A/N – Thank you so much for your reviews :) Please review this part as well. It does get a little confusing in places, but hopefully its clear who's perspective it is. They're separated by *s. As promised, Chandler is in this one too. I unfortunately still don't own the characters, Courteney really isn't in that suspicious looking box on my bedroom floor! Honest! *looks innocent* Anyhoo, please read and review and don't get TOO confused ;)
The man offered her a hand silently. He was wearing dark grey gloves. Monica nervously accepted and he led her inside. The narrow hallway was bathed in sickly yellow light, making the red walls look like dirty blood. Monica glanced around as he took her into a room at the end of the long hall. This room seemed to be an office, with thick soft navy carpet, blue walls and dark, heavy wooden furniture. The man sat down behind the desk and gestured that Monica should sit in the leather chair opposite him. When she did so, the door suddenly slammed shut, making her jump and spin around to look who had shut it, but she could see no one.
"I'm Pete Becker," the man said softly. The name sent a shiver down Monica's spine. "You've heard of my company Caspian and the work we do here at The Dark, I take it?" Mutely, she nodded. "Did you think it was a story dreamed up to scare children? Did you think I was the modern day bogey man?" he teased. Monica shrugged. "You can see for yourself, I'm very real. You can chose to disbelieve my identity if you like, it makes no difference to me. If you want to leave The Dark now, there are drugs I can give you that will make you forget we ever met. But the deeper in you get, the more there will be to forget, the riskier it is for both of us to try and make you forget. It is possible to get so deeply entangled in this thing that you can never be free of it, no drug known to man could make you forget, and I do not like memories of me and my work to circulate freely." Monica was shivering, with cold and fright. He looked at her and smiled surprisingly. "You must be freezing," he said, in a quite different voice, much warmer and friendlier. Pete pressed a small button on his desk, and a few minutes later, a man came in.
He was so thin Monica could see his bones through the thin, baggy clothes that hung loosely from his body. His face was pale and gaunt, his hair was greasy and dirty and too long. Monica felt a wave of pity wash over her for this man. She wondered why he was here, why he was in such a state, why he shook all over when Pete's eyes fell on him.
"Bing, go get some dry clothes for the lady, and a towel for her hair," Pete said sharply. Monica gasped loudly. Pete glanced at her curiously, but she ignored him.
Bing. Chandler Bing. Chandler. Her Chandler. Her Chandler who didn't even see her or recognise her now. She wanted to jump out of her seat, rush over to him, throw her arms around her and beg his forgiveness, shower him with love and get them both out of here. Chandler! Why was he here? The worry gnawed at her stomach, she had a feeling she didn't want to know the answer. He hadn't recognised her, but she hadn't recognised him either, he had changed so much. Monica was suddenly very afraid of Pete Becker, and The Dark and everything that went on there.
Chandler didn't look at either of them as he shuffled out of the room. Monica looked at Pete, her eyes filled with tears, her hand to her face. Pete narrowed his eyes at her, searching for an explanation.
"That is what happens to those who cannot be allowed to leave. When their escape becomes a trap. There are half a dozen here like that, they work simply as servants, they are not capable of the complex work of my paid employees," he chucked, a hollow, harsh sound, "they are barely capable of normal human functioning." He saw her terrified look. "You may still leave if you wish," he said gently. "And most of my clients are extremely satisfied with the world we give them. Well, the world they give themselves. Do not fear turning into something like that man. They are a tiny, tiny minority of those who entrust themselves to our care."
"I don't want to leave," Monica said in a small voice. Pete nodded. "What do I have to do?"
Before Pete had time to answer, Chandler came back, carrying a folded green towel and some clothes for Monica. He started to put them down on a table near the door, but Pete frowned and motioned that Chandler should give them to Monica. He approached her reluctantly, firmly avoiding her gaze. He offered her the clothes, keeping his face down. She took them and her fingers lightly brushed his. Chandler jumped back as though her touch burned his skin. He glanced briefly at Pete for permission to leave the room, but Pete shook his head ever so slightly.
Chandler looked up at Pete, properly for the first time in years. Not since he had been sat where this woman was sat, wanting to escape the pain and misery of his life, had he looked Pete in the face. In the months since that escape had gone wrong for him, he had been living here and seeing Pete everyday but could not bear to look at him or to touch him. He didn't like to look at the people Pete called clients, but he called victims either. He sometimes wondered how many of them would end up like him, a shadow, a shell, unable to escape or to go back to the world they had once sought escape from.
