Recovering the Satellites

Chapter One

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Season 7. Haven't pin-pointed an exact episode, but sometime in the spring before the wedding. Chandler's not in much of the last half of the season, so…pretty much take your pick on when, exactly, it takes place :)

Oh, and this isn't the Randler fic I was talking about, 'so ya know….It is for sure not Mondler…not sure about Randler... Huh. I'll have to figure that out. It's Chandler-centric. Pretty much, I've had a horrible writers' block lately and am having a hard time getting any of my ideas to materialize in words, so…this came out, in multiple-chapters in one sitting, and I'm going with it. I never understood why people would start soooo many fics at the same time, but I am slowly understanding why. And also understanding why it takes, like, a year (or longer…) to finish some stories. It's called real life, and it takes up a lot of time, ha!

Don't own the characters or the song the fic is named after which is by (shock!) Counting Crows. Review and let me know what you think, because I just got a second job (because I'm some sort of crazy, self-loathing workaholic who isn't content unless I'm insanely busy), and it's holiday time in retail, so between that and nannying, I'll be working 6-7 days a week…and, ya know, doing the whole school thing (did I mention only 195 days til gradation? Heck yes!). So, reviews will be very inspiring in order for me to find time to continue….and keeping me sane. Or as sane as I can possibly be.

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Chandler sat alone in the living room of his and Monica's apartment, flipping through the top of many old photo albums he had out on the coffee table. He sighed every once in a while, pausing to take a drink from his glass, before going back to thumbing through his past. He kept promising himself he would finish his current drink and go to bed, but his thoughts just wouldn't have it. His mind wouldn't turn off for the night.

"Hey," Rachel's voice cut into Chandler's thoughts. He nodded in return, not looking up from where he sat in the chair. "Monica working tonight?" Rachel continued when he offered nothing else, and Chandler again nodded, flipping another page in the photo album. "So," she sat down on the couch, but he still didn't answer. "Whatcha doin'?" she tried again, wondering what was wrong. Chandler always had something to say, jokingly at least. Silence was not normally his strong point. In fact, silence made him uncomfortable, so the fact that he didn't feel the need to fill the silence was making her slightly uncomfortable, as well as making her forget her original intent for coming over there.

Chandler sighed, finally sitting back. "Looking through old pictures and stuff," he replied, taking his glasses off as he rubbed his temples.

"You…okay?"

Chandler laughed, taking a drink out of the glass on the table. "Now, there's a question," he mumbled before setting the glass back down. "I don't know," he sighed. "Have you ever, like, stepped back from your life and just…realized how," he trailed off, unsure of how to phrase his current thoughts, "just, how…" he again trailed off, motioning with his hands, as if she would understand that.

Rachel grabbed his glass, smelling it and raising her eyebrows. "Rum and Coke?"

"Rum and Diet Coke," he corrected her. "And, yea, that's my third one of those," he added, again sighing.

"Chandler, are you okay?" Rachel asked, more seriously this time, as she moved to the edge of the couch.

"That's the thing," Chandler started. "Yea, I'm okay. But that's it. Just okay. Not marvelous, not fantastic. Not horrible, but comfortable. Just okay," he rambled, finishing off the rest of the drink before setting it back down. "I talked to my mom the other day, and something she said just got me thinking about …everything in my life. How I've pretty much been living my life by playing to the 'Safety School' side of life," he continued, and Rachel looked at him, inquisitively. "Ya know, the school you apply to in case you don't get in anywhere else? Well, it's like," he sighed again, heavily, "that's how I've lived every, single, aspect of my life," he paused in between words for emphasis. "Only, instead of it being my fall-back plan," he forced a laugh as he continued, "I just never applied anywhere else. I've just lived from Safety School to Safety School.

"And, like I said, it's not like I have a horrible life, it's just like," he chewed on the end of his glasses, leaning forward in his chair. "It's just like…somewhere along the way, with all of the settling, and failing to chase any sort of dream… Somewhere along the line, I completely lost myself," he continued, shifting his weight to lean forward again. "I could have gotten into somewhere other than NYU for college, but, hey not applying anywhere else sure pissed off my mom, so why not," he shrugged. "And I used to write, all the time when I was a kid. I wrote editorials for the school paper in middle school and high school," he dug out one of the scrapbooks, handing it to Rachel, who began flipping through it. "At some point in time, I was sure that's what I'd be doing forever. I mean, I was good at it. Teachers complimented me on it. My mom pretty much beamed that I was following in her footsteps. But once I got out of college, I took this stupid temp job, because it was the first job that came along, and ten years later, here I am. It pays well, good benefits, I'm good at it, they keep promoting me," he shrugged. "What reason, other than absolutely hating it, do I have to quit?" Rachel opened her mouth to speak when he paused, but closed it again, not sure what to say.

Chandler didn't give her a chance to think of anything, though, as he continued his rant, now standing up. "And, god, you, of all people, are not the one to be talking to about this, because you're her best friend, and, I do love her, so don't get me wrong, but Monica kinda fits in with all of that," Chandler began pacing quickly back and forth between the living room and kitchen. "I mean, I've known her forever, she's been one of my best friends for my entire adult life. I've always freaked out about relationships, but, no, she's comfortable. Comfortable," he stopped, head in his hands. "God, I do love her, though. But, we're just…we're so different. We're complete opposites, other than both being terrifyingly neurotic, which is a great trait to have in common, by the way. And, yea, they always say, 'oh, opposites attract,' but that's not how it really works, is it? People are attracted to people like themselves," he again paused, and Rachel scooted forward on the couch, about to stand up and go over to him, but as soon as she moved, he started pacing again, so she sat back down.

