So sorry for the delay. Real life keeps getting in the way of writing!!!

Walk Away And I Stumble

Part 12

"Monica?" Chandler asked, gentle at first, desperately trying to remain calm, but he didn't want to snap at her. He didn't want her to leave him any sooner than she had to. But the next word was harder, he didn't even know how to phrase the questions that burned on his lips. Why was she doing this? What was the point? She needed people's support now, not secrecy. But every word died on his lips before it even became coherent. Finally Monica saved him from himself.

"I don't know" she replied, keeping her back to him. "I just couldn't. If I say it then it makes it true and … and I'm scared Chandler. I don't want any of it to be real."

He knew the feeling. Slowly he walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, turning her gently under her head was buried in the crook of his neck. He didn't speak for what felt like an eternity, he just held her and, although he would never admit to anybody, he tried to memorise every inch of her. For days when he wanted nothing more than to feel her in his arms.

"You need to tell them soon" he whispered, breaking the overhanging silence. "They need to know –"

"-it'll be harder for them if I don't, I know. I just don't know if I can."

He stroked her hair, committing every fibre to memory, it's shine, the way it almost looked black sometimes, it's smell. Everything. "What did the doctors say? Exactly?"

She pulled away from him and sat back on Ross' sofa, she couldn't look him in the eye when she told him, "That it was inoperable. Apparently it's the size of an orange now and in the centre of my brain. It's too late for radiotherapy and there's no guarantee that it would have worked even if they'd caught it earlier. He doesn't think I'll make it to Christmas."

Chandler quickly did the math; Christmas was only 7 months away. How could she only have seven months to live? It didn't make sense. People, healthy people, don't just get told they have seven months to live. It was impossible. It wasn't fair. How could she be taken from him so soon? He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, not just seven months. He loved her, more than he'd ever loved anybody and selfish as it was, he just wasn't ready to let her go. Not yet.

She caught his expression as she slowly turned to face him and attempted a grin, "I know. But hey, think of the money you'll save on my present"

He wanted to laugh, he really did. He wanted it to be funny. He wanted them to laugh together and promise they would do this together, whatever it took. But he couldn't. Instead he hurriedly brushed a tear from his eye as Monica held him close. As his dying girlfriend comforted him. It just didn't seem real. Like it was all a bad dream. One he couldn't wake from.

XXX

Ross whistled as he walked home, certain that by the time he got there Monica would have packed up her things and would be ready for the flight back to Boston. This whole fling with Chandler was probably already over, either that or he'd decided to go with her. Either way he gave it a week before Chandler was begging Molly for forgiveness. And he'd have his flat back to himself. The whistle died on his lips when he saw them still sat in his living room. But annoyance quickly gave way to fear as he saw the tears slowly snaking their way down Chandler's cheeks. Molly was his first thought, or Charlie, or Lauren. Maybe all of them. He rushed over and knelt beside his friend.

"Chandler? Chandler what is it? Is it Molly? Is she OK?" the worry was growing with each passing second. It was eventually Monica, who spoke,

"No, they're all fine. It's … it's me Ross" she gave a second for that to sink in, but confusion was still etched upon her brother's face, "I'm dying. I'm not fine, Ross. The doctors say I've got a brain tumour."

It didn't make sense. She'd been fine this morning. Perfectly fine. They'd discharged her. Why would they do that if she had a brain tumour? Surely she should be starting treatment, now. Why was she home? "So what's the plan?" he croaked out, trying desperately to be the practical one, "Chemo? Radiotherapy? An operation? What?" he expected a barrage of answers. A step by step plan of how they were going to beat this thing. Instead Monica just shook her head.

"I die Ross. That's all I can do. The tumours in an awkward place so they can't operate. And all chemo or radiotherapy would do is buy me time, not cure me. There's nothing they can do."

He didn't know how to react. Something told him he should start screaming, either that or burst into floods of tears. That's what always happened in the movies. You get told someone is dying and either you're inconsolable or you're breaking down walls in anger. Instead all he wanted to do was to hold her so tightly that she couldn't let go. And then at least she'd be here. People weren't meant to die at 28. All he could do was stare at her, his little sister, as his existence fell slowly to his feet.

XXX

Monica had thought it was hard enough being told she was going to die but that was nothing compared to telling other people. She'd always hated it when people she loved cried, and being the one making them cry was almost too much to bear. She hadn't wanted to tell her parents, or even Rachel. But Chandler and Ross had been insistent. She'd eventually compromised on telling Rachel and her work. But she didn't want her parents knowing. At least not yet. If she only had seven months to live she didn't want to spend them with her mother telling her what to do.

Telling Rachel had been the hardest. They hadn't spoken in a while. And she cried easily at the best of times, her earlier anger at Monica had only made the tears fall quicker. She'd offered to get right back on the plane and come to New York but Monica had put her foot down. She felt fine, she'd reassured her, and she had months left yet. She didn't want a big fuss being made of her. She'd call if she needed anything. And then she'd hung up, fully aware that a fuss was going to be made of her. That Chandler would be forever watching her. Ross would call 911 the second she complained of a headache. And who knew if she'd see Rachel again? For all she knew she could go suddenly downhill next week and Rachel couldn't get a flight out in time. She'd make it to the funeral though, would definitely be there. Her funeral. She'd have to start planning that soon. She could get a folder. With a vague smile she remembered the wedding planner she'd painstakingly put together as a child.

With a sob she realised she would never use it.