A/N: Okay. I lied, this fic will actually be split into 3 parts. It's just too dang long and wants to keep going and going. Here's part 2/3. Please enjoy
Quick edit: hey as I started working on part 3, I realized that the first few bits of that chapter work better at the end of chapter 2, so I'm editing this chapter to include that here.
Where Everybody Knows Your Name
For once, it's silent. Because his senses abandon him suddenly and he stands there paralyzed.
Diane steps forward, takes a good look around. "It is exactly how I remember it," she reflects, a delicate hand touching a nearby table.
He blinks, remembers how to breathe, then scratches his face to test his mobility. "Yeah, well, not much has changed since..." And quietude returns as his voice falters—it haunts them as they stand there, staring at one another.
Thirty years: somehow a lifetime ago; only yesterday. But white hair and wrinkles reveal just how long it's been since last they saw each other. He left her on a flight to California with a kiss and another goodbye. "Have a good life," he had told her, like he did after they almost married. And she didn't fight him on it. Not that time.
"You… want a drink or something?" he asks, already reaching for the wine he remembers her liking.
She nods. "A drink would be lovely. But if you're closed…"
"No, no—come on now. Have a drink. It's on the house." He begins pouring her wine as she makes her way to the bar, sits in the same seat Sumner left her in.
"Thank you, Sam."
All those years ago…
"So… how's life treating you?" he asks after a moment passes. "Still married?"
She sips her wine, visibly perks—feigns shock. All her old moves. "I can't believe you, Sam. You've been keeping tabs on me."
He shifts slightly, embarrassed. "Yeah, well, I looked you up a few times there… You're saying you haven't Googled my name, once or twice?"
"I have not," she insists. Just like she used to. "I respect your boundaries far too much to do anything of the sort."
Too tired, too old to fight like they used to, he gives in: "Okay." Then allows the quietness to take over. Let it simmer for a minute.
She sips her wine again. "Widowed," Diane says finally, her voice slightly distant.
"Oh—really? I'm sorry. I… I wouldn't have mentioned it had I known."
"It's all right, Sam," she assures. "It was a marriage of the mind, not passion."
Sam hums his response. His marriage to Carson's mom—Laurie—was the exact opposite. All they had in common was sex.
She sips. "His mistress planned his funeral."
"Gee, I'm sorry," he says. He moves to finish washing glasses. "Hey, at least… at least you have your stories. They aren't too bad." He glances at her, sees her eyes brighten. "They're pretty good, actually."
"You've read my work?"
"Are you kidding? I used to read those Sally Drake books with my daughter at bedtime. Yeah, we'd spend hours outside solving all sorts of make-believe mysteries because of your stories."
She smiles, her eyes glow. He smiles back. "You have a daughter."
"Yeah," he boasts. "Carson. You just missed her." He thinks to call her, tell her to come back to the bar to meet somebody: D. Chambers, the woman who wrote those books she read in middle school. D. Chambers, the woman who broke her father's heart a lifetime ago, yesterday. "God, you'd love her, Diane. You would. She's smart, compassionate. She's everything…" He pauses, his past self briefly haunting his memories. "Everything you needed me to be."
And she frowns. "Don't say it like that, Sam." She rubs the rim of the glass with her finger delicately, then hesitates. Like the old days, she thinks before speaking: "You had your moments. You shone brightly… in specific settings."
He scratches his chin, moves closer to her. "Yeah, you too."
"And besides, you've clearly worked on yourself since our last encounter—how many years ago, was it?" Thirty. She knew exactly how long it had been; he felt it in his gut by the way she said it. "You're no longer wearing your hair replacement system, I see."
"Huh…" His hands instinctively reach for his bald spot. "Oh, you mean my rug." He still keeps it, somewhere, for sentimental purposes. A reminder of who he used to be.
She laughs at his words. He grabs his mirror below the bar to get a good look at his hair: once brown and bold and beautiful, now white and thin. "You are a better man, Sam. You should be proud. Your daughter and…" And she stops, for a moment. Her voice sounds almost strained as she continues, "And your wife have been a wonderful influence on you these last few decades."
