Long Time No See (part 1)
This is set in late Season 10 or maybe early (what would have been) Season 11. Chandler and Monica moved to Tulsa early Season 9 and stayed there, he died eight months ago, everything else you need to know will be explained in the story. Its told from Rachel's point of view. I don't own the characters. Dedicated to Megs and DMG, love you both.
I woke up on the couch to find the most beautiful pair of eyes I've ever seen looking right at me. As soon as my eyes were open she leaned towards me and I closed them again as her soft, familiar lips brushed mine in a gentle kiss.
"Hi," she said quietly.
"How long have you been there watching me sleep?"
"Not long. Ross called me."
"So how come you're not with him?"
"I figured you'd need me more."
I didn't answer her. I just kissed her again.
"I'm sorry about Chandler," I told her. She moved away from me for the first time, awkwardly fiddling with the bottom of her shirt. "Do you wanna talk about it?" I suddenly felt bad for not spending more time with her when he died. Ross, Joey, Phoebe and I had just flown down to Oklahoma for the funeral and come straight back to New York afterwards.
"No, I can't."
"Ok sweetie." I stroked her hair. She turned back to face me and offered me a faltering smile.
"You wanna talk about what happened with Ross and Joey?"
I could tell she needed to listen for a while to regain her composure, so I shrugged and nodded. "Ross found out about me and Joey. I think he still thought we had a chance, that we'd get together in the end, if only for Emma's sake. For me to be with one of his best friends was something of a shock. But he really doesn't wanna lose Emma, he's so terrified I'm gonna take her away from him that he begged me to let her stay at the apartment with him." I sighed. "Its gonna be messy, whatever happens. Kids complicate everything."
"I'm sorry."
"I can understand, I guess, but that doesn't make it any easier. Anyway, the thing was, Phoebe had always kind of had a thing for Joey, so she gave us both the cold shoulder. With you in Oklahoma and Chandler…" I stopped myself, blushing. "I'm sorry Mon."
"You can mention his name you know." But she was looking away again, and blinking rapidly.
"Anyway, Joey couldn't take being shunned by everyone. He went crawling to Ross to beg forgiveness."
"It didn't work," she said, "Phoebe let him off, but Ross didn't. He said he couldn't be friends with someone who would betray him like that."
"Yeah? Well, I'm the one left on my own. Emma's with Ross, and I know he's a great father and they adore each other, but I miss her. I'm her mother, she should be with me!"
"God Rach, I'm so sorry. But you're not on your own."
"What?"
"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm here." She had edged closer to me again, and was smiling. I kissed her; thanking her for being with me, thanking her for her support.
"For how long?"
She shrugged. "I don't know if I can go back to Oklahoma alone, the last eight months there have been hell. On the other hand, if I stay here, I'm gonna be branded a traitor to the family for not rushing to Ross's defence."
"You could go somewhere completely different," I suggested.
"I'll settle for your couch for a few days, if that's ok?" she said. I sat up, took her hand and pulled her up off the floor onto the couch with me.
"Of course its ok. You can stay as long as you want. Its your apartment after all." I had moved in there after I split up with Joey. Chandler and Monica never had gotten round to doing anything with it, and I couldn't live with any of the others when they all hated me.
She smiled at me and I squeezed her hand. We just sat there quietly for a long time, still holding hands. My mind wandered back seven years, to when we'd been lovers. We had spent long evenings just sitting quietly together then as well. Now though, it felt more comfortable, less electrically charged. We both had too much else going on, too much shit was happening. I hadn't called her since Chandler's funeral; I just hadn't known what to say to her. She hadn't called me either, which was typical Monica, not wanting to ask for help. Ever since she'd been with Chandler, it was him she turned to rather than me. When we had been together, it was always me. I missed that. Even as I was being happy for her and Chandler, a small part of me resented him for taking away my Monica. Instantly, I felt guilty for thinking that about her dead husband, and force my thoughts back onto how happy I had been when we were together. I glanced over, almost assuming she would be thinking the same as me. She wasn't. Her head was down, her hands hid her face, she was crying quietly.
"Oh Mon, come here," I said softly, all thought of us ever having been more than just best friends flew straight out of my head. I put my arm around her and pulled her closer to me. Monica leaned against me, crying louder now she wasn't trying to hide it.
