Author's note: I realize many of you have probably already seen this story on various fanfic sites all over the net, so I figured I may as well post the rest of it here. I'm putting up all but the last chapter. I'll add the end in a few days.
Reviews, as always, would be much appreciated. Thanks!
Chandler leaned against the short wall that encircled the roof of their building and stared out over the city that was darkening in front of him. He stood apart from his friends, who were holding a lively conversation behind him, stretched out on lounge chairs and blankets. It was hot and everyone felt cranky and tired. Chandler could feel his T-shirt sticking to his back. They were waiting for the Fourth of July fireworks to begin.
He poked absently at the bruise that still rimmed his left eye and listened to the drone of voices around him. Chandler considered himself lucky. It had been four days since he'd told his friends about the accident. And over the past four days, each of them had let him know, either through some small gesture or an outright show of support, that he was still their friend and that they cared.
He still wasn't happy that they knew, but he couldn't deny that it was something of a relief to have his history out in the open. And while he had never really doubted that his friends would stick by him, he was pleased to see that they were making an effort to keep things normal.
Not that they hadn't asked him some uncomfortable questions over the past few days. Phoebe wanted to know why he hadn't stopped Kirk from driving that night. Chandler didn't have an answer for her. Joey wanted to know if Chandler had visited Amy since the accident. He hadn't. Rachel wanted to know what things had been like after the accident. That last year of school had been miserable, Chandler told her. Kit had spent every spare moment studying his way into Harvard. Vic had joined up with a new group of friends and spent almost every weekend of his senior year drunk. Chandler had been alone most of the time, upping his cigarette intake to nearly three packs a day.
Chandler was flooded with questions from his friends, but to his great surprise, Monica didn't ask much of him. After spending almost the entire night after Vic's visit talking about why he never told her of the accident, Monica apparently had decided she was satisfied with his answers, or at least willing to accept his apologies. But they hadn't spoken much about the accident itself.
The past few days at home had been cordial between Chandler and Monica, but also very quiet. They talked about their days and what they were having for dinner, but little else. She smiled at his jokes, and accepted his quick kisses in the morning before work and at night before sleep, but they were missing an intimacy. Chandler knew that soon he would have to bring this up, but he wasn't eager to discuss the accident, so for now he was willing to take Monica's lead and ignore it.
Chandler was jolted out of his thoughts by an explosion in front of him. A red burst of sparks lit up the sky and the dark buildings downtown. His friends jumped up from their seats and joined him at the edge of the roof to watch the fireworks. Monica stood next to Joey, at the opposite end of the wall from Chandler, the frown on her face glowing with each burst of color.
+++++
When Monica woke up the next morning, Chandler had already left for work. She had the day off, but she didn't lounge in bed. She'd been trying to keep herself busy over the past several days, to keep from thinking about the information that had been forced upon her. So instead of relaxing alone in her apartment, Monica got up and went across the hall to look for Rachel. She hoped they could spend the day together.
Rachel's bedroom door was wide open, and Monica could tell from a quick glance inside that her friend was gone. That seemed a bit odd, because it was still early, and Monica knew Rachel wouldn't have to leave for work for another hour at least. Monica was about to turn around and leave the apartment when she heard familiar voices coming from Joey's room.
"That's right. Just like that." Monica frowned in concentration and moved closer to Joey's closed door, nearly pressing her head against it. "Good. Now watch what I'm doing. See where I've got my fingers? OK, now you try it."
"I don't know, Phoebs, are you sure that's right?" Monica screamed when she heard Joey's voice. A loud thud came from the bedroom and, with her hands pressed over her mouth to prevent more shouts, Monica raced to the door.
Rachel was standing in the hallway when Monica flew breathless out of the apartment.
"Mon, slow down. What's going on?"
"Oh my God, Rachel. Oh God," Monica said, shuddering. "I think, I think I just heard Joey and Phoebe having sex."
"Oh yeah, I'm pretty sure they're doing it," Rachel said casually, walking to Monica's apartment and letting herself in.
"What? Really? Why?" Monica followed Rachel into her kitchen.
"Well, a few days ago I saw Phoebe naked in Joey's room," Rachel started.
"You did? And you didn't tell me? Why? Why wouldn't you tell me? Why doesn't anyone talk to me anymore?"
"Whoa, calm down," Rachel said, sitting at the kitchen table and peeling an orange. "I saw her the night Vic was over for dinner. Somehow, between Vic's sexual lies and the fatal car crash stories, there just never seemed to be the right time to tell you."
"Oh. Yeah." Monica sat next to Rachel at the table. Rachel could see that she'd offended Monica, or at least brought up a topic better left alone.
"Hey, I'm sorry," Rachel said, patting Monica's hand. "Anyway, there wasn't much to tell. Phoebe was sleeping naked in Joey's room. You know, I'd kill for her ass. Not a dimple to speak of."