"Ex-wife," he mumbles, his focus still on his hair.
"What?"
"Carson's mom and me, we divorced some time ago," he says. He angles the mirror above him to get a better look.
"Oh," she says, and there's a slight cheerfulness in her tone, "your Facebook still lists you as married."
"Yeah, well, I haven't been on that thing in ages—" He stops quickly, sets the mirror down and looks at her.
"What?" she asks finally, finding discomfort in his sudden gaze.
And he claps, feeling some sort of odd victory. "Ha!" Feeling like he did in the old days with her. "You have looked me up!"
Diane turns beet red. "I merely researched your whereabouts to assure you were still here at Cheers."
"Sure, sure," he decides to play along.
"And when your occupation was not listed," she continues, "I simply chose to call the bar…"
"Mhm." Sam nods, and realization suddenly hits him. His phone lines are working just fine. "All those random calls tonight," he says. He points half-heartedly. "That was you."
She shifts. "Well, I had to be sure, Sam." And he smiles knowingly. She changes the subject. "So, how has everyone else fared these last few decades?"
He decides to move on. In the old days, he might have pushed it until they both burst. "Well, let's see here," Sam says, thinking for a moment. It takes him a moment to think of something. "Well, Governor Boyd, you know about…" And concern briefly haunts her face as she nods. Everybody, including Woody, was surprised that election night. "Eh, Carla just had her eleventh grandkid. A baby girl."
"Oh, that's sweet."
"Cliff and Norm are still at it," Sam continues. "Oh—and Frasier, he stopped by. He's doing good too."
"That's wonderful. Please give them my best."
He leans against the bar, watches as she drinks her wine. She seems happy enough—looks pretty good for her age too—but something's obviously bothering her. No one comes to Cheers when their life is good. Not anymore. "Why are you here, Diane?" he asks gently after a moment.
Diane practically melts, her cheerfulness washing away in an instant. She sets her drink aside. He leans in closer. "Oh, I should have known you of all people would see through this facade..."
And, suddenly, there's a flash—of them together in their younger years, in the exact same spots they're in now. He sheets a whiff of her perfume, her blue eyes sparkle. The moment passes: he straightens, takes a few steps back and mumbles something about old habits; she clears her throat, fixes her hair. "Come on, seriously, what's the matter?" he tries again, moving to wash glasses.
"Let's see here," she begins. "I am contractually obligated to complete my next novel by the end of this year, despite my ongoing writer's block. My publicist suggested a change in scenery might help me find inspiration, so I decided to move back to Boston, the place I last felt… capable. But now all I have to offer is my still unfinished novel and a dead husband, whom I never loved."
"Oh, honey, I'm sorry…" Sam says seriously, nearing her again. "If it helps… my life's kind of in a rut too. I guess the best years of our lives are behind us, huh?" He pauses to take a good look at the bar, then at her. "I should tell you, I'm selling the bar."
Her expression turns to shock. "You can't sell Cheers, Sam."
He almost wants to laugh. She hasn't been in his life for thirty years, and yet she still wants to order him around. "What?"
"This bar is your life," Diane tells him. "It would be a mistake to sell it."
And there it is. He feels the need to burst. She always does this. Damn, she always does this. "It is not my—Carson is my… What the Hell do you know anyway? I don't have to explain myself to you… or anybody else, for that matter," he says, feeling his blood boil. She makes him crazy. And it only takes a reunion for him to remember that. He storms off. "I'm selling the bar. That's that. End of story."
She keeps her demeanor calm. "Sam, don't you think you're behaving a little irrationally?"
Why does she always do this? Why? He thinks to leave her and simmer in his office a little. Instead, he makes his way to face her. No bar, no barriers, nothing preventing him from getting up in her face. " Behaving irrationally … I'm the one behaving irrationally here?" She turns to fully face him. He bends so they're eye level. "You know, you do this every time, Diane. Every damn time! You come into my life, ramble about one thing or another and then just expect me to bend to your every will. You don't know what's best for me. You don't! Maybe you did in 1985, but… these aren't the glory days, sweetheart! I don't have to listen to you. You're not my problem. Not anymore!"
