Within the confines of the Crane residence, shared by the prestigious Dr. Frasier Crane, his father Martin, and Martin's physical therapist, Daphne, the retired cop rested atop his tattered, packing taped-laden recliner sipping an ice-cold can of Ballantine's. It was a usual evening for him—spending the night watching sports or an old film—in this instance, though, he was watching highlights from a Yankees game. His feisty Jack Russell, Eddie, trotted out of Martin's room, the familiar sound of his collar jingling bringing a smile to Martin's face. Without having to say a word, Eddie jumped onto his owner's lap, accompanying him as he reminisced on the baseball team's highs and lows.
This period of opulence and zen was unfortunately disrupted by the front door clicking open, interrupting Martin's train of thought with an alarmingly heavy footstep, the kind of step someone would take if they received bad news or were deep in thought. Entering the apartment was Frasier, holding his beige suit jacket in his arms.
"Dad," Frasier queried, hanging his jacket up on the adjacent coat rack with urgency. "have you seen Daphne at all today?" He maneuvered his way to pour himself a glass of sherry.
"She's been with Niles all day. I heard him talk about taking her on a shopping spree."
"Guess they won't be back anytime soon." Frasier grumbled, taking a seat on the couch with his petite glass of liquor in hand. While he initially felt envious of Niles once he started dating Daphne, he was overall happy that his brother was in a healthy, fulfilling relationship. He downed the sherry like a shot of vodka, without wincing a bit.
"Jesus, Fras, you look like you've just seen a ghost!" Martin exclaimed. "What's the matter?"
"I haven't seen or heard from Cécil during this whole week. I asked for Daphne because I thought she would know of his whereabouts. They are close friends, remember?" He nervously tapped his fingers on the coffee table.
"You come down to ask me about Cécil when you can just visit him next door?" His eyes widened at his son's lapse of reason. "I don't believe it!" He shook his head disappointingly as he took another swig of his cheap beer.
"I'm aware of that, and I'd like to think my common sense is pretty decent!" Frasier retorted. He was too concerned for Cécil's well-being than to be offended by Martin's comment. "I don't want to disturb him, is all. I know that while he is quite the social butterfly, he spends an extended time alone to 'recharge his batteries.'"
"Why not give him a phone call? He'll appreciate the concern."
"After a day or two, he's usually back to show us his art, have dinner, or bake with Daphne. But now it's Thursday, and he hasn't given me a phone call or even popped in to say hello…" The radio psychiatrist rubbed his temples with his left hand. Martin's helpful suggestion seemed to enter Frasier's left ear and exit out the other. He was always a bit stubborn.
"Cécil stopped by to drop off some goodies, actually. While you and Niles had dinner Tuesday night, he brought some pumpkin bread and chocolate chip walnut cookies the size of hockey pucks!"
Martin's nonchalant remark only made Frasier more distressed. He watched Eddie hop off his father's lap as Martin reached for his cane, making his nightly pilgrimage to the kitchen.
"And he never told me?" Frasier asked in a flabbergasted whisper.
"He looked like he was in a rush. I don't blame him, with all the art he's doing, though. Quite the busy bee!" Martin's voice trailed off as he entered the kitchen.
"Even when he's busy with his commissions, he always made the time to go on a coffee run with me during his breaks! This is… unlike him." Frasier was virtually talking to himself, oblivious to Martin's absence in the living room. As he walked back to refill his glass with more sherry, he stopped in his tracks. A feeling of dread overtook his body.
"Oh, dear God."
"Are you out of sherry again?" Martin emerged from the kitchen with a plateful of cookies.
"I think I figured out why Cécil's been absent." Frasier ignored his father's snarky comment.
"Cécil has obsessive-compulsive disorder. He's brought it up before, many times actually."
"Where the hell is this going, Fras? Just 'cause you're a psychiatrist, it doesn't mean you can psychoanalyze your friends twenty-four seven." Martin rolled his eyes.
"Where I am going with this is that this has happened already. Cécil's obsessive-compulsive episodes cause him to isolate himself from just about everyone. The first time this occurred, Roz called me saying he was at her apartment in absolute hysterics. The second time around, he hid in Daphne's room during a dinner party I was hosting. These were about a year apart."
It's really been two and a half years since Céci and I became friends, huh? Frasier thought to himself.
"What did you do as he was having his obsessive-compulsive... whatevers? Don't tell me you just left him there." He motioned the plate of cookies to Frasier, to which his perturbed son plucked the smallest one.
"I consoled him in both instances. I'm absolutely convinced that he's going through an OCD spell once again." The psychiatrist was confident in his deduction.
"What if he wants to deal with this on his own? He does see his own therapist weekly, you know."
"I know that, but I think checking up on him would be something he'd appreciate a lot. He's done the same for me and I care about him deeply." Frasier took a bite of the soft cookie, walking to his bedroom to settle in and wash up for the night. Before walking down the hallway, he turned his head to look at Martin. "You don't let friends isolate themselves from people that are important to them."
"Guess that means you're gonna stop by his place tonight, huh?"