Niles comes to himself on the fainting couch (such a fitting name for that piece of furniture) while Daphne's lovely features start to fill his field of vision.

It's been too much. The unbearable heat, the crushing feeling of loneliness, Daphne's totally unexpected presence at his door, so tempting all covered in sweat, which would have disgusted him in any other woman...

Now she's looking at him with a concerned expression and talking to him, but at first he can't discern her words, until his senses return to him again little by little.

"What... What's happened?," he asks in confusion.

She looks relieved now that he's back to consciousness. "You've fainted. It must have been this terrible heat. Are you feeling better now? Do you need something? A glass of water maybe...," she offers, touching his forehead with her warm palm, probably checking for signs of a fever. Her skin on his own makes him shudder, which will only worry her even more if he doesn't keep in check his responses to her attentions. He never feels more out of control than when she's around.

Without waiting for his response, she reaches for an ice bucket next to the couch where he's submerged a bottle of water, and fills the empty glass she finds on the coffee table. "Here, take a sip. You must hydrate yourself."

He complies eagerly. "Thank you, Daphne. I'm so sorry for having scared you," he apologizes, feeling utterly embarrassed. What must she be thinking of a man who faints so easily? He's not precisely a paradigm of physical strength, so the female element has never lined up in front of his door. Not that he considers Daphne a superficial woman who only cares for physique, not at all; he knows her much better than that. But even so, he secretly wishes that he could impress her with displays of old-school masculinity that women in general admire. Well, it seems that he'll have to make do with his other qualities, if there's a chance for him to win her someday.

Because deep inside he hasn't lost his hope to win her heart. He only has to wait for the proper moment. As soon as he perceives the signs that she's giving him the all-clear, if that ever happens, there won't be a man more eager to woo a woman. Right until now, he's restrained himself because of her admission that she doesn't involve herself with separated men, and that thought deflates him a little. He is in a sort of limbo with regard to his marriage to Maris, but one thing is clear to him: if by a miracle Daphne accepts to start a relationship with him, he wouldn't have qualms about divorcing Maris. He would never go back to her coldness and indifference, and even less after tasting Daphne's warmth and caring nature. Besides, he's stopped loving Maris like he did in the past. There will be always a residual love, as thirteen years worth of memories can't be erased as if they haven't existed, but he's more sure than ever: whatever happens from now on, he won't get back together with her.

However, he's still married and uncertain of how long the divorce process would take, which looks like an insurmountable obstacle what regards to his hopes for Daphne considering him a potential suitor.

"Nonsense. I was about to faint myself on the way here. This heat wave is hell," she downplays, taking the empty glass from his hand and placing it back on the table. "You want some more water?"

He shakes his head, trying to sit up cautiously. The dizzy spell has passed, fortunately. "No, thanks. You're very kind. Sorry for the lack of air conditioning, but that's the downside of living in a historic building. The residents aren't allowed to install anything that disrupts the esthetics, so I have to manage with a fan."

"Take it easy, Dr. Crane. We don't want you to faint again," Daphne warns seriously, and he's grateful for her sincere worry for him.

"I feel much better now. But you haven't told me what I owe the pleasure of your visit," he says, fully seated next to her.

Daphne looks down, hesitating. "I... I had a horrible fight with Sherry and didn't have any other place to go. I'm sorry for intruding here, I don't want to be a nuisance."

He denies firmly with his head. "You wouldn't ever be a nuisance, Daphne. And I'm glad you've thought of my house as a place you can resort to when you're having trouble. It means a lot to me to be able to help you," Niles reassures. Then he remembers his manners. "But I'm being an awful host. I haven't offered you anything yet. What do you fancy?"

She bites her bottom lip. That sensual gesture doesn't ever fail to make him almost short-circuit. "Would you mind if I use your shower? I feel so sticky with all this sweat, I'm sure I'm disgusting you..."

If only she knew how far from disgusting he thinks she is. "Not at all, feel free to make yourself at home. Please, use my en-suite, and you have at your disposal the clean towels I keep in the wardrobe next to the bathtub, they're made of Indian cotton, which is much softer for the skin," he provides, his heart racing at the thought of her skin in such an intimate contact with his facilities and towels.

She smiles shyly as she grabs her overnight bag and heads for the stairs. "Thank you, Dr. Crane."

As soon as she disappears upstairs, he springs into action.