Hello, and welcome to my first multi-chapter Frasier story! I have been a big fan of the show for a while now, and have decided to finally dabble in some fanfiction. I know that this being as AU as it is might be a turn off for some people, but I can assure you that it's worth it. Aside from the obvious change with Niles, the characters remain mostly true to their canonical personalities and backgrounds. The only thing that I think is noteworthy right now besides the change with Niles is that I've reduced Niles and Daphne down to age 29 and 28, respectively, and Niles and Daphne meet in 2006, not 1993. Niles was wounded during action in Ramadi, Iraq in late 2005. Fraiser is 31, since as far as I understand he's supposed to be two years older than Niles. Martin is maybe five years younger than his show counterpart, and Roz is the same age as Frasier. Niles still resides in the Montana, and is able to afford the rent thanks to a hefty inheritance and his military pension. Frasier and Martin live together in Elliott Bay Towers.

This story is a bit of a risk for me, but I hope you like it nonetheless!

"Thank you for your time. My brother and I will contact you at some point regarding our decision."

Fraiser Crane gave the Latino man at the door a kind smile as he finished dismissing him. As soon as the door was closed, however, the happy mask he'd been wearing was off, revealing the annoyance beneath.

He spun on his heel, his eyes shooting daggers at his brother. "For Christ's sake, Niles! What the hell was wrong with that one?"

The younger of the two Crane boys shrugged, his eyes focused a bit too intensely on the wooden floor. "He just wasn't the type of person I'm looking for."

Frasier threw his arms up in the air, exasperated. "Quite frankly, Niles, I'm not exactly sure what your 'type' is. We've had so many different therapists in here that I'm sure we've now covered every single ethnicity from here to Antarctica!"

Niles looked at his brother then, a slight twinge of annoyance crossing over his tanned, slightly scarred face. "I don't recall ever asking for your help with this. In fact, I don't ever recall even asking for a therapist at all."

Frasier took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a count of ten. When he opened them again, he said, "Niles. I know how hard it must be for a young man like yourself to be restricted to a cane this-"

He cut him off. "No, Frasier, you don't." He stood up, taking a moment to steady himself on his cane. "You can never understand what I'm going through, Frasier, because while I was off busting my ass in Iraq you were prancing around Cambridge studying medicine from the comfort of a dorm room. Don't play that game with me."

The pained look on his brother's face made Niles backtrack a bit. He sighed. "Look. I appreciate your help. I really do. But I can walk just fine, as long as I have my cane. I can make it up the stairs fine. I can cook and clean. And in my book, that means that I don't need a therapist."

The doorbell rang then. As Frasier went to get it, he growled, "Well, it just so happens that your doctor thinks otherwise. Now, this is the last of the people we're interviewing."

"Ever?"

"Ever. So be nice, for once in your life, instead of acting like someone shoved a cactus up your butt."

Niles sat back down on his fainting couch, his gaze training itself once more on the floor. He had learned after over a dozen interviews that by doing this, he was easily able to shorten the amount of time each therapist spent in his home. All it took was for Frasier to finally run out of things to say. Then, he'd simply make no comment until Frasier became so fed up with the silence that he dismissed the therapist.

It was a good system. Niles was sure Frasier had him figured out, but quite frankly he didn't care. There wasn't much Frasier could do about it, anyways.

"Hello. I'm Daphne Moon. Is this the Crane residence?"

Niles's head snapped up and to the side as a very feminine voice reached his ears. It was pleasingly accented - Manchester, maybe? - and much more soothing than the gruff voices of the male therapists he'd become accustomed to "interviewing".

Frasier, as was typical of a man such as he, became the most open, inviting host as soon as the door had been opened. Any trace of the anger he'd felt in regards to his stubborn sibling was no longer present. Instead, he donned a cheeky grin and bright, happy eyes.

He invited this "Daphne Moon" into Niles's apartment with a sweep of his arm. When she came into full view, the sight nearly took his breath away.

