Rating: M
(Eventual) Pairing: C&M
Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama
Okay, this is my first attempt at a story, and I'll it be known now that I'm not the world's best writer, but I'd really appreciate it if you could read and review and tell me of you think this is worth continuing with. Thank you very much!
Prologue – The Calm Before The StormOminous was the air on that bitterly cold December night in New York City, as she left the front door of the building, the icy wind a shock to her system, it was like the calm before a storm. As if protecting herself from something, she zipped up her jacket and pulled her scarf snugly around her neck and began walking home.
It was so deathly quiet for a Friday night; the number of cars on the windy city roads was merely a fraction of its normal capacity. It did not unnerve her. On the contrary, it was a relief. It reduced her journey time by nearly half. The atmosphere was so quiet.
Approaching the building, she hastily pushed open the door to the main lobby, relieved to be free of the biting wind from outside. Making her way up to the apartment, she knew she was probably going to be alone tonight. Her roommate was probably staying at her boyfriend's. She'd kick back with a good book and a hot chocolate.
Entering the apartment, the silence ringing in her ears, she flipped the light switch and discarded of her coat and scarf. The atmosphere was so quiet. Noticing the towel on the floor, she sighed to herself thinking how clumsy her roommate could be at times. She picked it up and laid it down on the counter beside the cooker neatly and set her leather bag down next to it. She began heading in the direction of the bathroom, when she noticed also, the sink, full to the brim of dirty dishes. She must've been cooking, she thought. Sighing more deeply, realising that her hot chocolate and reading time was to be postponed until she'd cleared up, she headed for the bathroom. The door clicked shut and resounded loudly through the apartment. The atmosphere was so quiet.
It was just like the calm before a storm.
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Chapter One – The Storm
Flamboyant as always, Monica decided that, as she had to clean up Rachel's mess that she'd made, she might as well take it to the next step and spend the night cleaning the apartment. To Monica, this was not taking a ridiculously huge and unnecessary leap.
Retrieving her bathroom cleaning utensils from under the sink, she got to work scrubbing the sink and bath clean and then proceeded to disinfect the toilet, and then wash the floor. So preoccupied was she that she didn't realise the amount of time that had passed until she glanced at her watch. Forty-five minutes.
Pausing to take a break, she realised that she was sweating, which she considered a normal reaction until she began to realise that it was absolutely stifling in the tiny bathroom. Mildly surprised, however unfazed, she decided that she needed some air. Monica deposited the cleaning rag in her hand into the bucket of soapy water and stood up. She headed to the door and clasped the handle with her whole hand, however, the second her skin came into contact with it, she recoiled in horror. The metal handle was absolutely searing.
Monica inhaled sharply, shaking her hand violently to shake off the pain of the heat. The fact that it was hot had momentarily passed her by and when it hit her, it was like a tonne of bricks.
There was a period of about ten seconds when so much went through Monica's head she thought that it would explode from the pressure.
What the hell? How the hell? Oh my God, Rachel must've left the hob on! I put my bag down next to the cooker! It must've caught fire! That must've made the towel catch on fire! Then everything around it caught on fire! How bad can it be? Pretty bad if the handle it that hot! How the hell have I been oblivious to this for forty-five minutes? Oh no, that's easy; I was too busy cleaning, wasn't it? Damn, I gotta get a fire alarm! No, firstly, I've got to get out of here! How? There's no was I can keep my hand in contact with the handle long enough to open it! Oh my God,it's getting hotter in here! I've got to get out somehow, I can't breathe…
Panic rising in her throat like vomit, Monica scanned the bathroom frantically, and her eyes rested on the bath towel hanging on the railing next to the bath. She grabbed it and folded it three times, hoping that would be thick enough for the heat not to penetrate through it. Placing it over her hand, she grasped the handle again, and managed to turn it. She pulled the door open.
If she thought the heat was unbearable in the bathroom, it was positively comfortable compared to the living room and kitchen. Her first and only image when she opened the door was fire and smoke. Everything that was visible to her was ablaze. She placed her hand over her nose and mouth to stop from inhaling the vile and pungent smoke. She rapidly began to lose her focus, and her footing followed hot on its heels. Misplacing the step down to the kitchen, she tumbled onto her knees. It was incredible. Within the mere seconds since she'd opened the bathroom door, her stamina had drained from her like blood from a syringe. Try as she might, her legs would not carry her anymore. It took everything left within her to get herself to her feet, but she slumped back onto her knees again immediately. She had no idea where she was - somewhere between the sofa and the kitchen table? Her eyes were itching imperiously. They were watering. Was it the smoke or was she crying? She didn't know. She was slowly losing all feeling. The heat was overwhelmingly overpowering her feeble, petite body. This time, when she fell, her whole body came into violent contact with the floor, and she did not respond anymore. Laying lifeless, her hand no longer protecting her from inhaling the smoke, the flames continued to lap, lick and consume everything in their path, inching closer and closer to her, and the smoke closed in on her, surrounding her from every corner and angle like an army on the antagonist, absolutely and with the power to kill.
