Drama From Square One by Marita Linde
Chapter One
Author's notes: Hi guys! I started this story after I bought season eleven on Frasier on DVD and became obsessed with Frasier and Charlotte's relationship. I wanted to write something about what happened after the finale, and so here I am. I hope to continue it and even plan to, but we'll see what happens.
Charlotte didn't think she'd ever wanted to get on a plane less. She was in line to get on; the people in front of her were handing their tickets over to the concierge. He was greeting them, letting them through. The line kept getting smaller. Less and less people separated her from that door. Suddenly it was her turn, and with quite a lot of reluctance she handed her boarding pass to him and watched him punch it and hand it back to her.
"You're good to go," he said with a smile when he saw how she hadn't moved.
She gave him a weak smile and slowly trudged through the narrow hall, arriving finally at the plane and beginning to sob. Still she didn't turn back. She knew she'd never forgive herself if she didn't take the job in Chicago and Frasier would feel terrible. Still, the thought that she would most likely never see him again made her want to turn around and run all the way back.
Stepping off the plane almost a day later to greet the brisk Chicago air, she felt slightly better. She was here in the city she knew; everything was familiar. But the warmth and comfort of her home town couldn't dispel the chill inside of her that rose with every step - it wasn't going to be as easy as she thought to get over him. What had started out as a fun fling had ended up something much deeper. Still, as much as she wanted to kick herself for letting it happen, as terrible as she felt now, she couldn't regret it.
Her cab driver was old and foreign, and she was eager to climb out of the car when he pulled up in front of her apartment building. Handing him his money, she exited the car and let her feet fall onto that very familiar sidewalk. She was never one drawn to romantics, but as she stood there in the city she loved so much, near the place she'd called home for years, she felt like she was in the midst of an old movie. She grinned and, taking her bags with her, made her way home.
Over the next few days she met with all the friends she could find and told them about Seattle. She kept Frasier's role a small one, ensuring that she wouldn't have to talk about him at length. When anyone asked, she told them he was a sweet doctor who she'd dated a couple of times but never really connected with. But even those words were hard to say. Frasier was the past now, however, and she had made her decision for the future.
The days passed without anything of real significance happening. She unpacked (sort of), and left the boxes to clutter up the rooms of her apartment. She went to work and met with clients, made phone calls and went to luncheons, met with friends and caught up. As the days passed, that chill inside her seemed to slowly evaporate, and she found herself thinking about Frasier less and less. This place had nothing to do with him, and she convinced herself she was happy to leave him behind.
One night, she was at a birthday party for an old friend. Dressed in something expensive, extremely uncomfortable, she was pretending to enjoy talking to a former client when a woman's voice from behind her caught her attention.
"Apparently he's supposed to be wonderful, or at least that's what she says. Well-respected, too. He did wonders for her and she doesn't even understand how it happened so fast."
"What's he like?" another woman asked, and Charlotte found herself even more intrigued by her reply.
"Tall, in his late forties, balding. My sister says he's got a real trace of dignity in him, and that he's very nice-looking. He has a soothing voice she says nearly puts her to sleep."
"Sounds like she's developing a little crush on him!" a third woman exclaimed, and the group giggled like a pack of teenaged girls.
"Just respect, she says. I feel like calling him up myself and thanking him - no one's been able to cure my sister of her phobia in years, and he managed to do it in four months!"
Charlotte excused herself from her conversation with the client and moved over to the group of woman, who all looked to be in their late fifties and very wealthy. She couldn't quite describe the feeling she had in her stomach, but at the moment it felt like she had just eaten lead and butterflies. "Hello," she said, smiling. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, ladies, and I was just wondering who this wonderful psychiatrist is that you're talking about. Is he local?"
"Oh no, dear," a tall, strikingly beautiful woman answered. "He's from Seattle. My sister lives there, she's the one seeing him. His name's Dr. Crane. Niles, I think, is his first name." All the women looked at her curiously as she blinked madly and then smiled again.
"Oh, how funny, I..." She trailed off, staring into their expectant faces. "I know him, is all. He's a great guy." They smiled and she turned around, heading for the bar. How the mere mention of that last name had managed to send that chill back inside of her she didn't know, but it scared the hell out of her.
That night she arrived at her apartment late. She switched on the lights and looked around at her empty apartment, the only things decorating it several lonely-looking brown cardboard boxes. She took a deep breath, but still sadness enveloped her suddenly like a bad smell.
She picked up the phone and dialed her mother's number. She picked up on the second ring and Charlotte smiled at the sound of her voice. "Hi mom," she said softly, and listened as her mother shifted the phone from one ear to another.
"Charlotte, is that you?"
"Your only child, yes," Charlotte answered, "unless there's something you'd like to tell me."
Her mother laughed. "How are you, baby?" she asked, the tone of genuine concern present in her voice.
"Oh mom..." Charlotte started, then took a deep breath. "I'm okay."
"Are you really?" her mother asked. "Because you sound terrible."
"Thanks," Charlotte said sarcastically, then sighed. "No, I guess I'm not. The truth is, something really ridiculous has happened. I mean, well, I knew I'd miss Frasier when I came here, but it's getting sort of excessive."
"Ah." Her mother made a sound with her mouth and then there was silence for several seconds. "Well, have you called him?"
"No, no, of course not. That wouldn't be fair to him. We had an agreement that when I moved away it would be over between us." She picked at a piece of lint on her sweater and stared at her hands. "What should I do? I think I'm just overreacting, but what if I'm not?"
"Well, darling, I think four days is a little too early to tell," her mother said, and then paused. "It's only natural that after three wonderful weeks with a wonderful man you'd feel slightly... sad when it was all over."
"But that's the thing," she said loudly, sitting up in her chair. "I don't just feel sad. I feel... worse than I've ever felt in my entire life. It's like I can't shake myself out of it. It's as if everything has lost its meaning now that he isn't here. Isn't that way too melodramatic for me?"
"For you? Sweetie, nothing is too melodramatic for you."
"So you think I'm overreacting."
"I think you're in love," her mother said softly, and Charlotte could hear how tired her voice was. "And I don't know what to tell you, I honestly don't. I wish I could just tell you to move back here, but I can't. And I can't tell you to just forget him, because it's obvious that won't work."
"Maybe it will," Charlotte broke in, her voice trembling. "Maybe I just need to give myself a little more time."
"Maybe you do," her mother said, but it was obvious she didn't think so. "Give yourself another two weeks or so, and if after that you're not even slightly better, then you can start thinking in drastic measures, okay?"
"Okay." She sighed and told her mother goodbye, then stared around at the bare walls of her dead apartment and started to cry.
