Title: The Analytical Skills of a Psychiatrist
Author: unwinding fantasy (formerly Aqua Phoenix1)
Disclaimer: Frasier isn't mine. But I can dream.
Rating: K+ (rated for implied sexual situations.)
Author's Note: This sometime throughout the Sherry saga. A certain date is also probably wrong but I just used it because it fitted well. Apart from that please drop me a review: concrit, random words, good old fashioned encouragement, I'll eat it all up. Flames however will be used to toast my marshmellows.
He couldn't believe neither of them had shown up for the opera. Though Daphne wasn't exactly the fine wines and flowery speech kind of person she would never turn down a direct invitation from her boss, especially considering the special occasion that it was and his brother would've been there anyway (neither blistering heat nor winds cold enough to create icicles on one's nose was enough to deter Niles from his Friday night routine.)
Though after suffering through three hours of listening to what sounded like many dying cats screeching, perhaps this was all for the best.
Then again, leaving Niles alone with beautiful things was not the best idea in the world -- Frasier would always end up paying, money wise or other. He shuddered to think what might be taking place if his brother had received that spine transplant and was confessing his feelings, in a torrent of profusely rehearsed words gone wrong no doubt.
And it was never a good idea to leave Daphne alone with breakables.
Frasier allowed a sigh, a futile attempt to quell his nerves and reaffirmed his grip on the steering wheel. Five or six cars up, the clown-nose red traffic light barring his way gleamed mockingly at him. Damn Seattle and its under-funded roads!
It mightn't be as bad as he thought. Daphne could've just forgotten. Niles might've got stuck in the desensitisation tank. Again. Yes, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for both their absences. Why, it was flu season, after all. They may have came down with a bad case of bronchitis, the kind that strikes when you least expect it and forces you to spend the remainder of the day lying in bed while heavy metal bands belt out their favourite tunes in your head. Frasier had had a few of those, experiences only rendered worse when the straws of his drink weren't bendy enough. Little things irritate you when you're sick.
Who was he kidding? It was impossible that they had both caught a cold during the few minutes he had left them at his apartment. Daphne hadn't gotten back from the shops yet; Niles had volunteered to wait for her whilst Frasier went on ahead. As their father was out gallivanting with that overbearing Sherry of his -- that was another story altogether -- Frasier's housekeeper and little brother were, in effect, left to their own (alarming) devices. Seattle's most highly acclaimed psychiatrist couldn't help but feel Niles had somehow outfoxed him. He sighed and leant his head against one hand as the fingers of the other began drumming out a rhythm only he could hear.
Ah, green. And about time too! He watched eagerly as the vehicles in front of him began crawling into motion, silently willing them to move faster. Did he have reason to be concerned or was he just paranoid? Frasier wondered which was worse.
When his phone rang he nearly careened off the road. Mentally muttering a string of colourful curses, the psychiatrist fumbled around his shirt pocket with his free hand and upon finding nothing, cast fleeting glances around the car's interior. Where was that infernal noise coming from? Someone behind him started honking. Frasier growled to himself -- some people had no patience -- and reluctantly pulled over. A red dodge viper roared past, the passenger leering out the window, thrusting his middle finger up as he hooted vulgar words. Deciding it mightn't be best to tango with a tattooed maniac with green hair, Frasier contented himself with displaying an outraged expression before returning to his hunt. The ringing was coming from the back. Unclipping his seatbelt, Frasier leaned over and, after much messing up of the contents of his suitcase, discovered the phone buried under his jacket.
He flipped it open. "Hello? This is Dr Frasier Crane."
Frasier's eyebrows shifted into a formidable V shape as he glared at the object, which was cheekily bleeping "engaged" and chucked it away, not caring where it ended up. Throwing his hands up in defeat, he fell back in his chair and let the softness calm him. This evening had been a disaster at best, right from the moment he'd discovered Eddie had gotten hold of his new Italian leather shoes. Then that valet with his clashing suit and tie (he shuddered at the memory) whom he was certain had been smoking in his car. On a positive note, if he ever became blind he could always smell his way back.
After a few minutes worth of controlled breathing exercises Frasier felt ready to tackle the task at hand and restarted his journey home. Thankfully he wasn't the subject of any more embarrassing, mentally disturbing or physically hurtful events. In fact when Frasier arrived safely outside the door of his apartment he could've kissed it right then and there. Instead he contented himself with fishing in his pocket for the keys, but was brought to an abrupt halt when his ears were met with a soft moan.
Had Frasier been a dog, his ears would've been pricking up. Did he just hear what he thought he'd heard, or was his overactive imagination taking hold? Blue eyes searched the corridor, trying to determine where the sound had come from.
There it was again! And this time Frasier was not only certain it had originated from his apartment, he was also pretty sure he'd heard the word "almonds". Of course, his mind was instantly entertaining the worst and considering the circumstances he could hardly be blamed. Keys went crashing to the floor, making him wince. He quickly dived on them, desperately hoping he hadn't given himself away and at the same time grateful he had neglected to bring his noisier briefcase. Whilst he scrabbled to reclaim to boisterous little things, a distinct English accent met his ears. However, it wasn't Daphne's accent that horrified him, it was what she was saying: "Oh, Dr Crane, that was wonderful!"
