Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ross felt a stab of hunger as Joey reached up from the couch to grab the remote, and glanced at his watch.

"Wow, it's already 7:30," he said.

"7:30?" Rachel repeated, jumping up from her seat next to Joey. "I've got to get out of here. My train leaves in an hour."

She was already halfway across the room before Ross asked, "Um, Rach, how exactly are you going to get to the station?"

She stopped and didn't turn around right away.

"If they won't send an ambulance," she considered, turning slowly to face Ross, "then there won't be any cabs. I can't go home. This sucks."

"Hey, Rachel, you can just go tomorrow morning," Joey said. "Phoebs and I are going to my house, so you can just catch a ride to the station with us."

"Thanks, Joey," Rachel said, her shoulders sagging as she offered him a weak smile. "I'd better call my mom and tell her I won't make it tonight. I can't believe this weather. How'd this happen?"

"Well, when a cold weather front from Canada moved down-" Ross started to explain, then stopped when Rachel pointedly grabbed the phone from the coffee table and started dialing.

"Hey, look, they're talking about the storm," Joey said, nodding toward the TV. They saw a quick flash of a weatherman, and then the camera panned by several scenes of storm wreckage in the city: angry, parka-clad drivers trying to dig their cars out of snow banks; brave pedestrians, hats pulled low over their faces as the wind nearly blew them off their feet; and finally an overturned ambulance, its red lights turning the snow surrounding it an eerie, neon pink.

"Man, no wonder they're not sending paramedics out," Joey said. "So what do you think, do they send out another ambulance to take care of those guys, or are they just on their own?"

No one answered him, and Phoebe picked up the remote to change the channel.

"Hey, Phoebe, stop it!" Joey and Ross yelled, irritated.

"Look, we're all stuck here, we know it's crappy outside, I want to watch something nice," she said, flipping past the channels.

"Well I want to eat," Joey stammered, standing up and heading toward the refrigerator. "I'm making sandwiches. Who wants one?" He heard a chorus of yesses, and started dragging stuff out of the refrigerator as Monica walked back into the kitchen. "Want a sandwich, Mon?"

She just shook her head and sat heavily at the table.

"How's Chandler?" Joey asked as he set the mustard down. Monica shrugged.

"He's asleep."

"What about you? Are you OK?" When she didn't answer, he walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I'm sure he's fine. Hey, with you looking out for him, he'll be too smothered to not be fine."

Monica nodded and allowed a shallow smile to cross her face, and Joey moved back to his sandwiches. Monica, not able to help herself, pulled out 10 slices of bread and began smearing them with mustard.

"Well, Mom's a mess," Rachel announced as she set the phone down in the kitchen. "Turns out none of us can get to her place tonight, and she's panicking. She thinks we're all going to be either frozen to death or turning cannibalistic by Christmas from being locked inside. I swear, it's a wonder I turned out so sane. Hey, stop it," she added, as everyone laughed around her.

Joey helped Monica load five sandwiches onto a tray and carry them into the living room with a bag of chips. The group settled around the TV to eat.

Their silence was interrupted just a few minutes later when the oven timer went off, jolting everyone into realizing just how thinly their nerves were stretched.

"What the hell is that?" Phoebe asked, looking panicked as her head swerved from side to side.

"It's the oven timer," Monica said, jumping up. "I set it so I'd know when to check on Chandler." She crossed the room to turn it off, then walked into her bedroom.

There was more silence as everyone stared down at their plates, frowning.

"This is crazy. Let's watch a movie or something," Joey said finally, stuffing the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth and then getting up to look at the videos stacked under the TV. "'Weekend at Bernie's?'"

Rachel perked up, and everyone else shrugged and murmured a round of "Sure, why not?"

After the first movie was over, they settled for "Weekend at Bernie's 2," everyone lounging sleepily by the time it was over at midnight. Phoebe sat up straight, knocking Joey's dead weight off of her lap _ he'd fallen asleep on her 45 minutes ago.

"Um, you guys think I can stay here the night?" she asked. "It's just a little bit too chilly for my taste out there."