"I miss him!" she sobbed as I rocked her back and forth, "I miss him so much Rach." A part of me, the same part that had resented Chandler all along, wanted to ask why she'd kissed me if she missed her husband so much, but I silenced it. It wasn't like we had made out or anything, it was just a friendly kiss or two.
"I know sweetheart, I know."
"Everything in Tulsa reminds me of him, and its even worse here."
"I'm sure Ross'd let you stay over there if that's easier for you," I said, biting my lip. I didn't want her to leave, I wanted to be the one looking after her. I hated myself for being relieved when she shook her head.
"The company's much better over here," she said, wiping her eyes and meeting my concerned gaze.
"Hey, my daughter's over there you know," I tried to joke. She looked sadder than ever, and I guessed I had foolishly reminded her over the kids she didn't have. "Mon…I…"
"Sorry Rach, I was fine before. It just hits me every so often you know? I'll be ok again in a bit."
"You don't have to be ok around me."
Monica smiled in gratitude, but she was already much calmer.
"You want something to eat?" I offered, feeling like I needed to say something light.
"No thanks, you mind if I take a shower though?"
"Go ahead, I'll make up a bed for you while you're in there."
"Where?" she asked uncomfortably.
"Well, I'm in my old room so…" Silently, we both looked towards the room she'd shared with Chandler.
"The couch will do me fine," she said, forcing a smile.
"Are you sure? You can have my room if you want, I don't mind," I offered.
"I'm sure. Thanks Rach."
"No problem."
Once she'd gone into the bathroom and I could hear the water running, I went into the room she was avoiding to get some bedding for her. I could understand why she didn't wanna sleep in there. It was pretty much exactly as she and Chandler had left it. At least in the rest of the apartment, my stuff was strewn everywhere, distorting it from the way it was in her memories. My heart ached for her.
"Rach?"
At the sound of her quiet, questioning voice, I spun around, almost guiltily. I guess I still felt that the room was hers, and by being there I was intruding. She stood midway between the bathroom and the bedroom, a towel wrapped around her body and another around her hair. She looked unsure whether or not to come closer to her old bedroom. I gestured to the bedding in my arms as an explanation for being in there. She glanced at it only briefly. Her eyes were everywhere, she was trying not to look, and yet being drawn to look at the same time. I walked out of the bedroom, put the bedding down on the window seat and walked close enough to her to hug her tightly. She buried her face in my shoulder, I think she was relieved to be unable to look, whether she wanted to or not. Her skin was damp to touch, smooth and soft. I rubbed her back gently, until she raised her head from my shoulder. Her face was so close to mine that I could feel her warm breath on lips. I wondered if she was going to kiss me. From the look on her face, I think she was wondering if she was going to kiss me as well. She didn't.
"I left my clothes in my bag, out here," she said eventually, pulling away from me. I let her go easily, but wished I could cling onto her, hold her until she was really ok again. And when I was done holding her, I would kiss her. A real kiss, not like the light pecks we'd shared earlier. It was years since I had wanted to kiss her that badly, so badly it was all I could do not to grab her and not let go, ever.
She went back into the bathroom, with her bag. I noticed she'd only brought one, not very big bag, and I was disappointed she probably wasn't going to stay for long. While she got dressed, I set up her bed for her on the couch.
Half an hour later, we were both sitting on her makeshift bed, her in cotton pjs, me still fully dressed. She looked sweet and vulnerable next to me like that. We had talked about this and that, mostly my job, a little about some happy memories of the old gang, nothing that made Monica cry again though.
"You know, after Chandler died, I missed my period," she said suddenly. I looked at her sharply, wondering what she was getting at. "I was so happy, I thought I was pregnant. That I'd lost my husband but he was giving me this wonderful new life in returned." I didn't want to ask her what happened, but I'm sure the question was all over my face. "I wasn't pregnant. I was never pregnant. Stress. That's why I missed it. Your husband dying is pretty stressful you know," she said, sounding more bitter than I think I'd ever heard her.
"I'm sorry Mon," I said quietly, not knowing what else I could say.
