The One With The President

Chapter Eleven

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--"Where is the blood coming from?!"

"Don't touch him! You're not a DR!"

"I need to stop the bleeding!"

"Eagle ETA, 3 minutes."

"The premonition didn't come fast enough, Chandler," Phoebe cried. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's not your fault, Pheebs," Joey consoled, the wrinkles caused by his worried expression the only sign of how distraught he was.

"Wounded?" Chandler choked out the question to anyone who could answer it.

"Sir?" Ross asked as he moved closer to him.

"Wounded, besides me?" He coughed, then winced from the pain it caused. "The kids?"

"No civilians were wounded," Ross reported.

No civilians were wounded. That sentence buzzed about in his mind.

"Who was hit?" Chandler asked again, knowing someone besides him, someone who worked for him had to be injured.

"Carl, sir," Joey replied, receiving a stern look from Ross.

"How bad?"

"He's on his way to the hospital, sir," Ross answered before Joey could.

"The shooter?"

"Dead, sir," a secret service agent replied.

Chandler reached for Phoebe's hand, seeing how distressed she was. She took his hand and kissed it, her tears wetting his knuckles.

"I'm gonna be ok, Pheebs," Chandler assured her, a small sob escaping her.

--A flurry of activity kicked up like a tornado when they pulled into the hospital parking lot, the secret service agents and hospital staff working together to secure the area and help Chandler from the car and onto a gurney.

Ross, Joey, and Phoebe followed close, feeling helpless as they watched the DRs and nurses work on their friend, shouting orders and hooking up monitors, starting an IV and stripping his clothes from his body. He looked so pale.

"Get everyone who doesn't need to be here out and in chairs!" a Dr snapped as he buzzed about Chandler with confidence.

A nurse approached Ross, Joey, and Phoebe, gesturing for them to leave and follow her to where they could wait.

Phoebe's hands covered her mouth as tears flowed freely, and Chandler tried for a small smile as he gave her a shaky thumbs-up.

"If he needs blood," Joey announced as they were led away, "We'll donate!"

*****

--Monica ignored the photographers who were a slight distance away, snapping pictures like she was some sort of celebrity as she waited to purchase her new pair of shoes. The conversation happening behind her was of little importance to her, till she heard something that shot through her like a bolt of electricity.

"I just heard it on the news!" the woman behind Monica in line exclaimed, directing the comment to the friend she was with. "The President was shot?!"

Monica spun around, her eyes wide in shock. "What?!"

"Oh my God!" The woman pointed at Monica. "You're Monica Geller!"

"Chandler was shot?!" Monica asked in panic.

The woman scowled. "You haven't heard?"

"Oh my God," Monica muttered, dropping her shoebox to the ground before running from the store.

"George Washington Hospital!" the woman called out as Monica disappeared from view, the photographers running after her.

*****

--"Does Monica know?" Chandler asked, sounding tired as his body continued to rid itself of the anesthesia.

"Yes, sir," Ross replied. "And actually, she's here."

"They won't let her in," Joey added.

"Why not?" Chandler asked weakly.

"Because of her connection to the shooter," Ross answered hesitantly.

"Let her in," Chandler ordered.

"It's secret service, sir," Ross advised. "They say it's too risky--"

"Let her in now," he repeated his order, his voice as stern as it was strained.

"Yes, sir," Ross nodded, then turned to leave.

"How's Carl?" Chandler asked Joey and Phoebe, knowing immediately by their reaction that the news he was about to receive was not good.

"He didn't make it, sir," Joey said sympathetically.

Chandler closed his eyes tight as that piece of news sunk in. "I barely knew him," he whispered, obviously choked up. "Did he have family?"

Phoebe hung her head, her eyes downcast. "A wife, sir. No kids."

Chandler nodded.

When Monica rushed into the room, Ross right behind her, all 3 secret service agents in the room tensed, at the ready to draw their weapons.

Chandler noticed, and waved at them to stand down, Monica didn't notice as she ran to Chandler's side.