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Meanwhile, Rachel stormed into the coffee house, immediately seeing Chandler sitting on the couch. She walked over and sat on the chair.
"Hey Rach," Chandler said, surprised to see her at this hour. "What's going on? It's like nearly eleven o' clock, aren't you staying at Ross's?"
Rachel exhaled. "No, we had a stupid fight again."
"Oh, it's not about you working late again, is it?" Chandler asked, knowing full well it was.
Rachel shook her head in exasperation. "I understand it's hard for him, y'know, my whole lifestyle has changed since I got this job, it's only natural that he's reacting like this. Dammit, I probably would be a little bit annoyed if I didn't see him 'til God knows what hour at night, but he's taking it too far now. It's like he's jealous…"
"Of what?" Chandler interrupted, incredulously.
"I don't know!" Rachel replied, laughing in her bewilderment.
Chandler shook his head.
"Anyway, I just came in to see if anyone was still here, I'm gonna go up to the apartment now, I'm shattered. Are you coming up?" Rachel asked.
"No, I'm gonna finish this first," Chandler held his coffee up.
"Okay, I'll see you later then," Rachel said, getting up and squeezing his arm affectionately.
"Later, Rach," Chandler said, and Rachel headed towards the door.
Rachel walked up the stars to the apartment, preoccupied with Ross. She loved him, but God did he know how to push her buttons.
She knew something was wrong as soon as she climbed the last stair. She could see the smoke emanating from underneath the closed door. She stood momentarily paralysed. It took longer to process than it had for Monica, partly because after she'd realised that she must have left the hob on, she stood there deliberating in her denial for a moment or two.
Only when she remembered that Monica had said she was coming home early that night, did her head begin to swim in terror. Panicking hysterically, she ran to the door, screaming Monica's name, and, like Monica, reached for the door handle and recoiled instantly, screaming in pain.
Tears streaming down her face, her breathing incredibly laboured in her fear, and her heart pounding relentlessly in her ears, she pulled her coat sleeve down over her hand and attempted again to open the door.
It was like literally walking into an oven. She coughed instantly in the face of the smoke.
"Monica!" She screamed. "Monica, please, if you're here, say something! Please!"
She was absolutely terrified to overstep the threshold and into the blazing apartment, yet she knew she had to do something.
Deciding that, as she was utterly useless, she kicked off her high heels, and fled down the stairs.
Where are you going? Who are you going to? She asked herself. I don't know, the same voice in her head replied.
She reached the lobby and sped towards the door where she ran headlong into Chandler, who was entering the building. He caught her deftly and stopped her in her tracks.
"Whoa, Rach, caref…" he began, but shut up at the sight of her tear-streaked face where her mascara had run and her distressingly frightened expression. "Oh my God, what the hell… you stink of smoke, what…"
"Chandler! Chandler, you gotta help me! I can't go in there, please! It's all my fault! I left the hob on! I could've killed her Chandler!" Without waiting for a reply, she pulled herself free of his grip, grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the stairs. Fearing the worst, Chandler began to run of his own accord, pushing past Rachel and taking the stairs two at a time.
He could smell the revolting smell of the smoke from half way down the staircase up the their apartments.
"Did you leave the door open?" He shouted down to Rachel, who was a flight of stairs behind him.
Realising her mistake, Rachel's eyes widened in horror. "Yes. I did! Oh God!"
Chandler fled as fast as he could, however found himself rooted to the spot, as Rachel had been when he reached the top.
"Shit," he muttered to himself, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to do it. He just had to.
"Chandler!" Rachel caught up with him. "What do we do? Do we call the fire service…"
Chandler breathed deeply and closed his eyes in trepidation. "No, listen…"
He grabbed hold of Rachel and she looked him in the eye.
"You are going to call them, and wait downstairs for them. No arguments just go and go quick, we don't have much time!"
"But…" Rachel immediately argued.
"GO!" Chandler yelled, making Rachel start in surprise. "Do you want her to die?" He pointed to the apartment.
"No. No, of course not. Okay, I'll go…" Rachel replied in a hushed voice.
Chandler nodded and immediately turned towards the apartment.