"Hey, its not like I had a miscarriage or an abortion or anything. There never was a baby. Nothing to be sorry about." She stopped suddenly and bit her lip. I hugged her, expecting her to cry, but she didn't, although her voice was shaky when she continued. "You wanna know what was even worse than that though?" Something in her voice told me I really didn't. "I was all alone. I was in a city where the only people I knew, I knew through Chandler. They were all his friends, not mine. My friends were miles and miles away in New York. Not calling." She ended on a sob, but only one tear actually fell down her cheek. She pulled out of my embrace and stared accusingly at me.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, "We…I…I didn't know what to say. I didn't know if you'd want us intruding on your grief." As I heard my own words I knew how pathetic they sounded, that I was making useless excuses for abandoning my best friend when she needed me more than she ever had before.
"It doesn't matter," she said suddenly, shrugging her anger at being neglected by us away.
"No, Mon, it does matter," I insisted. "We should have called. I should have called. I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter," she repeated. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad."
I laughed at that. She glared at me, and I knew she thought I was being incredibly insensitive, but I couldn't help it. Monica was apologising for making me feel bad, when I had been in the wrong in the first place? That wasn't like her at all, she had a hard enough time apologising when she was in the wrong. I wondered if losing Chandler had brought about this change in her. My laughter died away and I stared at her. She met my eyes; confused, a little angry still, and something else. I touched her cheek gently, and she leaned her head into my hand trustingly.
"I've just been so confused since he died. And I've had no one to talk to about any of it, so now I finally do, its all coming out all jumbled up," she explained.
"Its ok," I assured her, gently stroking her cheek. She kissed the heel of my hand, then took my wrist and moved my hand over her lips so she could kiss my palm, my fingers and finally my fingertips. I sat very still and let her. When she gently dropped my hand, I let it fall to my lap.
"I'm still confused," she whispered.
"Its ok," I said again. I watched her face. She was looking at the hand she had just kissed, then after a few seconds, she picked it up and held it, resting both our hands on my thigh.
"I want to kiss you," she said suddenly, still looking at our joined hands. "But it'd feel like I was betraying Chandler." She looked so sad, torn apart.
"I want to kiss you too," I confessed, at which she looked up, surprised, and met my eyes, until we both quickly looked away. "But don't do anything you don't want to do Mon. I don't want to make you feel guilty or anything."
"I'm sorry," she said. I wondered if I had ever heard her apologise as many times in her life as I had in this one night. She chuckled wryly. "Like I said, I'm still confused."
"Monica, its late. Why don't you come into my room with me? Not to… do anything. But you shouldn't be on your own, not anymore."
I could see how close she was to saying yes, but she shook her head. "I'll be fine on the couch," she said.
"Ok, well, goodnight then," I said, trying to sound cheerful. She gave me a smile that showed she knew I was disappointed and that she was sorry.
It took me a long time to fall asleep. I kept wishing I could still tell from one look at her exactly what Monica was thinking. Things between us felt confused. She had kissed me. But she had cried to me over Chandler. She also seemed to be about as confused as I was about the whole thing, probably more; after all, I just knew I wanted her. Ross, Joey and Emma were totally separate. For her, it wasn't that simple.
From the shadows under Monica's eyes the next morning, I guessed she hadn't slept any better than I had. When I emerged from my bedroom, rubbing my eyes, she spun round and looked at me sheepishly from the kitchen, where she was frying some eggs for breakfast.
"Force of habit," she shrugged. I couldn't help smiling. She looked so at home here, so comfortable. I noticed she had folded her bedding and put it on the window seat and realised she still didn't want to go into her old bedroom, so badly she'd rather leave stuff lying out in the living room. I joined her in the kitchen to make some coffee and chuckled at the rearranged fridge magnets. She caught my eye and we both laughed.
"I keep expecting the gang to come over," Monica commented as we ate. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."
"Don't worry about it," I said with false cheerfulness. "Besides, who needs 'em?" She smiled at me.
"You wanna do something today?" she asked a few minutes later.
"Yeah, I wanna hang out here with my best friend," I said. I hoped she wouldn't mind me calling her my best friend.
"Sure thing sweetie," she agreed, smiling. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend the day with."