His rant ends and they settle in quietude once more with pipes and creaks, and everything in between, surrounding them. He smells her perfume again; she takes a deep breath before responding, "Are you finished?"
"Yeah." He rubs his face, knowing he should probably pull away—doesn't. Not really wanting to. "I'm sorry. I guess that's been building up for a while now."
"It's all right," she assures him quietly, her breath hot on his skin. She initiates it by touching his face, caressing the prickly whiskers already forming on his chin. "Feels sort of like old times, doesn't it?"
"Yeah…" He moves to hold her, like in the old days when life was just one big party. When it didn't matter what she said or did to him… As long as she was naked and willing at the end of the day, nothing else mattered. Her lips purse. He leans in to kiss her—
"Wait a minute… wait a minute," he says, pulling away. He runs his fingers through his thinning hair, rubs his face. "Diane, I'm sorry. I can't do this. I'm… not this guy anymore."
Diane almost looks disappointed by his rejection, but she collects herself quickly. "We haven't seen each other in years, and the first thing I try to do is reignite a flame destined to burn itself out." Again, he mentions old habits. "And the sad part is… that is exactly why I came here tonight." She pauses, looks around again. "I should leave," she decides in an instant, then stands and gathers her things.
"No, don't be silly. Finish your wine. Come on now."
She moves to the door, and discomfort settles in his stomach. Suddenly not wanting her to leave quite yet. "Goodbye, Sam," she says, opening the door. "For real this time. Please give my best to everyone."
He stops her from leaving. "Diane, wait." She freezes. And the look on her face makes him hesitate. "Look, it's not you, it's me." He turns away, avoids her eyes. Maybe out of shame. Maybe something else. He doesn't really know. "I… I haven't been with anyone in about… two years."
A moment passes. The door shuts on its own. "You, Sam Malone?" is all she can muster, disbelief oozing out of her.
"Yeah…"
She waits a moment before responding. " The Sam Malone?"
"Go ahead, make your jokes," he says, slightly irritated, waving her off. He sits on a nearby stool, his body facing away from her. "Bet you're getting a real kick out of this, aren't you?"
"No, I'm glad you told me, Sam. Truly." She hesitates. "But are you…?"
Sam turns swiftly back to her, offended she would even think such a thing. "Everything works fine down there, Diane—but it's also not shameful to get a little extra help every now and again," he says seriously. "It's just… I was with somebody, and then I wasn't. And I don't get around like I used to."
Her blue eyes glimmer again, almost like she's about to cry or something. "You really are different," she reflects.
"I'm sorry…"
Her hand finds his shoulder. The gentle touch is comforting. His hand settles on top of hers. "You don't have to apologize, Sam…"
"No, I mean, I'm sorry I couldn't be this way when we were together, you know," he tells her. "I know that's what you wanted from me."
And now she's actually crying. Or, at least, teary eyed. "Thank you, Sam." She kisses his forehead. Something flutters inside him. "I'm sorry too. I wasn't exactly the easiest person to be with. I was naive, stubborn—"
"Don't forget annoying," Sam interjects.
"And annoying," she agrees easily. "I should have been more… considerate of your needs and cared more about your interests."
He squeezes her hand. "Yeah, me too."
She leans into him and they embrace. He closes his eyes, breathes in her scent again. Quietude never felt so peaceful.
After a moment, they part. Diane wipes a few tears from her eyes and sniffs. "Hey listen, wanna get out of here?" Sam asks. She lifts her eyebrows in disbelief, wondering maybe if their tender moment was all just a ruse. "No, not like that. Not like that." He stands, leads her to the door. "There's this great diner down the street. I take Norm and Cliff there all the time. Pie's to die for…"
They're heading up the stairs when Diane says, "That sounds lovely, Sam."
The bar sits empty now, quiet—maybe even silent—without them. And it remains unoccupied until mid morning when Sam and Diane return, wearing the same clothes as the night before. They enter laughing, like two kids—two new lovers—experiencing all the perks of life for the first time.