"Of course, Phoebs. Why don't you sleep in Chandler's room?" Ross said, as Joey sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"You can borrow something of mine to sleep in," Rachel added, getting up from the armchair she'd been sharing with Ross and stretching. At Phoebe's nod, she went to her room to find some comfy shorts and a T-shirt. The oven timer blared again, and Monica bolted up from the far end of the couch.

"Mon, how about if we take turns staying up with Chandler tonight," Ross said, noticing the tired, worried frown on his sister's face. "You won't get any sleep if you do it alone."

"No, it's OK," she said. "I was the one who talked to the nurse, and he's already sleeping in my bed anyway. Besides, you know me, I like taking care of people."

Monica knew that there was no way she was letting anyone else look after Chandler. She had every intention of crawling into bed with him tonight, finally pulling him into her arms and sleeping at his side. Assuming she could sleep at all.

Ross started to argue with her, but Joey spoke up instead.

"You know Monica," he said, pulling on Ross's arm and dragging him toward the door. "She'll probably be up all night making chicken soup for him anyway."

After Rachel had found pajamas for Phoebe and everyone had exchanged goodnights, Monica finally stepped into her room and closed the door behind her. She had woken Chandler up just 15 minutes ago, so she changed into sweats of her own and climbed into bed with him, careful not to bother him. Once she was lying next to him, she propped herself up on an elbow and stared at his face, automatically reaching out to trace her fingers along his hairline. A few hours ago, she had finally found the lump on the side of his head where he'd hit it on the stairs.

Aside from a small frown and the fact that his face was still too pale, he looked like there was nothing wrong, and he was just deeply asleep. His eyes even twitched every now and then, as though in a dream.

The evening so far had been relatively easy. She'd had no problem waking him, and although he was cranky and hardly alert when he opened his eyes, he recognized her every time and was able to answer, albeit in a slur that was a little hard to understand, most of her simple questions. He had no idea what day of the week it was or what he'd eaten for lunch, but he could remember his birthday and their anniversary _ she'd been pleased to see a small smile on his face when he said the date.

Still, it had only been a few hours since he'd hit his head, and the nurse had said it could take half a day for serious symptoms to show up. Monica tried not to think about this as she turned away from him to make sure her alarm clock was set to go off in about 45 minutes, then curled up at his side, her arm resting across his chest.

The next few checks were fine, but when she tried to wake him at 3 a.m., he refused to open his eyes. Monica started to become frantic, and sat up over him, placing both palms against his cheeks and leaning in close to his face.

"Chandler," she said, her voice even and serious. "You have to wake up now. I know you're tired, but just open your eyes for a second."

Chandler tried to turn away from her voice. It was suddenly far too loud, and the sound felt almost like an ice pick poking at some sensitive spot in his ears. Instead of opening his eyes, he squinted them closed tighter. As Monica continued talking at him, her voice getting faster and louder, he found that he was becoming nauseous.

"OK," he finally said, his voice angry and shaking. "Just stop talking."

"Hon, I need you to open your eyes."

He slid his left eye open and was unpleasantly surprised to find that the light on the other side of the bed was on, the subtle glow from it causing his headache to flare up. He moaned and turned his head away from the light.

"Sorry," Monica said, moving to shield him from the lamp. "Chandler? Can you say my name?"

"Monica," he muttered, afraid that his own voice would add to his growing nausea.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Sick," he said simply.

"Do you need to throw up?" He nodded. "OK, but you need to sit up."

He moaned again, but let her help him to a half sitting position, so his head could hang over the side of the bed. She climbed off of the other side, and moved to his side of the bed, so she could sit near him, rubbing his back and holding her mopping bucket under his head. She winced as he threw up. Chandler, for his part, was vaguely aware that he should be feeling embarrassed, throwing up in front of Monica, but he was too tired and sick to care about the indignity of the situation. When he finally leaned back into his pillow, his head was throbbing, and he wouldn't have been surprised if Monica could see the blood vessels at his temples vibrating. His head felt oddly hollow and heavy at the same time.

He felt Monica slide a cup to his lips, and swallowed without thinking.

"Do you think you can handle a couple of aspirin?" she asked. When he nodded carefully, she took out two tablets, then put them in his shaking hand. He swallowed them quickly, never opening his eyes. She grabbed a wet wash cloth she was keeping at the side of the bed for just such an occasion, and started to wipe his face with it when he grabbed her wrist.

