.
"You wanted him to sit down and shut up," Daphne grinned. "What do you have for your brother?"
"'Orson Welles: the Road to Xanadu' by Simon Callow. Brilliant. Witty. Long. Very, very, very long."
Daphne laughed and went back to examining the box.
"The puzzle is only eight hundred pieces." She sounded disappointed.
" I didn't want him to stay forever." Niles cursed his shortsightedness.
"Well, it still looks like fun. Shall we?" she asked, pouring the box contents over the coffee table.
No, said Niles' Superego, but of course his Id was already happily turning over puzzle pieces.
And why not? Daphne might have inadvertently found a solution to satisfy everyone: The puzzle would allow them to be in the same room while creating an innocuous diversion, hopefully one that would take Daphne's mind off her troubles and Niles' mind off Daphne. At the same time, Niles could be in luscious proximity to his forbidden fruit, in a perfectly innocent setting, not forced to talk but able to if the need arose. Furthermore, as a former author of the highly acclaimed (both he and Frasier agreed they were exceptional) Crane Boy Mysteries, Niles knew a completed 800-piece puzzle would prove a satisfactory alibi for either of them if they were questioned by Mel, Donny or - more likely - by his brother.
He picked up the puzzle's accompanying booklet. "'His Last Term as Governor'." he read. "'It was an early autumn morning at the Governor's mansion.'."
As he read, he felt Daphne's explicit attention upon him once again. She stopped turning over puzzle pieces and lay back on the couch, listening and observing. Niles tried to concentrate on reading the mystery, rather than on her elongated body, sensuous even in that bulky green and yellow sweater. It took him several moments to realise he had finished the introduction but was still holding the booklet in front of his face. He had no recollection of what he had just read.
"I love it when you read to me."
No, Niles thought. No, you cannot say things like that to me. First of all, because it makes me doubt my hearing, second because it makes me doubt my sanity. Third, because I have tried so hard to believe I could never make you happy. It was the only way I was finally able to let you go.
"Dr. Crane?" Now one hand was on his shoulder, the other on his knee. She was touching him. Another thing she was absolutely not allowed to do. "Dr. Crane!"
You are not permitted to use the words "I," "love" and "you" so close together in one sentence. You are not allowed to take me back to those six tortured years of saying innocent things to me into which I read the meaning I longed for or of your taking my passionate words and actions and filtering them of any non-platonic elements.
The third time she said his name he could barely hear her over the sound of his. oh. Niles panicked ever further as blood thundered through his veins, trying to cope with the over-supply of oxygen.
Daphne was gone, then she was back again, holding a paper bag to his mouth. He had not used a paper bag in years, but it still worked its magic, even with Daphne there, closer than before, leaning into him, stroking his chest with slow, regular strokes, coaxing his breaths and heartbeat to follow its rhythm.
"Feeling better?" Although her eyes were wide and perhaps even a little frightened, her voice was the calm, in-control voice of a health-care provider. Tipsy on carbon dioxide, Niles spent a couple of seconds contemplating how sexy that was.
"Perhaps I'd better get you into bed," Daphne said. Had she not heard a word he was thinking? Niles inflated and deflated the bag a few more times.
"I'm fine," he wheezed. He dared her to argue with him on the point of his fine-ness when she had been laying false claim to the very same thing since this morning.
"That was the second time today," Daphne reminded him.
She was right; he had had two anxiety attacks today, both brought on by nothing he could escape because he had invited it up to spend the weekend with him. Her hand left a glowing trail as it moved, like the tail of a comet.
If only Mel were here. If only it were Mel instead of Daphne, here next to him, leaning in close, still gently and soothingly massaging his chest.
If only he could make such a wish and mean it.
With superhuman strength, Niles sat upright, and Daphne's hand was shrugged off to the safer region of his shoulder and arm. The action drew bitter resentment from his body but at least eased his conscience.
"Why don't you like Mel?" he asked, the question coming from nowhere. Nobody in his family liked Mel but they had all tried to keep their opinions hidden. Unsuccessfully, it turned out. Only Daphne had been honest enough, or inebriated enough, to come right out and say it. It was strange, Niles remembered, how Daphne had been so resolute and passionate about her opinion that Mel was all wrong for him.
"I." Daphne moved away from him looking both guilty and uncomfortable but, perhaps in the interest of his health, was inclined to make amends.
"Tell me about her," she urged. "Perhaps I just don't know her well enough."
Great. So the ball was back in his court. Again, not a bad thing. It would not hurt to remember what it was about Mel that had made him decide to marry her. Still, what did one say about Mel?
"Well, she, er.is very motivated. She gets things done. She knows what she wants out of life. um. she." Niles knew he was frowning with effort, as well as quoting directly from a framed article Mel kept on her office wall. In his defense, it had always been hard to concentrate when Daphne turned the full force of her gaze onto him.
"She is meticulous, exact.successful.very witty," he brightened at finding an adjective that actually sounded like a compliment. His mind was finally back in working order. "Why, just the other day she said something that was so remarkably clever." what was it? Niles tried to remember. It was so clever that he had actually told himself how lucky he was to have such a. clever companion. What was it?
Daphne waited patiently. Why could he not remember? It was just the other day. at Frasier's. The day Daphne had first worn that stunning ivory sweater and teardrop earrings that accentuated her lovely neck. Mel was wearing something very nice that day too, he could not recall what, exactly, but it was that effect of taste combined with money that ennobled anyone seen in her company.
What was it Mel had said? She had said it right after Daphne had told that delightful story about her second cousin Polly and Polly's new boyfriend, Charles, who had just got a new job in cattle husbandry. The clever thing Mel had said was unrelated -- and quite a while after that -- but definitely before Daphne had gone to stand out on the balcony, her hair blowing softly away from her face in a motion so exquisite it looked choreographed. "I forget," Niles admitted. "But she says things like that all the time."