"Wait over there," Pete instructed. Chandler nodded wearily. He had neither the energy nor the will to go against Pete. He stood patiently in the corner while Pete talked to the woman.
"What do I have to do?" Monica asked again, tearing her eyes away from the pathetic man Chandler had become.
"You sign yourself over to my care. I can release you from it if you chose and I think it's appropriate, but you are bound by it until I say so."
Monica nodded. Pete produced a piece of paper from a drawer and passed it across the desk to her. A contract.
"Print your name there," he said, pointing, "and sign there." Monica skimmed through the contract; it was full of words she didn't understand and sentences that meant nothing to her. Feeling like she didn't really care anymore, she breathed a sigh of something like relief and wrote and signed her name. Pete whipped it out of her hands and filed it away. "Get changed," he said. Monica looked around.
"Here?"
"Yes," he said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world, and that by objecting, it was Monica who was being unreasonable. He pointed to the clothes in her hand. Monica stood up and turned her back to Pete. She was in her underwear before she realised she was facing Chandler instead. But he wasn't looking at her.
When she was dressed again, Pete took her clothes from her and handed them to Chandler. Chandler didn't seem to want to touch them, but Pete impatiently forced them into his hands. Chandler could feel the warmth from the woman's body that lingered on her clothes. It made him ache for warmth, but he shivered. Monica watched Chandler and it broke her heart all over again to see him like this. Not recognising her at all was worse than if he'd shouted at her or sulked out of the room or something. How could he have forgotten her? Was that what The Dark did to people?
"Is there anyone who will miss you?" Pete asked suddenly. Monica jumped at his voice and frowned, not understanding. "Many of our clients have sunk so low there is no one who even notices they're gone. Are you like that?"
"Um no, I live with my husband." Why did she feel like she was betraying Chandler when she said that? A guilty glance at her showed him to be as passive as ever.
"Address?" Pete demanded. Monica dictated it to him, feeling cold rush into her belly at the thought of what Pete might do to Michael to ensure he didn't miss her, but she didn't dare ask. "Anyone else?" Pete asked. Monica shook her head. Pete didn't question her further; he just typed something into the computer on his desk.
"Come with me," he said finally. Monica followed him out of the room. They walked directly past Chandler, and she stopped in front of him, willing him to see, longing for some spark of recognition from him. Pete noticed he'd left her behind and stopped, turning to watch the two of them. Monica slowly reached up to touch Chandler's face. As her hand approached his cheek, Chandler looked up from the floor and looked at her, eyes wide, and moved away from her, backing against the wall. Monica followed him until she was so close their bodies were only a couple of inches away from each other. Their eyes met.
Chandler screamed. A hollow, hoarse scream that scared Monica even more than the emptiness behind his eyes. She stepped backwards and Pete was there to catch her as she fainted – with that awful sound echoing persistently round her head.
While Monica was unconscious she was sedated and taken to the Dream Chamber, where she was given the right drugs and hooked up to several machines. Some were there to monitor her heart rate, blood pressure and other signs of physical well-being. One, the biggest, connected her to Pete's "magical" computer that did the work The Dark was famous for.
Pete had been suspicious of Monica and Chandler, and had questioned Chandler about the incident over and over again, but Chandler swore he didn't know the name Monica Castell, and that he had never seen her before in his life. Pete didn't know whether he should believe Chandler, he wasn't exactly in a state where he was the most reliable person in the world. But Pete decided that it didn't matter much anyway, especially now Monica was in the Dream Chamber and out of Chandler's way.
Later, Pete went to check on his newest client. She was sleeping peacefully, still under the influence of the tranquilliser they had given her. He glanced around the huge room at the others. It was just as well Monica hadn't seen them, they only would have scared her. A few slept quietly. One woman was having one side of a conversation about a vacation. A man was groaning loudly and thrusting his hips, having sex with a woman Pete couldn't see. Another man was screaming like a little girl. A woman screamed and recoiled from an invisible blow. Pete wasn't responsible for what they dreamed. He gave them the means to live in their dreams, but his clients provided the substance for their world. As he watched, Monica smiled, and Pete smiled too; he liked them to have happy dreams, at least at first.