She was stunning. Her brown hair was swept up into a messy but nonetheless attractive ponytail, and she was wearing a nice skirt, a (pleasantly tight) black shirt, and a beige jacket. Her hands flexed nervously around the strap of her purse as she and Niles made eye contact for the first time.

God, her eyes. They were so captivating.

Almost immediately, however, Niles found himself jerking himself back into reality. Come on, Niles, he chastised himself. She's a physical therapist, not your mail-order bride. Stop acting like such a buffoon.

She smiled sweetly at him. Walking toward him, she extended her hand. "Daphne Moon. You must be Niles Crane. I've heard a lot about you."

Niles shot his brother a brief look. "Yes, I'm sure you have." He took Daphne's hand and shook it firmly. "It's a pleasure to have you in my home. Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable."

As Niles expected he would, Frasier took control of the situation almost as soon as Daphne had seated herself on one of Niles's chairs. He stood over her, arms folded like he was a parent disciplining a child.

"So, Daphne," he began. "Tell us a little about yourself."

"Well," she replied, her hands gripping nervously at her skirt. "I grew up in Manchester with me brothers and me parents. I've been over here for, oh, about eight months now. I had meself a client before now, but I don't anymore."

"What happened to him?"

"Her," she corrected. "She died," she went on rather matter-of-factly. "There was a bit of a slip-up in the kitchen. Don't worry though- I stood trial. They found me innocent. Turns out she just slipped on some water and fell on a butcher knife she'd been using to cut up a cow heart."

Frasier just looked at Niles, who raised his eyebrows and looked away.

Pretty, but strange.

"Okay then," Frasier said. "Is there... anything else we should know?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. No, I don't think so. Nothing serious, at least."

"How well can you cook and clean?"

Niles rolled his eyes. There he goes again, he thought. Making me look like a feeble man who can't do even the simplest of things.

"I've been told that I clean well. Me cooking is good, too, although I don't know how to cook much outside of the English stuff."

Frasier clapped his hands together. "Well, food is food, am I right? Niles?"

The veteran simply grunted in response.

"Oh, now, it's not that bad," Daphne soothed. Rising from her chair, she moved to put a hand on Niles's shoulder. "I know it must be hard to give up your freedom. But try not to think of it like that. Try to think of it like... I'm your live-in housekeeper."

Niles's head snapped up. "Live-in?" he echoed.

She nodded. "Yes, live-in. Your brother told me that's what you were looking for."

Slowly, Niles looked up at his brother, who had an awkward look on his face. "Did he now?" He rose from his chair. "Frasier, may I see you in the kitchen please?"

The Seattle psychiatrist sighed. "Alright, alright. We'll be just a minute, Daphne."

The two Crane men walked together into the kitchen. As soon as the door had swung shut behind them, Niles turned on his brother. "Frasier, have you gone absolutely mad? You can't expect me to live alone with her!"

"And why not? You seemed to have no issue with the thought of living with a male physiotherapist."

"Because I'm used to living with men, thanks to the service! A single woman is totally different than a married man!"

"Thank you for pointing that out, Niles," Frasier droned. "I had no idea there was a difference!"

"Oh cut it out, Frasier. You almost had me considering hiring her, and then you had to go and drop the bomb that she'd be living with me! I expected you to know better than to expect me to live with someone of her gender and relationship status!"

"Oh please, Niles. I saw the way you were looking at her when she came in. You were obviously entranced by her."

He shook his head. "Thinking someone is pretty is not the same as being 'entranced' by them, Frasier. Unlike you, I am not capable of immediately becoming attracted to a woman."

"Are you implying that I'm easy?"

"Well I'm not saying you're hard." As a look of angry horror spread across Frasier's face, Niles moved to leave the kitchen. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to break the news to Daphne that her services won't be needed."

Before he could leave, however, Frasier blocked the door. "No."

Niles stared at him incredulously. "No? Let me by, Frasier."

"Absolutely not. I will not have you go out there and drive away the last able physical therapist in Seattle!"