"Where was Joey?"
"Here, I guess. He wasn't in there, I don't think. I didn't see him," Rachel said. With a disbelieving snort she added, "Phoebe said she was napping. She said she always naps in the nude. Right, and I sleep in a g-string."
"Well, actually-"
"Monica, I do not sleep in a g-string."
"I know. Or, actually, I don't know, but what I meant was, I think she really does nap naked. You know how many times Chandler and I have walked in on her in the past few weeks? I know Phoebe's breasts better than I know my own."
"Chandler must love that," Rachel said, laughing.
"You'd think," Monica said. "But he's afraid I'll catch him staring and beat the crap out of him."
"At least it keeps him honest."
"Yeah, sure," Monica said.
Rachel finished peeling her orange and split it in half, offering several wedges to Monica. They sucked silently on the orange for a few minutes.
"So, do you have to work today?" Rachel asked.
"No, I'm off."
"Me too. Hey, you know what we should do?"
"What?"
"We should get out the wedding planner and get to work," Rachel said, standing up and pulling out the planner from a cabinet. She set it on the kitchen table and pulled her chair closer to Monica, so they both could look at it. "You still have to find a caterer and a band and a florist. So are you sure you want the bridesmaid dresses to be gold? Blue is really a better color on me."
Monica, her chin cupped in her hand, wasn't listening.
"Mon? Blue dresses?" She got no response. "You know, I was thinking. Maybe Phoebe and I should just wear pantsuits. White pantsuits. Mon?"
Rachel was getting desperate. "The thing is, honey, I think I may be pregnant," Rachel said. "So you know what that means? I may need a special dress made, you know, because I'll be showing. Or maybe I'll need to bring my baby to your wedding. That's OK, right? Mon? Monica!"
"Huh? What?" Monica sat up and stared blearily at Rachel.
"Mon, I've been talking about the wedding for like that last 15 minutes, and you weren't paying any attention. Something's wrong. What is it?"
"Nothing."
"Honey, I just told you I was gonna be pregnant at your wedding. If that isn't stealing your thunder, I don't know what is, and you didn't even try to throw something at me. Now seriously, what's wrong?"
"I'm just, I don't feel like talking about the wedding right now, OK?"
"OK. We don't have to. But why?"
Monica sighed and pulled at her hair. "I just can't think about that now."
"You can't think about the wedding?"
"It's too hard."
"What do you mean, it's too hard?" Rachel's voice was cold and serious. She stared hard at her friend. Monica didn't look back at her. She bit her lip and squeezed an orange slice between her fingers. "Monica, what's going on?"
"I don't know." Monica finally looked up at Rachel. Her eyes were watery and her lip was twitching from the effort of keeping herself from crying. When she spoke again, her voice was shaking. "I don't know."
"You don't know about the wedding?" Monica nodded. "You don't know if you want to marry Chandler?"
"Rachel, what he did, it's horrible," Monica said, choking back sobs now. "People died. That woman had children. And Vic's sister, she was so young. And he could have stopped it. I feel like I can't even look at him now. I don't even want to kiss him or touch him or be near him right now. How can I marry him?" She finished and buried her face in her hands, letting her hair fall around her.
"Oh, God, Monica." Rachel stood up and wrapped Monica into a hug, holding her until she pulled away and wiped the tears away from her face.
"Have you talked to him about this?" Rachel asked. Monica shook her head. "You have to talk to him. He needs to hear this."
"I know. Of course I know," Monica said. "But how do I tell him this? I still love him. I just need some time."
"Then tell him you need time," Rachel said. "But tell him."
+++++
When Chandler got home that night, he was surprised to find Monica sitting alone on the couch. At this time of day she was usually cooking dinner, or at least hanging out with their friends. The apartment felt oddly empty and hollow as he walked in, and he was immediately on edge.
"Hi," he said softly as he set down his briefcase. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and kissed her on the cheek before sitting in his recliner and rolling up his sleeves. It was even hotter in their apartment than it had been outside, and Chandler realized all of the windows were closed. He took a drink from his beer and leaned down to look in Monica's face. "How was your day?"
"Fine," Monica said, so quiet he had trouble hearing her. She finally looked at him, her eyes settling on his beer, following his hand as he lifted it to his mouth and sipped at it again. He saw her watching him and raised his eyebrows.
"You OK?"
"Yeah," Monica said, nodding slowly. "Did you have a bad day?"
"Good and bad. Doug was so thrilled with my work on the Taylor project that I thought he was gonna skip the ass slap and just put me over his lap and spank me." Monica didn't laugh, and he frowned. "Why would you think I had a bad day?"
"You're drinking," Monica said. "You don't usually drink when you get home from work."
"It's hot," Chandler said. He studied the beer in his hand, and it dawned on him why she looked so uncomfortable. "Does my drinking bother you? I mean, now that you know, well, about what happened, does it bother you?"