* * * * *
Monica woke up with a fever. Her head ached and she felt sick. A man was facing away from her, coming through the door with a tray for her. When he turned around, she smiled when she saw Chandler's warm, worried face looking back at her. Then, strangely, it flickered and was replaced by Michael's face. Monica frowned, but didn't say anything to him, assuming it was some strange delusion that came from her fever.
"Hey sweetie, are you feeling better?" he asked, placing the tray on the table next to her and helping her to sit up.
"Yeah thanks," she said, taking the tray.
"Let me take your temperature," he said when he was satisfied she'd eaten enough of her breakfast. Monica smiled at his fussing, and let him stick the thermometer in her mouth. "That's good, only 102 degrees, last night it was 104," he told her.
"Have you slept at all last night?" she asked.
"I napped for a couple of hours," he assured her, "I'm fine."
"Yeah, well, try and get some sleep tonight, ok?" she said.
"Yeah, sure, I will," he promised carelessly. "Don't nag Mon, you know I haven't been sleeping too well lately."
"You should go see a doctor if it keeps on much longer."
"I'm fine! You're the one who's ill, and even you're getting better now!" he argued.
Monica let it go. She didn't have the energy for a fight, and Michael was always touchy about his insomnia. By that night, Monica's fever had dropped to almost normal, and aside from insisting that she should wake him if she felt worse in the night, Michael had stopped fussing over her. As it turned out, the only time she woke up that night was when Michael nudged her awake under the pretence of checking she was ok, but Monica was convinced he just couldn't sleep and wanted some company. She assured him she was ok, then rolled over and went back to sleep, ignoring his hand on her thigh that silently asked for sex.
Michael went to work as usual the next day, leaving Monica at home to relax. When he came home, she again had that split second where she thought it was Chandler walking in the door, then it flickered and was Michael. She frowned, that wasn't normal! While he went to the bathroom she quickly took her own temperature. It was normal. So why was she still having her feverish delusions? It was years since she'd thought of Chandler, why suddenly now?
That evening, while she was having sex with Michael, Monica couldn't get the image of Chandler out of her mind. She had to bite her lip to stop herself saying his name by mistake. A week later, nearly every time she saw Michael, he was Chandler for a few seconds first. Even if she just glanced up at him from the book she was reading or something. And it was taking longer and longer for him to flicker back into Michael. Michael had been pleasantly surprised when Monica suddenly began initiating sex not only every night, but every morning too. She was always careful to keep quiet, but it was during sex that the image of Chandler was strongest and stayed for longer than just a few seconds.
One day while Michael was out at work, Monica hunted out an old photograph album and took out some of her favourite pictures of her and Chandler. After staring at them for long minutes, Monica stuffed them into a half empty tampax box and hid them. Then she slid her fingers gently under the paper lining at the back of the photo album and lifted it. Hidden underneath it, ever since she and Chandler were together, were some intimate photos of her and Chandler. They'd set the camera up on a timer switch one day when the others were all taking Emma for a picnic in the park. In one, Chandler was sat naked in a chair in their living room, with Monica straddling him wearing a lacy black negligee with stockings. His hands were on her hips, pressing her body into his. She remembered they hadn't actually been having sex at the time, but they'd both been pretty heated up. Chandler's lips were pressed onto her breasts. Monica gently touched her breasts through her shirt with her fingertips, tracing where Chandler's lips had been. She sighed softly and suddenly felt desperate for his touch, not just sex, but Chandler.
As soon as Michael got home, she threw herself on him, in the moment while he was still Chandler in her eyes. He was startled, but responded eagerly, kissing her passionately and sliding his hands up her top. Monica dragged him into the bedroom, working on his belt as they went. Minutes later she was on top of him, they were both naked and she lowered herself down onto his erection. Her eyes were open, loving that Chandler's image had stayed with her ever since he walked through the door. His were closed as he simply lay back and enjoyed what Monica was doing to him.
"Oh God Chandler," she moaned as he reached up to rub her nipples. Suddenly she was afraid that Michael would be angry and demand an explanation but he said nothing.
"Mon, oh fuck, just keep doing that," he said, stroking her breasts and stomach. Monica's heart leapt; it was Chandler's voice! He'd never spoken as Chandler before, Michael's voice always managed to send the image of Chandler flying out of her head.