"Carson, sweetie, come out here for a second!" Sam calls. He practically floats to his office while Diane remains unmoving near the bar. There's no answer. He opens the door: empty. "Hey Carson! I'd like you to meet somebody." He moves to look for her in the pool room. Like the office, it's empty. He rejoins Diane at the bar. "She's not in yet." He checks the time on his watch. "Kinda unusual for her. Hope she's okay."
"I'm sure she's perfectly fine, Sam," assures Diane. "Didn't you say she went out partying last night with her friends? She's most likely recovering from a fun night."
Carson wasn't exactly eager to leave Cheers last night. And she isn't as involved in the Boston club scene as Tatum and Laser are. Was she hungover somewhere, lying face down in a puddle of her own vomit? Probably not. She's a lot more careful with that stuff than Sam ever was. He decides to put it in the back of his mind—it's a day of celebration, not worry. "You're probably right," he agrees. "Guess you'll have to meet her later."
Diane smiles sweetly and he leans in for a gentle kiss. She allows it—but pulls away quickly. "She could walk in at any moment, Sam," she scolds half heartedly, then moves toward the back room. Suddenly a ball of nerves. "I'm just going to powder my nose. I'll be right back. All right?"
He watches her as she leaves. "Diane," he says. She stops and turns to face him, tired eyes sparkle at him. "She's gonna love you." She smiles and enters the bathroom.
Sam takes a moment to breathe, blinking away any tiredness. He's been awake for about—he checks the time again on his watch—sixteen hours and not about to go to bed anytime soon. Felt like the old days, sorta. Some kind of joy fills him.
He's wiping the counter when the door swings open and Carla enters with a frantic Carson right behind her. "See? I told ya he'd be here."
"Dad…" says Carson.
"Hey sweetheart," Sam greets, but his smile fades at the sight of worry on her face.
"I've been trying to reach you basically since I left here last night. You could've been lying face down in your own blood, for all I knew!"
"Oh… I'm sorry, I…" He pauses when he catches Carla's suspicious eye, then glances at the back room. Carla's eyes follow. He quickly pats down his jeans pockets, realizing suddenly his phone isn't with him. Maybe it's in his office or something; he doesn't really know. "I guess I left my phone here, honey."
"I know that look, Sammy," says Carla, pointing firmly. Sam shifts. "Yeah, it's been a while since I've seen it, but there's no mistaking it. You were out all night with one of your babes, weren't ya?"
"Carla—"
She taps Carson's arm. "Your old man here used to do this practically every night back in the day. He'd leave with some chick, be gone days on end. Sometimes even weeks. We wouldn't know where he went. But then, eventually, he'd come waltzing back into the bar with a new name to add to his little black book."
"No. Carla—listen, honey," Sam says. He leans close to them. He hesitates: telling her Diane was back in his life could set her off; they never really bonded. He decides to ease her into it. "I've decided… I've decided not to sell the bar," he announces first.
Relief washes over Carson. "Really? What… what changed your mind?"
"Isn't it obvious," Carla interjects before Sam could speak. "How do I keep this PG for ya, kid? He was acting looney because he was going through a dry spell. Now, he's not. He's back to his old ways."
"Carla—"
"Who is it, Sammy, huh? One of your old flames?" She doesn't wait for him to answer. Instead, she starts toward the back room. "I gotta call the guys—Hell, I gotta call my mother. Ah, it's good to have you back." Sam stands frozen, bracing for impact. Diane's already opening the bathroom door.
"Carla," he says. One last attempt to tell her. But she isn't listening, or seeing. They're almost face to face…
"I just wanna shout it from the rooftop: the legendary Sam Malone is ba—"
"Hello Carla," greets Diane.
Carla lets out a blood curdling scream at the sight of the woman who made half of the eighties a living nightmare for her. Sam rushes to her side. Carson follows.
"It's… delightful to see you, too, Carla," Diane says formally as Carla falls into Sam's arms.
"Hey, why don't you go lie down for a minute in the back," he tells Carla, guiding her to the pool room. She catches sight of Diane again, and cries out. He blocks her view with his hand, then gently pushes her off when she passes her.