"Well, then I guess it's a shame I don't care about your opinion," he sneered.

He thrust himself forward in an attempt to push his brother out of the way. As he did, however, a sharp pain shot through his wounded hip. He cried out, nearly falling to the ground.

Frasier caught him almost immediately. "Niles! Niles, are you alright?"

He straightened himself. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. I just stumbled a bit, that's all."

At that moment, Daphne burst into the kitchen. "Is everything alright? I heard a cry, and figured-"

Niles cut her off. "Everything's fine. I just stubbed my toe, that's all."

"Let me get you some ice," she offered.

He waved the offer off. "No thank you, Daphne. I've dealt with much worse. Now, um, about that job-"

"You're hired!" Frasier cried, throwing his arms up in the air. "Congratulations!"

As Niles threw his brother a death stare, Daphne threw her arms around the elder brother. "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!" she cried, sounding on the brink of tears.

She soon moved off of Frasier and started toward Niles. "And thank you, Mr. Crane. I promise I'll do whatever I can to make you feel more comfortable.

You leaving would make me feel more comfortable. He placed a hand on her chest, stopping her from hugging him. When she gave him a confused look, he explained, "I don't like hugging. No hugs; that's one of the rules around here. In fact, let's just make as little physical contact as possible."

"Niles has a problem with intimacy and physical signs of appreciation," Frasier added, his tone almost mocking. "You'll have to excuse him.

"Oh, that's quite all right!" Daphne replied. "I can live without a hug from me new patient for now."

"When can you start?" Niles mumbled, knowing full well that Frasier would have just asked it anyways.

"Well," she mused, "I don't live far from here. I can have all me stuff packed and here by seven."

Niles nearly broke down. Seven? That's only three hours from now!

"Perfect!" Frasier cried, bringing his hands together with a loud smack! "How about dinner at 7:30? My treat. We'll go to that fancy new restaurant, the Restauranteur di Amore. Just the three of us."

"Oh Dr. Crane, you don't have to do that!" Daphne protested. "Taking me out to some fancy restaurant isn't really necessary. I can just cook something up here for Niles and I. I'm sure there's plenty more Niles wants to know about me."

Knowing full well that a night at the Restauranteur di Amore would give him just a little while longer to avoid having to be alone with Daphne, Niles jumped to take the opportunity. "I'd love to go, Frasier. I haven't been out to eat in God knows when."

Daphne sighed. "Well, I guess it's settled then. I'll go pack me bags."

As was to be expected, the Restauranteur di Amore was packed. Seattleites of the highest class dined on food with names too foreign for any but the truly well-spoken to pronounce and sipped only the best wine and champagne.

The maître d' seated them at a table in the corner, which Frasier protested but was forced to accept in the end. Apparently the table had its view partially blocked by a plant.

"Honestly," Frasier muttered as he took his seat, "one would expect more courteous service from what's supposed to be a fine dining establishment."

"Oh, give it a rest Frasier," Niles snapped. "There's nothing worth seeing in here anyways."

A look of shock developed on the elder Crane brother's face. "Nothing to see? For your information, Niles, there just so happens to be a piece of art right over there-" he paused to gesture toward a painting that was half obscured behind the plant "-that was made by the fabulous Daniel von Fluberbach. Such an exquisite piece deserves my full attention."

Daphne, who was seated beside Frasier, twisted around to look at it. She squinted, a confused look dawning on her face. "It's just a bunch of colors splattered on a canvas."

He gave her an annoyed look. "It is not 'just a bunch of colors', Daphne. The colors are perfectly arranged so as to convey a broad range of emotions, inviting the observer to take a ride on the rollercoaster of the human subconscious."

At that moment, a waiter approached the trio, sparing Niles and Daphne from any more of Frasier's snobbish rambling.

As the finely-dressed man began taking Daphne's order, Niles found himself looking at von Fluberwhatever's painting. He couldn't help but wonder if such an array of colors had been intentional, or if the whole piece had simply been a consequence of letting a toddler play with paint.