"And, god, she is driving me crazy with all of this wedding stuff. Like, she forgets that I'm even here, that I'm even a part of it at all. She doesn't want my opinion, doesn't even want me to interrupt her when she's on a roll with it. Guess I didn't realize that the groom was such a imposition in a wedding," he looked up, clearly exasperated, these things having been on his mind for quite some time. "And, god, it still drives me crazy that she went to Richard's that night, before we got engaged. I mean, if I was freaking her out so much…why didn't she come to me," he motioned to himself. "If she loves me so much, and I'm supposedly one of her best friends, why wouldn't she come talk to me? That's what relationships are about, right? Communicating?" he asked, continuing in the same path of pacing: five steps towards the living room, five towards the kitchen. "Why would she go over there? Even if she left and nothing happened…. Why did she even need to go see him? Oh, and the engagement picture thing…Okay, I take horrible pictures, but she couldn't have found a decent picture of the two of us from the past ten years? One has to exist somewhere. Instead, there was a picture of her and Joey in the paper for our engagement. It's just…are we both just settling for Safety Schools here?" he continued rambling, stopping pacing in front of the kitchen sink, facing away from Rachel, one hand on each side of the sink as he leaned forward.

Rachel cleared her throat, and when he didn't respond, she took it to mean he was finally done, and spoke softly. "I, uh, are you actually looking for advice here, or just, uh, venting?"

Chandler ignored her question, walking back to the living room and sitting on the couch beside her, pulling the photo albums towards them. "I just feel like…somewhere in the past ten or so years, I lost me," he continued, now softer, not so much mad as he seemed sad. "I feel like I lost who I wanted to be, and just became so focused on playing my role in all the little parts of life. I forgot who I wanted me to be, and not who everyone else wanted me to be. I mean, I feel like I had a better idea of who I was when I was, like, 18 than I do now. I'm 30-years-old, and," he paused, "it's not that I don't know who I am, but…. I don't recognize who I am. I've settled so many times for less than what I, at one point in time, wanted that I just…lost myself," he finished, quietly, still looking at the old photographs. "Have you ever felt like that?" he repeated his earlier question to Rachel, who was now flipping through his old editorial articles.

"Yes," she answered without thinking. "I mean, yes, I've felt that way before. I felt that way when I left Barry," she continued, nodding as she continued to look down. "I'm-I'm not sure what you're wanting me to say to all of that, though," she said softly, looking up and making eye contact. Rachel sighed, looking down once more. "You're right, these are good," she motioned to the articles. "You're pretty funny."

"Took you long enough to notice," he nudged her, and Rachel laughed slightly, closing the scrapbook.

"Look, I don't know if this is what you want to hear, but if you're not happy with your life, you can't make anyone else happy," she looked him in the eye as she spoke to him. "You know how I feel about the job thing, because I've had, what, five different jobs in the seven years since I moved here? Chandler, if you're not happy, and you really have as much money saved up as Phoebe said you have, then quit. Give yourself that little boost you need to find another job, and just quit," Rachel shrugged. "You hate it, just quit."

"But I don't have experience doing anything else. Well, I waited tables in college, but not really what I want to do," he smirked.

"Find an entry-level job and work your way back up, then. And I know that sucks, but…you're gonna be working for the next however many years, might as well enjoy it," Rachel shrugged. "As far as everything else you said," she continued with a sigh. "Like I said, you have to make yourself happy before anyone else. It's not being selfish, it's…realizing that if you don't know what you want in the beginning, so you're not happy, there is no way in hell you can be happy with your life and make someone else happy. I think you need to talk to Mon about that part, though."

Chandler scoffed. "Yea, 'cause I've always had a death wish…."

"Chandler…"

"Yea, I know I need to talk to her," he admitted quietly.

"If you don't, and you just quietly settle for one aspect of your life after another…you'll just end up miserable and bitter and make everyone around you miserable, as well," Rachel continued. "I mean, maybe everything will work out, but…it's better you realize all of this now than, ya know, a few years down the road…" she trailed off, and Chandler nodded.

"I know," he whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned back into the couch.

"Anyway, go to bed. Sleep on it. Sober up."

"I'm not drunk."

"You're not sober."

Chandler conceded with a shrug.

"Anyway, go to bed. Talk to Monica in the morning." Chandler nodded, not getting up. "I think I came over here for something," Rachel looked around, but shrugged after a moment, giving up on her earlier train of though. "Anyway, are you gonna be okay?" she asked, placing a hand on his arm. Chandler again shrugged. "Are you going to bed?"

"Soon," he nodded. "I just need to think some more…."

"Un-sober thinking gets you no where," Rachel stood up. "Go to bed, Chandler," she touched the top of his head affectionately as she walked past the back of the couch. Chandler nodded, closing up the photo albums.

"'Night Rach," he whispered as she walked away.

"Night."

"Uh, Rach?" he added, standing up, and she stopped, turning to face him. "Thank you," he smiled genuinely. "And you're not gonna-"

Rachel shook her head, "It's between you and me."

"Kay. Thank you."

Rachel returned his smile. "Anytime."

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Uh, probably should have warned that a good half of that was Chandler's little monologue, sorry, haha. He ended up having more feelings to share than I intended ;) And...I'm going somewhere with this. And intending on continuing all of my other fics I have going. Review, please and thanks :)