"Chandler…" Rachel called after him, her voice on the brink of cracking.
Chandler turned back, and looked at her, her eyes glistening, fresh tears threatening to flood out onto her face.
"Please come back," she uttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Chandler hurriedly strode back to her, embraced her tightly and pressed his lips against her temple. He didn't want to promise her anything that he wasn't sure of himself. To him, this was his goodbye to her… just in case.
Fighting back his very own tears, he pulled away from her, began retreating backwards towards the apartment. "Go, Rach. Do what I've told you. Please."
Rachel didn't move.
"Go!" Chandler said, and she disappeared, without looking back at him.
The fire was spreading out into the hallway and had continued to do so whilst they had been talking. What damage had that done? Was he too late? He couldn't afford to think anymore, he had to act. He was either going to be successful or he wasn't, it wasn't a matter of debate.
Plunging into the blazing apartment, coughing violently as the smoke attacked his lungs, he didn't bother to call out Monica's name, knowing full we she would be lying unconscious somewhere by now. It was so hot. He was just walking. Where? He did not know. He was avoiding the flames, but it was so hot, he might as well have been on fire himself. The kitchen chairs and table had disintegrated to rubble in the heat and were blocking his pathway.
Rubbing his watering eyes, he began kicking at the pieces of weak, charred wood in front of him. Suddenly, without warning, his foot hit something solid. He knelt down, and through the smoke, he just about made of Monica's form, lying face down on the floor.
"Shit!" Chandler shouted. "Monica!" He shook her in the off chance that she was still conscious.
Flames were closing in on him, and he knew he had to get out of there. He reached for her arm and felt for a pulse. It was there, but it was weak. Lacking in energy himself now, he somehow managed to scoop her up into his arms, and in a dangerous, stupid, spur of the moment action, ran for the door.
Once outside the apartment, he looked back, and rapidly checked Monica for any signs of fire. There were none. He breathed a sigh of relief, so immensely consumed by this that he didn't think to check himself. The hem of his shirt on the right hand side had caught fire, and without looking back, he began his descent down the stairs, carrying Monica.
Only when the flames had burnt away so far up his shirt that they began scorching his skin did he realise he was on fire. The pain was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, but he knew he couldn't stop until he'd gotten Monica to safety. Fighting through it, he twisted her in his arms away from the fire, which was rapidly spreading further up and around to the front of him. He heard the sounds of sirens getting closer and closer as he got closer and close to the lobby.
The four of them were there when he reached the lobby. Rachel, Joey, Phoebe and Ross. The events of the next few minutes happened in succession and with no intervals between. They rushed to his aid, and Ross took Monica out of his arms.
"She's alive," he murmured feebly through his pain.
Phoebe saw to Monica with Ross and Rachel and Joey came to Chandler's aid. It wasn't planned the way they split up. Rachel was screaming at Chandler that he needed to get his shirt off, but before he could do anything fire truck pulled up outside, Phoebe ran to the door and yelled, "Over here!"
Ten or so men entered the lobby, all equipped with fire utensils. One with a hose shouted to Chandler to lay face down on the floor, and the second he did so, cold water was being sprayed all over his body.
Chandler was close to unconsciousness in his pain, and Joey sat down next to him when the fir has been extinguished and supported his head in his lap.
"Is he going to be okay?" Joey asked, helplessly, looking up at the fireman who had saved Chandler's life.
"He will. So will she…" he beckoned towards Monica. "…but we need medical assistance right now."
With that, he produced a walky-talky from his jacket pocket and began to speak very clearly and urgently into it. He explained that ambulance assistance was required as soon as possible and that there had been a serious fire involving a man and woman, both in their late twenties and they needed urgent medical attention.
The ten or so firemen then disappeared and retuned to their colleges outside or upstairs and began the long process of extinguishing the fire in the apartment.
The six of them were left on their own with one fireman left to watch over them and the lobby was plunged into silence. There was nothing that anyone could possibly say at present. They had been plunged into a state of complete and utter shock within the space of half an hour.
Holding onto Monica's hand with one arm, Ross pulled Rachel close to him with the other. Rachel wrapped her arm around Phoebe's shoulders and leaned her head against hers. Phoebe grasped Joey's hand and he squeezed it affectionately, still supporting Chandler, who had now slipped into an unconscious state from his pain.
The atmosphere was so quiet. The only sounds that could be heard were the distant and vague gushing of hoses outside and upstairs.
Rachel's timid and feeble voice broke the silence. "They came back." Her chin quivered and she sobbed in relief, burying her head into Ross' shoulder.
Nobody responded and they were plunged into silence again. It was like the aftermath of a storm.