"Don't," he said, shaking his head and grimacing. "It's cold. Makes me sick."

She stopped, then helped him to slide back under the covers before picking up the bucket to empty it in the toilet. It was going to be a long night.

Monica barely managed to sleep for more than 15 minutes at a time that night, with Chandler waking up several times to throw up or complain of a sudden burst of pain. She was frantic with worry throughout the night, but as he wasn't showing any signs of amnesia or bleeding from unusual places, or at all, for that matter, she didn't have to call for help. Still, by the time Ross walked into the apartment at 8 a.m., she was so wound with nervous energy that she had bolted out of bed and halfway across the living room before he'd even closed the door behind him.

"Ross!" she stammered. "You scared me half to death."

"Sorry," he said, noticing immediately the bags under his sister's eyes. "How's Chandler?"

"Not so good," Monica admitted, slumping into a chair in the kitchen. "He was sick all night, had terrible headaches. But the nurse said all this would be normal if he had a bad concussion. At least we know her diagnosis was right on."

"Yeah, sure, quite a relief," Ross said, rolling his eyes. "Let me make you some breakfast."

"I'm not too hungry," Monica said, then added as Ross looked like he was about to insist on it, "I spent the night watching Chandler throw up in a bucket. Don't tell me I have to eat something. Juice will be just fine."

He poured her a glass of orange juice, then set about making a bowl of cereal for himself. Before long Phoebe had joined them, and by 9, Rachel and Joey were up. Monica was filling them all in on Chandler's situation when suddenly Ross interrupted.

"Hey, sorry, Mon, but I just realized _ the refrigerator isn't running." Everyone stopped to listen, and Rachel got up to open the refrigerator door. It was still cold inside, but it was obvious that it wasn't on. Joey, meanwhile, got up to check on the bread he'd put in the toaster 15 minutes ago, and saw that it wasn't toasting at all.

"Um, guys, I think the electricity's out," Ross said. Joey flipped the light switch _ they didn't ordinarily use the lights in the morning because the kitchen was naturally bright, even when it was overcast outside _ and nothing happened.

"The storm?" Monica asked. Everyone got up and looked outside. They were shocked to see that it looked just as murky outside as it had the previous night. They could barely make out the outlines of the buildings across the street through the snow coming down, and the street below was just a vast, white field.

"I can't believe this," Rachel said. "Has it been like this all night?"

"Like what?" Everyone turned in one motion to see Chandler standing in the doorway to Monica's bedroom. Standing, actually, was hardly what he was doing. He was leaning heavily on the door frame, his legs visibly wavering. His eyes were open to just slits, and his hair was poking out in all directions. One leg of his pants was bunched up at the knee.

Monica rushed over to him and slipped an arm around his waist.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she asked.

"Gotta pee sometime," he said, starting to move forward.

"Um, Ross, Joey, can one of you help him?" Monica asked, figuring there was no way he'd manage to stand long enough to pee. Ross and Joey just stared at each other.

"You're his best friend," Ross and Joey said at the same time, pointing fingers at each other.

"Please, don't be lame," Monica begged. "Just help him."

Joey finally jumped over, catching Chandler on the other side and guiding him to the bathroom. Monica glared at her brother, who took an instant interest in his feet.

"So the power's out, it's still snowing, and now the phone's are out too," Rachel said, setting the phone she had just picked up back in the cradle. "How am I going to get to my mom's? I can't even call her and tell her what's going on."

"I'm supposed to pick Ben up in a few hours," Ross said suddenly. "We're going to Mom and Dad's this afternoon."

"I guess not," Monica said, her voice coming out angry. She immediately regretted her tone when she saw the hurt look on Ross's face. She knew how excited he was about spending the holiday with Ben.

"Look, guys, maybe it'll clear up this afternoon," Phoebe said, forcing her voice to sound bright. "I think I can already see the sun!"

Rachel glanced to wear Phoebe was pointing outside. "I think that's a flashlight, Phoebs. It's moving from side to side, and don't you think it's a little low?"

"OK, fine, be a downer," Phoebe said, turning away from the window. "Who wants to build snowmen? Snow angels?"