"Are you really Chandler?" she whispered as they lay side by side panting. He gave her a weird look and for a second she was terrified she was going to hear Michael's voice asking who the hell was Chandler.
"Yeah, Mon, I am," he said, humouring her. She rolled onto her side and hugged him tightly.
The got up and ate a quick dinner, then at Monica's insistence, they went back to bed. She couldn't get enough of Chandler. And she couldn't believe that there was no more flickering back into Michael. It scared her a little, because she didn't understand what was going on, but she was too thankful that she had Chandler to worry too much. The apartment that had been hers and Michael's had changed too, until it had more or less become identical to the one Monica once shared with Chandler. Sometimes it was just little things, like a painting would change overnight, or the couch would move places. Other times whole walls would move, the bathroom transplanted itself halfway across the apartment. One time she even looked out to a completely different view than she was used to!
Chandler had been Chandler all the time for a week. Monica's theory was that by saying his name aloud, she had sort of given the brief images permission to stay permanently. Chandler had no memory of ever not being there, so she hadn't tried to tell him about all the weird things that had been happening recently. She didn't see the point of getting into things she couldn't even begin to understand herself.
* * * * *
Chandler wasn't supposed to enter the Dream Chamber. Until now he'd thought he never wanted to see that place again in his life. After the woman had touched his face, he had collapsed into a shaking heap on the floor just a couple of seconds after she had fainted. He shuddered at the memory of her gentle touch. In this place, days merged into one another, time meant nothing. But he thought it had been a few weeks since that day, and yet the memory stayed strong and horrifically vivid. He didn't remember ever seeing her before, but something in her eyes when she'd looked at him made him think she knew him, that he should know her.
So he had resolved to see her again. Being questioned by Mr Becker had at least given him her name, Monica Castell. It meant nothing to him. He'd found it surprisingly easy to sneak around this place, and now he stood standing outside the heavy iron door, a stolen security key card in his hand. Chandler was afraid. He knew if he was caught, Mr Becker would kill him if he thought he had to. But that wasn't what scared Chandler. He was sure death couldn't be worse than the living hell that he was in already. He was terrified of Monica. She had reached out to him, and some tiny, soon stifled part of his living dead mind had tried to reach back. And Chandler was afraid of anyone who might have the potential to make him feel things again.
He swiped the security card and the door swung open. Chandler jerked back, the room was a powerful memory to him, and he no longer had the confidence in his ability to go in there. Footsteps sounded in a far off corridor, no threat to him, but it prompted Chandler into action. Pocketing the security card, he stepped into the Dream Chamber and pulled the door shut behind him. He was so on edge, the clang as it shut made him jump. As he walked through the dozens of sleeping clients, he carefully looked only at the name on the chart, not the faces. Chandler's breath grew quick and shallow and his stomach twisted itself into knots.
"Monica Castell," he whispered when he found her. According to her chart, his estimation of a few weeks since she'd arrived was right. Hers was the only face he studied. She seemed to have settled comfortably into her dreams, and the smile on her face told him she was enjoying them, and he felt something like a twinge of happiness that she was happy. He half-expected her blue eyes to open and stare back at him, but of course they didn't. Chandler didn't know why he'd been drawn to find her, it wasn't as he could talk to her. She couldn't tell him anything to explain why she'd touched him or why she'd looked at him with such feeling. He dared himself to touch her, her pale hands lay on her stomach and he reached out to take them with his hands shaking. He got within an inch then withdrew his hands and stuffed them firmly into his pockets. He couldn't do this.
* * * * *
Monica felt as though she'd gone back in time. The friends she hadn't seen in years all came round for breakfast one morning as though it was nothing out of the ordinary. Chandler greeted them all with a casual "hey", as if he saw them everyday still. Monica couldn't help herself throwing her arms around each of them. Rachel hugged her back bug gave her a strange look, Ross kissed her cheek and asked if she was feeling ok, Phoebe started examining her aura, while Joey just hurried out of her arms to the food. As he grabbed at the toast Monica realised that without being aware she was doing it, she had made enough food for six people.
"You ok Mon?" Chandler whispered, pulling her close with an arm around her shoulders. She nodded and kissed him lightly.
"I'm fine, just happy," she said. Chandler chuckled.