He moves to wrap his arm around Carson, unable to contain his gleefulness. Diane has a similar expression. "I want you to meet somebody, honey. This is… this is, uh, Diane Chambers."
"No kidding?" Carson says. "As in D. Chambers, the author?" He nods, looking to Diane as if for extra confirmation. She too nods as she shakes Carson's hand. "I loved reading your books growing up. And hey, forget those critics, honey. Your books aren't just watered down Nancy Drew novels." Diane's smile falters.
Sam steps between them. "Hey, Diane, could… Could you give us a minute? It… it might be better if I do this alone."
Diane nods knowingly. "Of course. I'll just check to see if Carla's all right." She moves to the back. Carla screams loudly in the distance.
Carson waits a moment before speaking: "What's going on, dad? You've been acting so weird lately." She pauses, glancing toward the back room. "And how'd you get D. Chambers at the bar?"
"She's an old… acquaintance of mine. From back in the glory days, actually." He hesitates, then guides her to a nearby table. "Listen"—he takes her hand—"Diane and me… we got to talking last night. Talked all night, actually. And all this morning. And, well, sweetheart, we… we decided to get married."
He waits for her to speak, his heart pounding. She stares at him with an unreadable expression. "Dad, you're going insane," she tells him finally. She stands, moves away from him. "I mean, you have one night of passion with some… with some old flame and suddenly you're wanting to marry her, this Carolyn Keene knockoff!"
He stands. "It isn't like that. It's not like that." She hurries to the bar, goes to open the register for the day. "We didn't even…" He rubs his face. "We just talked, okay? Nothing like that happened. I swear." She stops and turns back to him. "Look, for the first time in a long time, I feel… I feel, I don't know, complete maybe. Something's been missing for a while now and I…" he hesitates, shifts—he's not used to talking like this with his daughter, of all people. "And I think this might fill that hole I've been feeling lately." Her expression changes, softens at the sight of him. "But, hey, if you don't want me to marry her, then of course I won't marry her."
He stands meekly before her, a discomfort settling in his stomach. All those other times with Diane… It wasn't the right time. He thought it was, but it wasn't. Now, he knows, it's the right time for them to be together. But… he can't lose his daughter over this.
"Okay," Carson says after a moment.
"Okay?" he echoes.
She nods. "Okay, you have my blessing."
He claps, the joy he felt quickly filling him again. He moves to hug her. "Really? Oh, honey, thank you."
"You're not selling the bar?" she asks just to be sure.
"No, sweetie, I can't sell this bar," he tells her seriously, sounding like a whole different person from the night before. "It means too much to us to sell it. I don't know what I was thinking. In fact, last night I thought up some ideas on how we might save it. But… that's for another time. Don't worry about it now."
She nods, then smiles. "So, when's the wedding? Have you set a date?"
"Uh, we have." He pulls away. "Today, at the courthouse. In a couple hours, actually."
"Today?" She's stunned. Maybe even slightly concerned, though she hides it well. "Can I be your best man at least?" she says, instead of whatever she was thinking.
They hug again. "Are you kidding? I wouldn't want anybody else, kiddo." He kisses her head.
"Now all that's left is to tell Carla," Carson says.
Carla lets out another horrifying scream in the distance. Their attention turns in that direction. "She knows," he determines.
Diane emerges from the back, slightly dazed. She rubs her ears, but quickly recovers at the sight of father and daughter embracing. Sam smiles at the sight of her. "Hey Diane, Carson here's… gonna be my best man at the wedding."
"How very contemporary," she comments cheerfully. But her expression changes slightly, unable to mask her tiredness. "Oh, Sam, would it be terribly ill-mannered of me to have a quick lie down before the ceremony?"
"Lie down?" he echoes, confused. She gestures to his office and Carson tells him she means "nap." "Oh, a lie down. Sure, sure… there's, uh, a blanket in the cabinet there." He points as if she can see through walls. And she nods, tottering slightly into the room.
They're both looking at the door when Norm enters the scene. "Morning Sammy—Carson," he spits out his usual line.