"As you know, she's very attractive," Niles ploughed on, knowing he had not yet done Mel justice. He could not let Daphne think that was all there was to her. "She's brilliant, of course. This seminar she's on, it's actually only for three days, but she's staying on to do some work on local money who want things done by a guest VIP plastic surgeon."
"She's very good, isn't she?" Daphne said, helping him out.
"Yes, one of the nation's best," Niles did not have to fake the pride in his voice. "Maris sang praises to her all the time, and Maris was not the easiest person to please." Who knew that better than he did? And now brilliant, witty, elegant Mel was his for life.
He resumed the task of turning over jigsaw puzzle pieces. Actually, when he thought about it, he had been quite lucky with women. Luckier than Frasier, at any rate. First a million-heiress, then one of society's most in-demand plastic surgeons, both willing to marry down, both willing, or let's say insistent, on kneading him into their upper crust world.
"Mel makes me feel I can achieve great things, that I can be someone in the world I've admired since I was a child. That I can have everything I ever wanted." Everything he had thought he wanted. "She's perfect."
Made-to-order perfect. Just as Maris had been. Before he had realised that his list of perfect qualities should include someone whose scent made him feel alive, whose laughter bathed the world in starlight and whose smile bewitched his very soul. Perfection, he had learned, did not come in a flawless package of exquisitely refined taste. It occasionally came disguised in mall-bought clothes, teasing and laughing with Dad over a bucket of Farmer Jack's Chicken Chicken Chicken.
"Does she make you happy?" Daphne echoed a question Frasier had asked him years ago, when Niles had absolutely not been happy. Ironically, the question that had followed then had been "Are you in love with Daphne?"
The questions had been terrible both because of their answers and because of his inability, or unwillingness to do anything about them.
Yet now, if he were to cut out this particular slice of time, separate from all else, this moment, sitting here so close to Daphne who still had not removed her hand from his arm, then not only could he answer:
"Yes, I'm happy. As happy as I've ever been in my life," he could also say, with total honesty, although the question had been asked six years ago: "I am in love."
Despite his eternal sadness at not being able to have Daphne, Niles smiled at her. He had no idea how he had come to adore this divine creature so much but, even under these fragile and temporary circumstances, acknowledging it still felt better than denying it.
Daphne finally removed her hand, straightening up as she spoke.
"I hope your happiness will last forever," she said, so intensely it seemed to be causing her pain. Niles loved her all the more. It would not last forever. It might not even last as long as tomorrow, but it was present now. She need not know who it was who had introduced him to pure joy in mere existence; he just wanted her to be happy for him. He just wanted her to be happy.
A single puzzle piece remained unturned. Niles reached for it at the same time Daphne did.
Their fingers touched. There was no static electricity, yet.
"Did you feel that?" Daphne asked. Niles nodded.
"We made a spark." More than a spark. Her live wire touch had triggered a surge of light throughout his entire being.
"We made a spark," Daphne whispered. Their fingers were still on the puzzle piece. Still touching. Touching more, in fact, and more until the touching became holding.
Slowly they looked up at each other.
Oh my god, he was going to kiss her. He knew it. The world and everyone in it be damned, he was going to kiss Daphne. From the look in her wide eyes, he would have guessed she knew it too except for one thing: She did not move away.
And even as the alarms in his head were silenced either by his determination or by the two billion volts that had just passed through them, a shrill sound broke the silence in which only he and Daphne existed.
It was déjà vu all over again.
Daphne had pulled away and was on her feet. "Time for my pills," she said, backing away towards the stairs. "Excuse me, Dr. Crane."
All over again.
He took a couple of steps after her as she fled, then stopped. Why even bother? Over the years he had gambled his heart to shreds, losing every single time.
He had lost even when the odds where in his favour, as now they most certainly were not. Daphne was happy. Donny was happy. Mel was happy. Niles. had Mel. Daphne and Donny had sealed their futures together as much as he and Mel had. It's over, he told himself. It was worse than pathetic that he still had to remind himself of that now.
Niles was tired of the cosmos having a joke at his expense. When Daphne came out of her room they would proceed with the puzzle. He would concentrate fully on the task at hand and get the blasted mystery solved. In fact, he should take advantage of this moment to - silently - re-read the leaflet and find out exactly who it was who had gotten himself murdered, under which circumstances, who the suspects were, etc.
Niles felt better as he picked up the leaflet, a man with a harmless, uncomplicated agenda. This super-sleuth puzzle would keep his mind occupied for the rest of the weekend, not allowing it to waver even for a second in Daphne's direction. 'His Last Term as Governor: A Crime Scene Mystery,' he read. 'It was an early autumn morning at the .'
Daphne would need water for her pills. Niles dropped the leaflet and hurried to the kitchen to get her a glass. He took it upstairs and was about to knock on her door when he heard a sound that froze him. It was the sound of muffled sobs.
Niles' own eyes burned with tears. Her pain on top of his crumbled through the last dam of his defenses and in a minute he would be crying like a baby. He opened the hand that was still poised to knock and touched the door gently with his fingertips. Tell me, for god's sake, he pleaded desperately. Tell me what's wrong. Please, talk to me.
Obviously his beautiful psychic's mind had no room for him. The crying continued painfully sad and lonely and the door remained closed to someone who had spent all evening thinking only of himself.
The hardest things Niles had ever had to do in his life all seemed to involve around Daphne, and this was no exception. Kissing his fingers and touching the door once more, he moved away and back down the hall, still carrying the glass of water and with fresh wounds to a heart that never learned.