"At having these four scroungers here yet again?"
"Yes," she giggled.
Eating breakfast with all her friends, like she used to made Monica wonder if somehow she was travelling backwards through time. She was suddenly afraid of going back to before she and Chandler had got together. After having so much more than friendship with Chandler she didn't think she could bear to go back to just being his friend.
That evening she and Rachel went to Phoebe's for a girly slumber party. Monica had suggested it, she wanted to spend some time with them, after all, to her, she hadn't seen them in years. She spent most of the first hour or so just gazing happily at them. After Phoebe caught her doing this several times, the others conspired to get Monica drunk to see if that would make her tell them why she'd been acting so weird all day. However, even after as much alcohol as Rachel and Phoebe could get down her throat, Monica had enough sense to see that they'd never believe her story. She didn't really believe what seemed to be happening to her either.
"Come on, lets play Twister while there's no guys to snigger," Phoebe suggested, finding the game under her couch.
"But that's the funnest part!" Rachel giggled drunkenly.
"Come on Mon, spin the bottle," Phoebe prompted, setting the game up.
"What bottle?" Monica asked, frowning at the spinner Phoebe had handed her.
"The spinner!" Rachel explained. For some reason they all found that hysterically funny.
"Ok, serious!" Monica said, then snorted with a relapse of laughter. The game lasted about two minutes before Rachel collapsed on top of Phoebe with a scream.
"No fair! That was your fault," Phoebe complained.
"Fine, I'll spin the bottle," Rachel said, and was interrupted by more squeals of laughter, "You get your ass kicked by Monica." Rachel and Monica changed places, then there was a few minutes quiet. "I can't see the colors," Rachel screamed. The game was soon abandoned since it required balance and a little concentration, two things their drunken minds couldn't quite manage.
They collapsed onto a big pile of blankets and sleeping bags and fell asleep around six am. Waking up with a hangover at lunchtime, Monica's first thought was of Chandler. She wanted him to tuck her up in bed and let her sleep last night off, and she wanted his gentle touch to sooth her aching head. She scribbled a quick note to Rachel and Phoebe who were still asleep, and went home.
"Hey sweetie, good night was it?" Chandler asked when she arrived back at the apartment.
"Yeah," she said tiredly, getting herself a glass of water.
"You going back to bed?" Chandler stood behind her at the sink and kissed her cheek. She nodded and leaned back against him. "Sweet dreams sweetheart," he said, ushering her gently towards the bedroom.
Smiling at his affection, Monica stripped off yesterdays clothes and slid naked under the covers. She fell asleep almost straight away, her hair still tangled and her make-up still smudged.
Almost at once, she began to dream.
She was standing on her own in the middle of a dark room, naked and exposed. A pale beam of light shone from underneath the door. When it opened, the light suddenly became much brighter and made her squint. A man stood in the doorway. Monica could only see his dark silhouette against the light, but even that was enough to terrify her. The man walked further into the room and approached her. The door had closed again and the room was shrouded in darkness once again. She couldn't see the man anymore, but she could hear his harsh, rasping breathing and feel his presence in the room with her. His large, heavy hand touched her arm, sending goose bumps flying all over her body. Monica desperately wanted to scream and run away, but her throat had tightened in fear so she could only whimper, and she was trapped. His hand moved up her arm over her trembling shoulder and down to her breast. Ice cold fingers pinched her nipple hard and she cried out, managing to raise her voice a little more this time. The man's breath in her face was hot and foul smelling and it turned her stomach. His other hand roamed down between her breasts, over her quivering stomach, circled her belly button, then continued downwards. Monica finally managed to scream, but she was powerless.
* * * * *
Chandler had sworn to himself that he wouldn't think about Monica Castell anymore. She scared him with her ability to reach him. Ever since he had come out of the Dream Chamber and started working for Caspian, the company Pete ran which owned The Dark, Chandler had believed he was unreachable. But he couldn't get her off his mind. While he lay restless in his uncomfortable bed in a cramped room with the five others who were like him, he waited until the screams of those around him had died before he attempted to snatch some sleep himself. But even then, he couldn't because her face was etched behind his eyelids.