We had a lot to catch up on. Since we'd had our serious talk last night, we were able to concentrate on happier things. She told me about Chandler's southern co-workers and how she'd transformed their Tulsa apartment from a complete hell hole to a gorgeous, cohesive living environment within two months of moving in. She even pulled out a picture of Chandler in it to show me some paint technique they'd used on the walls. As soon as the picture was out of her purse, her face fell and lost the animated expression discussing decorating had given it.
"There, that wall behind Chandler, that's the one I was telling you about," she said, determinedly carrying on. Obediently, I looked at the photo. Unlike her, I didn't find paint effects at all interesting, and I barely noticed the wall; my eyes fixed on Chandler. It was, after all, a photo of Chandler, and that's why she had it with her, the paint effect wall was merely a background feature that happened to be there. Chandler was all dressed up in his smartest suit, which didn't match his casual pose, lounging in a big comfy looking chair.
"Its nice," I told her blankly. "What was he all dressed up for?"
"Work party," Monica said. She fished in her purse again and produced another photo, this one of both of them, obviously taken at the same time. She was laughing in it, Chandler had pulled her onto his lap and was tickling her, mindless of her beautiful black dress. "Mick, one of our friends down there, took this for me."
"Monica…I…I'm so sorry sweetie." I needed to say something, but I couldn't grasp words that could accurately convey just how awful I felt for her. It had been eight months since he died, but I knew the pain was still only just under the surface of Monica's calm 'I'm doing ok' exterior, lurking, ready to burst through the slightest crack. Being here, with me, talking about it, seemed to be making new cracks. I didn't know if that was good, because it was releasing pent up emotions, or bad, because of how bad it was making her feel. I just wrapped my arms tightly around her and stroked her hair. After only a few seconds, she broke away.
"I'm ok," she insisted. "Really. But can we maybe go out somewhere instead of just sitting here in the apartment?"
"Of course. Where'd you wanna go? Central Perk?"
"I was thinking maybe somewhere further away." I knew what she meant. Further away from the memories that were tearing her apart.
It was eleven thirty that night by the time we got back to the apartment. We'd been shopping all day and managed not to buy anything. Monica had bought us lunch, so I had paid for dinner at one of our favourite restaurants. After dinner she had suggested going to a bar, so perhaps it wasn't surprising that it seemed extraordinarily difficult for me to open the front door. I think Monica had been drowning her sorrows a little too enthusiastically, because she didn't comment on my clumsiness, just stood, leaning heavily against the wall, watching me.
"Hey, you got the door open!" she observed happily. I grinned at her and we both burst into giggles as we staggered into the apartment.
"You," I told her, pointing at her, "are the mostest prettiest drunk person I've ever seen."
"I'm not drunk!" she protested.
"You are SO drunk!"
"Nuh uh!"
"Yuh huh! 'Cause I'M drunk and you drank like twice as much as me!"
"Did not!"
Monica was giggling madly. She looked so cute I could just eat her up.
"Mon, come here," I said, fighting to control my own giggles. The effort of walking two steps towards me screwed her face up in concentration as she struggled to keep her balance. She stopped only when she was so close to me it would have been uncomfortable if it had been anyone else, or if I had been any less drunk myself.
"Hi!" she chirped.
"Hi."
I took a deep breath, in an attempt to steel myself to do this. All it did was fill my lungs with her smell. I kissed her. I figured being drunk was a good excuse if she wasn't as drunk as I thought she was, and she stopped me. Monica didn't resist my soft kiss, so I risked taking it that step further. All I could taste was her, all I could smell was her, all I could feel was her arms around me and her body in my own arms, all I could see was flickers of light dancing behind my closed eyes. I probably should have felt guilty for taking advantage of her, but I couldn't think enough to have lingering thoughts of guilt.
Eventually, the kiss had to end. But we didn't move apart from one another, settling for a tight hug. With my head buried in her shoulder, I was happy. Several minutes later, it was Monica who gently pulled away. She wasn't giggling anymore, but she didn't look unhappy, as I had feared she might. She looked like she was struggling to find what to say next. I smiled and resisted the urge to pull her back into my arms.
"It's ok sweetie," I whispered, teasing a strand of her hair between my fingers.
"I know."
To be continued…