"Hey Normy," Sam greets, and Norm slightly wavers at the casual yet foreign exchange. Carson's already pouring his beer. Sam picks up on his uneasiness quickly. "Oh, gee, I'm sorry. Here—Norm!" he exclaims half-heartedly. Carson follows meekly behind him.
Norm checks himself. First his arms, then his chest, runs a few fingers through a few curly white locks, before looking back at them. "Wait a minute," he says seriously. "I think you broke the curse."
"Beer, Norm?" offers Carson.
He shrugs, moving to his stool. "Then again, maybe not." He takes a few sips of his beer. "You seem in a better mood since yesterday," he tells Sam.
"Dad's not selling the bar," Carson says.
Norm's eyes brighten. "Hey, all right! What changed your mind?"
Cliff and Frasier enter the bar arguing about something before he can answer. Frasier looks tired, nearly homeless with his face unshaven and his eyes sunken. Maybe it was a restless night for everybody. They make their way to the bar. Carson's already pouring up two more glasses of beer.
"I can't believe we're even having this discussion," says an exasperated Frasier.
"Well, ya see, Frasier, it's a little known fact—"
"A hotdog is not a sandwich, Cliff!" he snaps. "Nor is it a taco. Or anything else, for that matter. It falls under its own special category of hotdog."
"You know, I think I read somewhere that it is considered a sandwich," Sam chimes in, and Frasier gives his best stoneface glare. Carson beside him pulls out her phone and starts typing.
"No, no," Norm disagrees. "I think Frasier's right. It's just a hotdog." And Frasier waves out his arm as if to say, 'I told you so.'
"Okay, according to Merriam-Webster, a sandwich is two or more slices of bread or a split roll having a filling in between," Carson reads from her phone, "so, I guess, a hotdog is considered a sandwich then."
Frasier bangs his fist onto the bartop and looks away stubbornly. "Damn!"
"Hold on, wait a minute," says Carson, still looking at her phone. "It's saying here that even though technically hotdogs fit under the category of sandwich, many people still see it as its own thing."
"How 'bout we say it can be both," suggests Sam.
"You don't go into a Subway and order a hotdog, Sam. They'd think you an escapee of the booby hatch," says Frasier passionately, dramatically. "No, it's either a sandwich or a hotdog. And it is a hotdog!"
Carla, looking pale and fragile, not her usual lively self, emerges from the back room. "Hey keep it down, would ya? I'm in mourning here."
"Eh, what's the matter, Carla?" asks Cliff.
Ignoring Cliff, she eyes Frasier. "I thought you had a flight to catch?"
"I was passed out on Lilith's dining room table, there was no way in Hell I was making that flight." He moves near her.
"You shoulda left when you still had the chance," Carla warns.
Sam can't help but roll his eyes. "Look. An old fling actually came by the bar last night after all you guys left. We got to talking and, well, we…" he stops, wondering what they all might say or do about Diane being back in his life.
Norm laughs. "Ah, Sammy's gotta girl," he teases. The guys go ecstatic.
Carla silences them, then pulls Frasier down to her height. "Listen to me! The dark days are back, Doc. Run. Run before it's too late."
Frasier's eyes go wide. "You don't mean…"
And Diane opens the office door. Both Carla and Frasier scream loudly. Norm winces at the sound.
"Would you stop doing that!" Diane exclaims, her expression pained. "I expect as much from Carla, but Frasier—I thought we moved past all this!"
"I'm sorry, Diane." He moves to greet her with a gentle kiss and a hug. "Force of habit. Just… needed to get it out of my system is all."
Diane moves close to Sam. "So, what's everybody thinking about all this? Us getting back together?" he asks.
"Hey, if it keeps the bar open and the beers coming, I'm all for it," says Norm easily. Carson refills his glass. Everyone else seems in mutual agreement.
"Good, good," Sam says, putting his arm around Diane, "because… we're getting married. In a couple hours, actually."
There's a slight awkward pause and Sam knows what must be running through everyone's minds: uh oh, not again.
"And it would be lovely to have you all there for the ceremony," finishes Diane.
"The bar's not being sold, right?" Norm asks just to be sure.