The Dark was a place that changed little according to the time of day, as to the clients, time was what they made it. So Chandler found it no harder to sneak back to the Dream Chamber a second time. This time he walked faster through the clients, heading directly to where he knew Monica would be. He heard the screaming, but it was nothing unusual in here; he wasn't the only one to have nightmares. When Chandler realised it was Monica who was screaming, he felt something in him stir. He pitied her, he didn't want her to end up like him. Chandler blinked hard against a few tears that stung his eyes but stubbornly didn't fall. He wanted to help her, but he didn't know what to do. It was a long time since he'd had any meaningful contact with a real person that he had almost forgotten how to comfort someone. Awkwardly, he sat on her bed next to her and gathered her into his arms.
* * * * *
Monica felt strong arms surround her. At first she was afraid it was the man who had silently threatened her, and she screamed again, suddenly finding herself able to lash out and fight back. The man only held her tighter, but she realised he wasn't holding her in a sexual or threatening way; his hand gently stroked her back and he whispered comfort to her.
"Chandler," she said gratefully, clinging to him and letting herself rest comfortably in his arms.
"Are you ok? You scared me there!" She snuggled closer to him and nodded.
"Of course, I have you to protect me."
Chandler smiled and kissed her hair. He didn't ask her to explain her dream, it was probably partly due to the amount of alcohol he guessed she'd drunk the night before. "You gonna stay here and sleep some more or get up?" he asked.
"I'll get up, just give me a minute to get dressed" she said. She soon joined Chandler into the living room. They flopped down onto the couch together and Monica leaned against Chandler while he flicked through the various TV channels. After circling through them all twice, he gave up and switched the TV off. Then he realised Monica had fallen asleep again after all. Smiling to himself at how adorable she looked, Chandler relaxed back onto the couch so he could enjoy the feeling of her warm, sleepy body pressed against his.
When she woke up again a few hours later, Monica felt much better. At some point, Chandler had carried her into the bedroom and put her to bed, but she barely even remembered getting up at all. Her nightmare was forgotten completely.
* * * * *
That night Chandler slept peacefully for the first time since he'd been in The Dark. He had helped her! She had momentarily struggled in his arms, but then she had become quiet and still. Then she had said his name. How had she known his name? Was she awake, and had she recognised him? No, that was impossible. Well then was she dreaming about him? He supposed she must be dreaming about someone named Chandler, and it wasn't exactly a very common name, but surely it couldn't have been him! She didn't know him! But she did know him. He had sensed that she had when she touched him that day in Mr Becker's office. But he didn't know her.
He had fled when she said his name. He had bitten his lip so hard he drew blood in an attempt to stop himself screaming, at least until he was out of the Dream Chamber. Chandler knew if he started screaming in there he'd never be able to stop.
* * * * *
Over the next few weeks, Monica sometimes found herself suddenly in the middle of a blazing row with Chandler. Often she had no idea how they started. And not in the way people forgot what the original issue was. She would feel things around her flicker, as they had when Michael was changing into Chandler, only now she would feel a wave of anger flood her body and she would sometimes even be standing in a different place in the apartment or wearing different clothes or it was a different time of day or something. And when she looked at Chandler, he was mad too, so they were obviously mid-fight and she had no way of calming things down.
One day that had just been sitting on the couch watching TV together, with Chandler's arm comfortably around Monica's shoulders. Then she felt the whole room flicker, and they were standing facing one another in the kitchen, and she was angrier than she had ever been in her life before, only she didn't know why she was so mad. She screamed wordlessly in frustration and pushed a plate from the counter to the floor. Chandler frowned at her.
"What the hell was that for?" he demanded angrily. Monica turned away from him, leaned on the counter and sighed deeply. "Monica!" Chandler said sharply. She turned back to face him again. The inexplicable anger she had felt before had exploded out of her and now she simply felt tired and confused.
"I swear to God I'm going crazy," she murmured. Chandler couldn't see her so unhappy and stay mad at her, so he pulled her close and hugged her hard.
"Why Mon? What's wrong?" he asked, stroking her hair. She shook her head, even if she had thought he could understand, she wouldn't have known where to find the words to tell him.
"Please don't be angry with me Chandler, I can't bear it when you're angry and I don't know why," she said plaintively.
"Monica, I don't understand," he said, confused. How could she not know? She had been screaming at him only moments ago, as angry as he had been.