Monica shrugged. Chandler put his beer down on the coffee table and sat next to her on the couch.
"Monica, we haven't talked about this at all since you found out about it. Please, if something's wrong, talk to me. You can talk to me."
Monica played with her engagement ring, sliding it up and down her finger, and glanced nervously around the room.
"It's just, you seem so OK about it," Monica said quietly.
Chandler ran a hand through his hair and leaned back on the couch. He looked quickly at her, and then turned away.
"I'm not," he said. "I'm not OK about it. Of course I'm not. I never will be. But it happened 15 years ago, and I've learned to live with it."
"I guess I will, too," Monica muttered. "How did you do that? How did you learn to get over it?"
"First, I'm not over it," Chandler said. "But I've come to terms with it. I guess I just figure, it happened, and there's nothing I can do about that now. So I just try to move on. What else can I do?"
Monica was quiet again, pulling her ring on and off, sliding it from one finger to another. "You never told me about what happened afterwards. Was there a trial?"
Chandler shook his head. "No. Kirk was driving, so his insurance paid off the woman's family and Amy's family, and his parents gave them some big settlement. And since the rest of us were minors, they just let us go."
"Oh."
"You think we should've been punished." It wasn't a question. Monica didn't say anything. "Maybe we didn't go to jail or anything, but we were punished. I mean, look at Vic. He's a drunk now. That's the way he dealt with it. And Kit, well, Kirk was his best friend. I don't think I saw him smile even once for a year. And I punished myself, probably more than anyone else could. I stayed in my room all the time, just thinking about what had happened, what I'd done wrong. I didn't have any friends in my last year of high school. I was terrified of cars and I wouldn't touch alcohol."
"You got over that," Monica said, glancing at his beer.
"Well, you know, college," Chandler said, a small smile pulling up his lips. "It's kind of hard not to."
"How can you even make jokes at all anymore?" Monica said suddenly. "How can you laugh or smile or even go one minute without thinking about this? I can't."
"I have to," Chandler said loudly. "You know how easy it would be for me to sit here and blame myself constantly? It's scary how easily I could do that. Because that's what I did, for like two years after that accident. All the time, when I was in class or watching TV or eating or even sleeping, that's all I thought about.
"You know how many times I've replayed that night in my mind? Thought about what I should've done? I mean, I was driving earlier that night. It could've been me. And even though I wasn't driving when it actually happened, any one of us could have stopped it. I wasn't so drunk, or so young, or so stupid that I couldn't have said, 'Hey, Kirk, how about we wait a few hours?' I could've taken the keys or locked myself in the car. I could have not drank at all and driven myself. But I didn't do any of that. And trust me, no one knows better than I do how horrible that is. How evil that makes me."
Chandler scrubbed his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes as though he were very tired. He wanted Monica to say something, to tell him he wasn't evil, or that she understood and she forgave him. But clearly that wasn't what she was thinking. He took her hand and leaned down so he could look in her face. She was crying.
"Monica, I'm so sorry about all this," he said. "But it happened, and there's nothing either one of us can do about it. I love you. Tell me what I can do now to make things right again."
"Nothing," Monica whispered.
"What?"
She pulled her hand away. "There's nothing you can do."
"What do you mean? What are you saying?"
Monica looked at her hands as she spoke. "Chandler, I need some time."
"OK, I can leave for a little while," he said, standing up. "I can give you some time to think."
"No. Listen to me. I don't know how I feel. About you, and us. I mean, I know I love you, but everything's changed. And the future, our future, I just don't know."
"Our future? You don't know?" Chandler felt suddenly dizzy and backed a step away from her, stumbling against the coffee table. He realized what she was saying. "The wedding?"
"Chandler, I just don't know," Monica said, finally staring up at him, tears leaking down the side of her face and dripping off her chin.
"You want to call the wedding off."
"No, no, that's not what I said," Monica said. "I just need time. I'm just, I'm not sure."
Chandler stood staring at her for a moment longer, then turned around and walked to their bedroom. He pulled a suitcase from his closet and started stuffing clothes into it, then walked to the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush and a razor. Monica followed him back into the bedroom.
"What are you doing?" she asked. She sounded tired, her voice heavy.
"I've got to get out of here," he said.
"You're leaving?"
"Look, Monica, you know how I feel, you know I love you and I'd do anything in the world to make you happy," Chandler said, zipping up his suitcase and facing her. "You know me better than anyone in the world. You always have, even before you found out about this. And if you need time, if you need to think things over, well, you're gonna have to do that alone. I can't be here while you decide whether or not to spend the rest of your life with me. I can't just sit here and watch you decide whether I'm worth it, because I have a feeling I'm not."
"I'm not asking you to leave," Monica said weakly. "You don't have to go."
"Yeah, I do."