Everyone looks to Sam for reassurance."No," he confirms, "the bar's not being sold."
"To the bride and groom," Norm says, raising his glass. "Free beers all around!"
"You got it," says Sam with a clap of his hands, and the rest of the guys join in on the cheering. Carson begins filling glasses.
Cliff gets everyone's attention quickly. "As the best friend of the groom, nothing would give me more pleasure than to take on the role of best man for your happy nuptials."
"Oh… um, thanks a lot, Cliffy, but Carson's gonna be my best man," Sam tells him gently. "Or best lady, or whatever modern feminism would call it these days."
"You can be the flower girl," teases Carla.
"Carla, come on now," Sam scolds.
Diane touches his arm to get his full attention and he pulls her aside, away from the others. "Sam, I think I might head back to my condominium early," she tells him, her tired eyes illuminating up at him. "Just to get a little shut eye before the ceremony."
"Hey sure," he agrees.
"I'll meet you at the courthouse," she assures. Her hands rest on his chest and she moves closer. "To think, in the next few hours, we will finally be joined together in holy matrimony. Who would have ever surmised it?" He leans down and they kiss, as if they're the only two people in the world—just for this moment.
And Carla screams again. They part quickly. Diane turns swiftly in her direction, a fierce look on her face. "Carla, please!" A moment passes and she apologizes for her little outburst, then says her farewells to everyone, blowing Sam one last quick kiss before leaving.
Carla leans against the bar. "So blondie's got some spark in her old age," she says, sounding almost impressed. She collects herself. "I still don't like it, Sammy."
Carson, back to business, sets off to wipe a few tables. Tatum's late again, he's just realizing. But hey, she's about to become a lawyer; it doesn't really matter. He'll put the help wanted sign on the window like Carson wanted.
Frasier sets his beer down onto the bar and beckons Sam near. "Excuse me if I'm stepping over the line here, Sam," he begins gently, formally, "but do you think you and Diane will actually go through with this wedding?"
Suddenly he's defensive, eager to prove himself worthy. Kinda like the old days. "Whaddya mean? Of course we'll go through with it!"
"You two don't have the best track record, Sammy," Norm points out. He drinks some of his beer, then burps. "She leaves you at the altar. You leave her on a plane. Just seems like there's a pattern…"
It's different now, he wants to tell them. She's changed—they both have. He moves away from them, feeling something boiling within him and wanting it to burst out. "Look, guys, I… if you don't wanna come see us get hitched, fine, don't come," he tells them, "but Diane and me—it's real this time." It was real all those other times, too; it just never seemed to be the right moment. "I don't know how to convince you that it is but, you gotta believe me, it is."
"Okay, Sam," Frasier agrees after a moment with a nod and a sincere smile. He raises his glass. "I raise my glass to Boston's most preeminent couple: Sam Malone and Diane Chambers. May your lives together be filled with prosperity and happiness, and all the things in between." The other guys all chime in with Carla reluctantly dragging behind. "Here, here!" Their glasses clink and they down their beers.
Tatum shows up in her typical frantic fashion soon after and Sam and Carson fill her in on everything. A hopeless romantic probably since birth, she immediately begins showing her support for the whole thing. "I just love weddings," she tells everybody. Sam smiles at her enthusiasm. "I've been planning mine since before I met Laser. I have a whole Pinterest board and everything!"
"She's got me wearing truffles at her wedding," Carson says apathetically. She turns to Sam in a panic. "Please don't make me wear truffles for this thing."
"Relax, honey," Sam says quickly. "You can wear what you want."
Tatum makes her way over to the guys. "Cliff, Norm—what was your wedding like?"
And silence once again as everyone stares. "W-what?" Cliff asks finally.
Norm raises his eyebrows. "Our wedding? As in, me and… Cliffy?" They distance themselves from each other.
"Oh—sorry, I guess it was called something like Civil Partnership back in your day. What was it like?"
"Cliff and Norm aren't married to each other," Sam explains gently. "They're not even gay, kiddo."
She looks at them, not bothering to hide her shock. "Really?"