"Neither do I," she said softly. Chandler could see why she thought she was going crazy. All he could think of to do was hug her.
That night Monica slept deeply. She was barely even aware of Chandler's arms surrounding her, or his breath warm against her neck. Monica woke up suddenly, feeling as though Chandler was forcing himself on her. But Chandler was lying still and snoring softly next to her. But even when she saw him there, she couldn't get rid of the feeling that a man was on top of her and inside her. She tried to scream but no sound escaped her lips. She tried to poke Chandler awake but she was paralysed and somehow she knew he couldn't help her. Monica endured the waking nightmare for a long time. Every so often she would feel empty, as if the invisible man who was abusing her had withdrawn, then she would feel violated again and it would begin all over again. Finally, after the cycle had repeated half a dozen times, Monica was left alone and was slowly able to regain control of her body again. She realised she was tense and shaking.
Chandler was woken by Monica gently shaking him. He groaned tiredly, but when he saw she was crying he stifled a yawn and sat up. Monica cried even harder, though now with relief, and she flung herself forward into his arms. Chandler held her tightly.
"Monica, what's the matter?" he asked worriedly.
"Don't let them come again Chandler, please don't," she begged.
"Who Mon, who?"
"I don't know."
Chandler had no idea what else he could do or say. Maybe she really was going crazy. He hated to think of his beautiful, perfect Monica as crazy, but perhaps she was. Or maybe she'd just had a nightmare and mixed it up with reality.
In the morning Monica woke late and had no memory of her terrifying ordeal. Chandler didn't mention it either.
* * * * *
Chandler had been seen sneaking to see Monica. Some of the technicians had watched him on the monitors. But they hadn't told Mr Becker like they should have. Instead they had followed him the next time. The group of men lurked in the shadows of the Dream Chamber while Chandler walked quickly to Monica's side. They waited patiently while Chandler stood watching her, unaware he too was being watched.
Chandler was amazed by her. He hadn't realised until now how beautiful she was, his senses had been deadened by his time here, and somehow she was bringing them back to life. He gently stroked her pale cheek, feeling her skin soft and cool. He brushed his fingertips across her lips. To his surprise, she kissed his fingers, which he quickly withdrew, then ventured back. She smiled under his touch and licked her lips. Chandler smiled instinctively. The muscles in his face made him very aware of the movement, and that he hadn't smiled properly in a long time. Monica reached for his hand. Her touch was cold but Chandler hardly felt it. She moved his hand onto her breast. Through the thin material of her hospital style gown, Chandler could feel her nipple hard beneath his palm. He pulled his hand away, afraid, and she pouted in disappointment.
Chandler spun around when he heard sniggers from behind him. He stared blindly into the dark corner where they came from, but couldn't see anyone. Chandler's pulse raced in fear; he wasn't supposed to even be here, never mind touching one of the Sleepers. Monica whispered something, but he wasn't listening. When she grabbed at his hand again, he passively let her take it, but when she prompted him by placing it on her thigh, he didn't move it at all, neither to draw away or stroke her.
"Chandler, what's the matter with you?" she asked the man in her dream in a clear, frustrated voice. Chandler jumped at least a foot away from her. The laughing grew louder and he was grateful they didn't know his name, if they knew him as anything it would only be Bing.
"Are you giving her nice dreams?" one of the men sneered. Chandler still couldn't see him, and didn't recognise the voice. He said nothing.
"I think he heard what we did to her the other day and now he wants in on the action," a second man said.
"What did you do to her?" Chandler demanded. More laughter. Anger mingled with fear now, and he stepped a little closer to Monica, as if to protect her.
"Don't you know, can't you guess?" a third man giggled.
"We raped her," a fourth said, with nervous laughter.
"We took turns," a fifth added.
"She wasn't as good as some of them," a sixth person said, telling Chandler that Monica hadn't been their first victim.
"Maybe she didn't incorporate it into her dream, or maybe she's just a really bad lay anyway," the fifth said scornfully.
"You bastards," Chandler said in a low voice. Fear had almost wholly been replaced by anger now. He couldn't believe anyone could take advantage of Monica, especially not six people who were supposed to be taking care of her. His anger surprised him with its strength, making him feel powerful and strangely refreshed. But it only amused the six tormentors.
"Bings only mad cause we beat him to it," the first one said.