"You think so? I never dared to imagine I'd be able to please you so with such as simple gesture," Niles' voice was caught halfway between bewilderment and elation. He exhaled audibly, eliciting a giggle from his companion.
"Always so modest! I'd never stop bragging if I had half the talents you do." Frasier felt his eyes boggle, fully aware that he shouldn't be eavesdropping but still maintaining his stubborn position of whatever they were doing, they most certainly shouldn't be doing it in his apartment. He couldn't help but press his ear closer to the door just in case he really had been misinterpreting the exchange.
Then Daphne added, "I liked watching you work. Your hands seem to have a life of their own. Made me quite embarrassed, you know." She seemed to talk with deliberate slowness, enough to cause heat to rise in Frasier's cheeks.
"Pianist," Niles said simply.
Another giggle from Daphne. "But look! We've made a mess of your shirt."
The younger Crane sighed languidly, "It was bound to happen."
The soft squelch of leather seemed to resonate throughout the confined area as one of them (or both of them! Frasier reminded himself) fidgeted on the sofa. The silence stretched on; Frasier was certain they'd be able to hear his thundering heart or that his stomach had twisted itself into a pretzel and he'd have to be carted off to intensive care. Inside, metal clinked together. He wondered what the hell was going on.
When Niles asked, "More?" Frasier had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop from crying out. The Englishwoman must have graced him with a negative answer, for his next sentence was, "I have something to show you."
"Mmm? And what kind of something would that be?" Frasier wondered if he imagined the slight teasing note in her voice.
"Well... I'm not sure if it's appropriate. I'm afraid after my years under Maris I... may have... forgotten..."
"Come now, don't be shy. Daphne'll make it all better."
What followed was some suspicious rustlings as garments were discarded followed by a miffed grunt from Niles. A moment later, there was a small gasp and more squelching as what Frasier imagined to be Daphne collapsed back onto the couch. "Dr Crane...! It's so..."
"Beautiful?" Niles offered.
"...and big...!"
Frasier nearly keeled over at the implications of the conversation.
His brother rushed an apology, "I'm sorry. I should have known it would be far too overbearing for someone as delicate as you."
"No, no, I love it. Would you mind terribly if I touched it?"
"Be my guest."
That was it. Assuring himself that no scenario could possibly surprise him now, Frasier hastily jammed the key inside the catch, unlocked the door and flung it open with a little more force than necessary. "Stop!"he bellowed as he dashed inside...
...only to be greeted by the most innocent of scenes.
Niles was sitting on the sofa, holding a shiny object in the palm of his outstretched hand, glaring at Frasier's reflection in the mirror in that now-you've-done-it manner of his. Daphne was beside him, her face displaying an expression of pure shock as she stared wide eyed at the unexpected interruption. On the coffee table in front of them sat two plates, coloured by the remnants of some foodstuff.
Frasier was reminded of a not too dissimilar event of the past. He ran a hand over his face and coughed. "Hello Niles, Daphne," he managed to choke out.
Now Niles turned to face him. "I'm sorry, isn't this the part where you read me my rights?" he said in a tone drier than the Sahara.
"I'm-I... Why are you here?" Frasier stumbled for the right words, eventually settling on a query. The dark-headed woman began stacking the plates and hurried off to the kitchen. A moment later the taps came roaring to life and the smell of dishwashing liquid filled the air.
"While Daphne was out doing your groceries, she ran into an old friend who kept her talking while I was waiting here for at least half an hour -- not that I mind! When she returned, she hurried off to ready herself for the opera -- that took another fifteen minutes and forty-eight seconds...When we were finally ready to leave, my Mercedes decided to play dead. That's when we decided it just wasn't meant to be."
"Which was fine by you, of course," Frasier fought to keep the irritation from his voice, but Niles didn't bat an eyelid. "Of course, if that's what Daphne wanted," was his predictable answer.
"And?"
"We thought we'd surprise you all and bake a fancy gateau of our own. I tried to deter her, being her birthday and all, but she'd have none of it." Now Frasier noticed the chocolate stain on Niles' shirt and mixed in there somewhere with the detergent was the enticing aroma of freshly made cake; now he understood the almonds. Feeling sillier by the second, the elder Crane plopped himself on the sofa beside his brother, who continued his explanation.
"And as it seemed you weren't getting home any time soon we started without you: I took it upon myself to grace Daphne with the first present of the night." Niles flourished the object in his hand, a large pendent engraved with Daphne's name. Frasier barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Then he ventured a question, "Did you hear anything unusual? Any... guttural sounds?"
Niles furrowed his eyebrows as if trying to recall something. "Only the two of us trying to talk with our mouths full. Don't give me that look, it was only a bit of fun."
Well, that was that then! Content that he had negated any potentially immoral ideas brought on by the pair's conversation, Frasier let his body relax. Well, that had been a trying night if he'd ever had one!
"Sherry."
"No thank you, Niles. I've had my share of alcohol for the evening."
"No, Sherry. Can't you hear?"
Ear splitting laughter came from somewhere outside.
Daphne's head poked out from the kitchen, "Sherry, you say?"
Frasier looked at Niles. Niles looked at Daphne. Daphne looked back at Frasier.
Wordlessly, the trio grabbed their coats and hurried outside. Some things just went without saying.