Title: Lull
Author: Lauren
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Post 301. Monica can't sleep without boring men. Chandler is pretty sure god is punishing him.
Author's notes: There is not a shameless sap genre, how is that possible? This is a Chandler POV fic, and I tried to get his voice down right. I'd appreciate constructive criticism on the whole thing, but especially the characterizations. I never thought I'd write Friends fanfic again, let alone Chandler and Monica, so this is new and different.
He smells it the second he opens the door. It serves him right for not knocking. Not that Chandler remembers the last time any of them have knocked, but clearly, god is punishing him for all his past wrongdoings.
Now he can't remember his reason for coming over here. Damned beings of higher power.
He shrugs and closes the door behind him. The TV is on, casting faint light across a restless ball of Monica on the couch.
"Are you watching the history channel?"
Monica starts awake, and Chandler belatedly feels guilty. Then he spies the cigars, and any remotely remorseful inklings vanish.
"What?" Monica's voice is shrill, more raspy than usual. When she sits up Chandler sees the circles under her eyes, and something that might possibly be regret edges into his thought processes.
But god damn it, that smell. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're killing me."
"What?" Monica says again. Chandler gestures to the coffee table. "Oh. These were Richards." Tears are standing in her eyes that fast, and now Chandler is definitely feeling the guilt. "I like the smell." The last word comes out more as a sob, and she ducks her head.
There is a burst of vaguely effeminate giggling from somewhere behind them. Chandler lived with that laugh for four years, and he winces. "You are not having a good night," he surmises. Monica just looks miserable.
"Did you need something? Because I probably don't have it."
It would be wrong to take Richard's cigars. Very wrong. Ross gets sex and Chandler doesn't get to smoke. He's glad to see that even with a girlfriend, the world is still screwing him over.
Monica leans on the arm of the couch. She is clearly not wearing her own shirt, and that just adds to the forlorn look she's got going on.
"Nah, sorry to come by so late." More laughter comes from Rachel's bedroom, followed by a half stifled squeal. Chandler could have gone a lot longer without knowing Rachel made that kind of noise. "I'll see you tomorrow," he tells Monica. He wants to give her a smile, but if he doesn't leave this very second, he can't make any promises about those cigars not coming with him.
Twenty minutes later, Chandler's mostly forgotten about them. Until his front door opens and Monica comes in, the smell wafting with her like some kind of devil's perfume.
"You have a boring job."
"You are torturing me."
"You have a boring life," she continues, like he hasn't said anything.
"You smell like smoke."
"I need you to tell me about your job, or your life, or-or something involving numbers, because I can't sleep and I'm losing my mind." With each word, her voice edges closer to hysteria, and Chandler kind of wants to take cover under the foosball table.
He doesn't do sad well. He can be there for Ross and Joey just fine, but it's really better for all involved if he leaves the girl crying and consoling to the girls. Especially when Phoebe is on an aroma therapy kick.
"I've been having sex," he tells Monica. "My life is pretty great." And he's just proved his point. Her face falls, and she looks like she's trying really, really hard not to cry again.
"Right," she says, the word coming out pinched and considerably lower than before. She makes a sound that is probably supposed to be a derisive laugh. god, she can't even be mad at him. "Right, you and Janice."
"Mon," he tries to gentle his voice into something soothing. He will try for her. "Here, sit down."
"Y'know what, trust me, it's better for both of us if i don't. I've gotten about two hours of sleep in the last forty eight,and that was earlier tonight while my dad watched my completely depressing civil war videos and ate my food."
Chandler stands up and snags a blanket off the back of Joey's chair. He wraps it around Monica's shoulders, which feel even smaller in the too baggy shirt. She looks up at him with half focused blood shot eyes, and Chandler just tells his mouth to stay closed as he guides her back to his own chair and eases her down into it.
He doesn't really know where to sit after that, but finally takes Joey's chair. "Mine is better for naps," he finds himself explaining.
"Aren't they the same chair?"
"Don't question the powers of the La-z-boy," he admonishes her. Monica's lips curve slightly, and she curls her legs under her. "So you want to hear about the Wenus, do ya" Chandler offers, encouraged by that almost smile.
"You could tell me about Janice. How's she doing?"
"See, I don't want to give you nightmares. I get the impression that trying to get you all to see my new way of thinking toward Janice is a lost cause. Which is really too bad, because she's delightful over the internet..."
Chandler is pretty sure Monica stops paying attention in his first sentence. He keeps talking, about the way Janice makes up her own smilie faces with parentheses, to the way she likes her pancakes. He really doesn't mind the subject, and Monica is asleep within two minutes.
Chandler stops rambling about coffee creamer. He gets up slowly, mindful of the way Joey's chair tends to squeak. Monica doesn't seem deeply asleep, not that he can blame her. She's all scrunched into a ball in the recliner, with her neck at a weird angle on the armrest.
Chandler goes into his room and grabs a pillow. He takes the one from his side of the bed, deciding to keep Janice's for himself. Once back in the living room, he deliberates for a long time, before slowly easing it between Monica's head and the armrest as carefully as possible. She stirs, and lets out a half whimper that makes Chandler want to do crazy things, like kiss her forehead and call her sweetheart. This is why he doesn't do girl crap.
"Easy," he murmurs instead. "There we go." Monica sighs and settles back into sleep, and Chandler pushes hair off her face. She leans into his touch, and now Chandler just wants to kick Richard's ass.
Monica's hair is silky against the back of his hand, and this close it's almost like he's smoking a cigar.
Chandler just now remembers that he's more of a Marlboro kind of guy. He lingers over Monica for a few more seconds though, until he's sure she's deeply asleep.
Chandler doesn't make it a habit of watching Monica sleep - or really watching anyone sleep, for that matter. But he's pretty sure this is the most relaxed Monica's been in at least the last three days, and he allows himself to feel a little satisfied when he finally does walk away. Take that, god. Chandler had showed him.