"Really," Norm confirms. "No, no, I'm… I'm married. To Vera. You know Vera… my wife. We talk about her every now and again." She remains silent, not comprehending. "She calls… She calls here a lot." Still nothing. "You've spoken to her." And, again, nothing. "Several times, actually."
"I thought she was an inside joke between you guys," Tatum says seriously. And when no one responds, she continues: "Come on. I didn't know she was real. We never see her…"
Norm drinks his beer. "Good luck again on your bar exam, Tate." He shakes his head in disbelief. "Something tells me you'll need it."
"You know, I…" Cliff begins with a slight chuckle.
He glances at Carla, who practically snarls at him: "Zip it, Clavin!"
He uncharacteristically shuts his trap and sets his eyes forward. Then grumbles, "Nevermind."
Something's up with them, he suddenly realizes. Every time they're around each other, they just start acting funny. Like they're hiding something. He decides to let the thought go, knowing Carla wouldn't want him to push it. He's too tired to start a fight, anyway. "Listen guys, I think I'm gonna go home and sleep a little too," he says. "I've been up all night."
"Yeah you have," gushes Cliff, making nothing into something. Carla looks like she wants to smack him. Tatum gives him a disapproving look.
Sam goes to kiss Carson on the cheek. "I'll see you at the courthouse," he tells her. "Wear what you want. Wear what you want, honey." He moves to the door, but quickly decides to clarify his words and backtracks a few steps. "Oh, um, look nice, all right? All of you. Try to clean up a little. Maybe try to look like you haven't just come from the bar."
With that, he makes his exit and Carson takes full control of the bar. She refills Norm's drink. "Do you think they'll actually go through with it this time?" Frasier wonders aloud again.
Norm shrugs, uncaring, as he's handed his drink. "Who knows?"
Cliff pulls out his wallet. "I've got five bucks they don't."
"I'll get in on that," says Norm. Frasier nods in agreement and puts in his own money.
"They seem happy," Carson says in her father's defense.
"You didn't know them back in the day, Cars," says Carla. "They were night and day, those two. Mentos inside a coke bottle."
"Okay, maybe I don't know how they were back then," she says. "And maybe this is the biggest mistake of his life—"
"You bet it is," interrupts Carla.
"—but this is the first time in a long time I've seen my dad genuinely happy about… anything. And I'm not gonna ruin it for him. And you guys shouldn't either." Her scolding gets to them. Carla frowns, a brief look of guilt sparkling in her eyes. "You're his friends. You should be supporting him," she continues, taking the pile of money from Cliff's eager hands, "not betting if he gets hitched or not."
"Yeah, okay," Carla reluctantly agrees.
And it's silent—or quiet, as dad likes to say. "I'm sorry," Tatum says after a moment. "I still can't get over this Cliff and Norm thing…"
"Eh, well, we've discussed it in detail… once or twice," Cliff says, and Carla almost looks disgusted. "And there's only one scenario where becoming gay lovers is a possible outcome."
Norm nods. "Zombie apocalypse," he says seriously. "Yeah. Vera becomes a zombie or dies, or something… and we find solace in beer." He takes a big gulp of his beer, uncaring. "And, I guess, also in each other's arms."
Tatum places her hand on her chest. "Aw, that's so romantic!"
Carla winces. "You'd find romance in a toothpick lodged between two rotting teeth."
"Come on, Carla," says Carson. "Play nice." She takes away Norm's empty glass, but doesn't refill it. "All right—everybody, go home. Get ready. We're closing up shop for a few hours." They all grumble, but rise from their seats anyway and leave one by one.
And Carson stands alone now in an empty bar with nothing but quietude surrounding her. She can hear it—the loudness in the silence: the pipes, the old creaks and the slight humming from the tap. She strokes the wood before her, smiles, then taps on it lightly before moving to the exit. She is her father's daughter, and she has a wedding to prepare for.
A/N: Frasier Crane is so fun to write! All of them are, but Frasier (Cheers-version) is just so goofy. I love him. I can totally see this fic as a pilot episode for a reboot series. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading. Like always, if there's any questions or concerns about something, I'm always here to help you out. Thanks for reading!