"I think we should let him have her for tonight," the sixth said. Chandler shook his head violently.
"I won't hurt her, and I won't let you hurt her either," he said bravely.
They advanced on him and dragged him a little way away from the bed. There, they started punching and kicking him. Chandler was perfectly prepared to die if he thought it would help Monica, which was due as much to the emptiness of his life as well as the emotion she stirred up in him. But him dying wouldn't do anything, the men would continue their abuse of Monica and other Sleepers. He might not be able to protect them all, but he could protect Monica.
"Alright!" he shouted. They stopped attacking him and hauled him to his feet. "I'll do it, but if I do none of you can touch her," he said. They glanced at one another, there would always be other Sleepers, other nights. They could amuse themselves with Bing and this woman tonight, then next time they would pick an easier target.
"Fine," one of them said. Chandler had lost track of which was which by now. He felt them push him towards Monica's bed, and was suddenly nervous. But he hoped that she was already dreaming of sex with (him?) someone, and he wouldn't hurt her, it would be much better for her this way. One of the technicians pulled her gown open, exposing her ghost white body. At any other time Chandler would have marvelled at her beauty, now he felt only scared to touch her.
He tried not to focus onto the men watching and enjoying this, but on giving Monica pleasure and just hoping she was dreaming it. She did appear to be enjoying it; she moaned as Chandler's nervous hands stroked her breasts and stomach.
* * * * *
Monica was impatient for Chandler to fuck her. She'd been horny for ages and all he'd managed to do was fumble hesitantly with her breasts. Now he began to finger fuck her and she squirmed under his touch and moaned loudly. She had to beg him and physically pull him on top of her to get him to actually fuck her, which wasn't at all like Chandler. When they were finished, she felt a flickering, but nothing visible changed. Chandler fell asleep almost immediately, and Monica also fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, from which she woke the following morning feeling groggy and sleepy.
When she woke up, Chandler had already got up before her. She idly wondered why he never seemed to go to work. Had he really quit the job he'd hated for so long? Well then why wasn't he more concerned about finding a new one? How were two unemployed people supporting themselves? Shaking the thoughts out of her head, she went out into the living room to find Chandler. She greeted him with a passionate kiss before she noticed that Joey was there, grinning insinuatingly at them.
"Mon, me and Joey are gonna go to the ballgame today ok?" Chandler said, pulling her onto his lap and kissing her hair.
"Of course its ok, I'm not your mother."
"Thank God for that, cause I don't think I'm young enough or blonde enough for her tastes anyway," Chandler joked, pulling a face.
"Dude, people are trying to eat!" Joey complained.
"Eat at your own place, where Chandler won't make incestuous jokes and you won't have to watch us make out," Monica told him, kissing Chandler again.
"Ok, ok, I can take a hint!" Joey said, getting up and leaving the apartment. Chandler's hands were sliding up Monica's top when the door opened and Joey reappeared. He grabbed the remainder of his breakfast, winked at Chandler and left again. Monica chuckled.
"I need to teach him how to cook," she said.
"Forget Joey," Chandler said.
"Mmm, ok," she giggled as her top went over her head and onto the floor.
That evening Monica decided to rent a soppy movie and stuff her face with popcorn and chocolate. She would've invited Rachel and Phoebe over, but they had both mentioned dates. Chandler laughed at her in her pjs on the couch has he got ready to leave. Monica had kissed him and told her to have a good macho guys night out with Joey, then come home and comfort her when she was crying from the movie.
"When you say comfort you mean sex right?" Chandler asked.
"Sure, sex works."
"Ok then, see you later, enjoy your movie."
"Enjoy your game."
About an hour after Chandler had gone, Monica was midway through her movie, tissues on one side, popcorn on the other, empty chocolate box on the table in from of her. Suddenly she felt as though her entire body was going numb and she was going to sleep, but she wasn't even tired. She was aware of what was going on, but couldn't do anything to stop it. Her brain couldn't make sense of it either, she just sat there paralysed and mute. Agonising pains racked her stomach. She recognised then that she was miscarrying a baby, but she hadn't even known she was pregnant. But she didn't cry. She couldn't cry. She could feel someone sucking her insides out of her. Her own screams echoed round her head but she couldn't make a sound. And no one was there to hear even if she could. She could have sworn she heard a baby's cry, then everything went black.