He shook his head, still not seeing the appeal of it. He figured that his mind was simply not properly tuned in to Frasier's world of herb baths, hand-stitched sweaters and put-you-to-sleep symphonies.

For himself, he chose the only thing on the menu that he could recgonize as palatable: filet mignon, or filet de bœuf as the snail-slurping French called it.

As he heard Frasier place an order for pheasant, Niles gave the psychiatrist a strange look. "Don't you ever eat normal birds?"

The socialite sniffed. "Pheasant is a delicacy, Niles. It is certainly much more soothing to the taste buds than the dry, tasteless meat that you consume on a daily basis. You should try it sometime."

He gave a sarcastic laugh in response. "Thanks, but no thanks. My taste buds don't need some fancy bird to make them happy."

Frasier shrugged. "Suit yourself."

There was a silence at the table for a few moments before Daphne piped up. "You know, pheasant doesn't sound half bad."

"Thank you, Daphne," Frasier said, giving his brother's new caretaker a snobbish look of gratitude.

The physiotherapist did not stop there, however. "Back in Manchester, me Grammy Moon used to boil lamb heads and put them in a stew. I remember she'd always be bringing it over, and me mother would always throw such a fit."

"Dear God!" Frasier suddenly exclaimed.

She shrugged rather nonchalantly. "It wasn't that bad, once you got past the eyes and all."

He shook his head feverently. "No, not that. Niles, look over there!"

The other man turned, his eyes falling upon a brown-haired woman in a rather tight but nonetheless attractive blue dress. A burly man was pulling a chair out for her.

"That's Roz!" Frasier hissed.

"Thank you, Frasier," Niles droned. "I almost mistook her for Madonna."

Ignoring his brother, Frasier shot up out of his chair. "I can't believe her!" he snarled. "She told me that she wasn't feeling well, and that's why she couldn't join us! And where do I find her? A restaurant, and with a man no less!" He stormed off toward her.

Daphne gave Niles a confused look. "Who's Roz?"

He sighed. "Frasier's, ah, loose producer. She's always running off with one man or another. It really irks Frasier, probably because it reminds him of his own commitment issues."

She nodded at his explanation, then shook her head. "I never understood women like that. Always running around looking for a good time like sex is the only important thing in the world."

Her uttering of the word "sex" brought all of Niles's fears about living alone with a (single) woman rushing back. He cursed Roz's presence for bringing the subject back into the air.

Daphne gave him a concerned look. "Are you all right, Mr. Crane?"

He realized that he had allowed a strange look to cross over his face. He swallowed hard, deciding to be direct with her while he still had the chance. Might as well clear the air up, even if it did make things awkward for a bit. "Listen, Daphne-"

"I am wounded!"

Frasier's offended scream silenced the restaurant. Everyone turned in the direction of the outburst, just in time to see Roz Doyle push Frasier Crane back, doing so with enough force to send him toppling on top of an older woman. Wine splashed out of the glass in her hand, staining his new suit.

The elitist man looked down at his wrecked clothing, a horrified look invading his features. "How- how dare you!" he roared up at his co-worker.

She stuck a finger right up in his face. "You best stay out of my business, Frasier Crane, or you'll have more than just a damaged suit to deal with! This is the third date in a week I've had ruined because of you!"

"Well, maybe if you'd just been honest in the first place then this never would have happened!"

"Or maybe if you would just mind your own damn business, Frasier, then we wouldn't be having this conversation!"

"I am not the only one at fault here! Have you forgotten that just two days ago-"

She nearly smacked him. "Oh, shove it up your ass, Frasier." She started to walk away.

"Excuse me!?"

She ignored him and walked out of the restaurant.

Slowly and dejectedly, Frasier wandered back over to his own table, the eyes of the other diners burning into his back. He sat back down in his seat, head in hands.

Niles sighed. This was proving to be a very trying night.