The car moved along Interstate 5 at a rate of speed that made even Niles uncomfortable. He was always a cautious, respectable driver; but not today. His car, he quickly learned, wasn't used to traveling at such a high speed, but he couldn't will himself to slow down. He knew better. He'd been pulled over not long ago, on the outskirts of Seattle by a stone-faced police officer who didn't give a damn that Niles' dad was once a member of the Seattle Police Department.
When asked why he was driving at twice the speed limit (an accusation that Niles refused to believe. Never in his life had he ever driven so alarmingly fast), Niles mumbled an apology, stating that he'd just learned some upsetting news. It was, of course the God's honest truth. The officer couldn't even begin to know the half of it. And to Niles' great relief, the officer took Niles brief explanation at face value and let him go with a warning and advised him to slow down.
He took that advice for a while, but when he came to an area on the freeway where there was very little traffic, he increased his speed, pressing his foot down on the accelerator. But he suddenly realized that even the lightest Washington State rainfall could make the oil and dirt paved roads a bit treacherous. The car skidded and swerved so badly on a long, winding stretch of highway that he was forced to make himself slow the car and pull over on the side of the road.
He could feel his heart racing. Shaken, he climbed out of the car and shut his eyes, willing himself to breathe deeply. The forest air should have calmed him, but it did not.
Don't drive angry.
His father's haunting words came back to him.
Don't drive angry, Niles.
He should have heeded that advice.
He should have talked to Frasier about his feelings or else gone back to his home at the Montana. He could have sat in his living room, sipping (or rather, gulping) down a glass (or two) of sherry in an attempt to calm himself now. He could have called Daphne and let her know (in the calmest voice he could muster, that he still had things to take care of in Seattle and that he'd be at the cabin much later than promised.
And what if she had decided to come with him? What might have happened then? He knew exactly what would have happened. There was a very good chance that, once they arrived back at Frasier's that one or both of them would have changed their minds, therefore leaving them to go their separate ways.
Now that he'd discovered her secret, there was no way to push it out of his mind. Tiw as always there; would always be there haunting him, fueling the anger inside of him.
He shut his eyes and then opened them again, trying his best to concentrate on his surroundings. It was so beautiful here; the combination of mist and fog drifting through the trees; the dusting of snow that blanketed the trees and the ground below.
When he was a bit calmer, he climbed back into the car and slammed the door. the engine stared easily and he considered peeling out onto the road. but then he remembered what had happened before and thought better of it, choosing instead to pull slowly onto the road. His blood was once again dangerously close to the boiling point. But he purposely made himself drive slower than normal. He couldn't risk getting into an accident; or worse. It simply wasn't worth it; or at least that's what he continuously told himself.
His foot was heavy on the gas pedal, whisking he could drive even faster. But he also wished that the cabin was a million miles away, so that he would never have to reach it.
What in the hell was he going to say to her when he arrived? Would he confront her? What would be the point? Daphne had not really done anything wrong. He had no reason to be angry. And yet he was. He felt betrayed, lied to.
Was it better not to know? He didn't have an answer for that.
Damn it all. Damn it to hell.
He'd barely realized that his driving speed had increased until he bounded from his seat as the car flew over a dip in the road. At this speed the road rose and twisted like a snake until, suddenly shaken, he slowed down. He could not risk his life. He had too much to say to her.
He found it necessary to pull over a few more times along his journey and when the cabin finally came into view, it was nightfall. His watch indicated that it was much later than the time that they had agreed upon. But he couldn't go to her, not just yet. Instead he sat in his car, engrossed in his thoughts.
He looked up to see her silhouetted in the doorway, looking every bit like an angel. And then she was running toward him, her arms outstretched, a smile on face. It was a sight that at any other second would have made him feel elated. How many times had he dreamt of this moment, when Daphne would run toward him like in a fairy tale? Only this was no fairy tale. And try as he might, he couldn't will himself to be happy to see her.
As though sensing his anger she slowed. He could see her smile, illuminated by the headlights of his car fade and then disappear completely. He knew that she knew that something was wrong. It didn't take a psychic vision.
Why did she have to look so damn beautiful yet so small against a backdrop of purple snow covered mountains? He shut off the engine and got out of the car. Their eyes met for a brief moment but then he looked away. He couldn't continue to look at her; not when she looked so damn beautiful. And she looked cold. He knew that he should do what he most wanted to do; take off his coat and wrap it around her shoulders. But he could not will himself to do it. And he hated himself for feeling that way.
Damn that Mel…. And Donny.
"I'm glad you're home." Daphne said hesitantly. "I was worried, I-."
"Sorry I'm late." He snapped. "The roads…" His force was terse and then trailed away. He began the task of unloading the car. He worked diligently, barely noticing that she was suddenly standing beside him, taking the bags from him as he lifted each one from the seat.
"Well…" She said, her voice now restrained. "You're here now."
They carried the luggage inside and when they reached the foyer they were face to face.
"Are you hungry, Dr. Crane? I know that this is your home, but I'd be happy to make you something. Perhaps some tea or-."
"No."
He saw instantly how his sharp tone cut through her, but the hell of it was that she had no idea how much she had hurt him. However, he had to give her credit. She was very good at hiding her emotions. Had he not known her as well as he did, he might not have noticed the hurt in her eyes.
She bit her lip and her gaze softened. "All right. Well, let me help you with these bags. Perhaps after you're settled, we can continue working on the puzzle. I know that the mystery has been solved, but-."
"I have to work tonight." He said, his voice abrupt. "I didn't get a chance to make the calls that I needed to make."
It was a lie. He'd had plenty of time. The one phone call that he'd made to Mel was the one that burned in his mind. And the disappointment in Daphne's eyes was almost heartbreaking. But he refused to give in. If he were to give in, the scenario he imagined earlier might possibly come true.
The voice inside his head was screaming, pleading with him;
Stay angry or you will completely break down
But then he remembered his visit to Frasier's and the secret that he had learned. The words were out of his mouth before he even realized that he had spoken.
"I talked to Frasier."
He could not bring himself to continue, but she stood there, her expression telling him that she needed more.
"Yes." She said after a pause that was much too long.
"He told me that you and Donny broke off the engagement."
Her expression did not change and she continued to stare at him as she'd done before.
His subconscious willed her to speak. Say something, damn it." He muttered so low that she could not have possibly heard. "Either deny it or don't, but for God's sake just tell me-."
However, her only words were a simple; "I see."
Wordlessly he picked up his briefcase and disappeared into his study, slamming the door shut behind him.
Angrily he dropped his briefcase onto the floor, not giving a damn when a few papers fell out, leaving him with the daunting task of putting them back in order. He glanced at the closed door. A part of him wanted to go to her, but he refused to do it. What would be the point where there was clearly nothing more for either of them to say?