"I'm alright," he told her as she looked him over, afraid to hug him for fear of causing him pain. He grasped her hand in his and kissed the back of it. She squeezed it tight, leaning in and kissing his face several times, eventually placing her lips on his. They felt so cold.

"Please don't die," she whispered, her cheek against his.

"You can't get rid of me that easy," he joked, smiling warmly at her as she pulled back.

"I've never been so scared," she admitted, leaning with her elbows on the bed so that she could be as close to him as possible. "Where were you hit? Why did they need to operate?"

"To remove the bullet. It hit my left arm, upper arm, and went through my bicep, through my side to lodge near my ribcage."

"Did they catch who did this?" Monica asked. "Why did he do it?"

"Why does anyone attempt something like this?" he asked, shaking his head. "To make a name for themselves? Be in the history books? Cause they don't like the government and they're lashing out…" He sighed as he wiped the tears from her face. "Mon, sweetie, better if you hear this from me."

She scowled. "What?"

"The shooter," he whispered. "You know her."

"What?"

"The shooter was Kathy."

Monica jumped back, utterly shocked. "What?!"

"Hun, she was shot and killed," Chandler told her carefully. "At the scene."

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed in a whisper.

"There will be an investigation," he went on to explain. "They'll want to talk to you. And Rachel," he added, "Since you both worked with her."

Monica nodded. "They think I was involved, don't they? That's why they wouldn't let me in to see you!"

"They're just being careful," he replied.

She shook her head, returning to his side. "I could never hurt you," she told him. "I love you! And I'm sorry if that freaks you out, but it's the truth."

Chandler smiled. "It's a little frightening, but that's not something I want you to worry about, ok? I just- I have issues--" He looked around at the room full of people. "We'll talk about that later," he said quietly, then gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

He looked exhausted, his eyelids heavy and drooping, and she didn't want to press the matter when he was so obviously drained. "Ok," she smiled. "When you're feeling better."

*****

--"I had a bullet removed," Chandler complained, "I didn't have a lobotomy! I think I can feed myself!"

"Oh, hush," Monica scolded, extending the spoon towards him. "Eat your pudding."

"Why do well people push pudding on sick people?" Chandler asked after eating from the spoon.

"Because."

"Oh, now there's a good reason! 'Because'!"

Monica smiled, feeding him another bite. "Just eat your pudding, you big baby!"

"I'm actually eating the pudding like a big baby! What with you feeding me like I'm incapable!"

"I don't think you're incapable," she told him. "I think it's fun to feed you!"

"Oh, well, in that case!" he exclaimed, opening wide for the next bite, causing Monica to chuckle. "Maybe later, I'll get to feed you."

She smirked, "Not till you're better, Drs orders."

He sighed. "They're being too overprotective! If I was just some guy, with some boring job, they woulda slapped a band-aid on it and sent me on my way!"

"That's an exaggeration."

"Maybe, but they wouldn't be this overly protective, you can bet on that!"

"They're just being careful," she defended the Drs. "I for one happen to agree with them on this."

"That's because you like having me all to yourself," he teased.

With a slight smirk, she set the pudding bowl down on the tray, then pushed the bedside tray away. He watched as she slowly climbed onto the bed with him, straddling him, inching further up his body.

"I love having you all to myself," she confirmed, slithering carefully up to meet his lips with her own.

"Sir, I was--" Ross stopped dead in his tracks, spinning around so his back was to them. "I'm so sorry, sir," he apologized. "I should have knocked."

Monica groaned softly as she climbed off of Chandler, grabbing his tray off the table and excusing herself. "I'll leave you gentleman alone."

Ross nodded at Monica as she moved past him.

"What's up, Ross?"

"Just came by to see how you were doing."

Chandler groaned. "I'm going stir crazy! It's been a week! Sitting here in this bed! Unproductive! I hurt my arm, not my brain!"

Ross chuckled. "It's policy, sir."

"I'm the president! I hearby change the policy!"

"It doesn't work that way, Chandler. Sorry."

"Fine," he huffed jokingly. "How's Phoebe?"

"Still blaming herself."

He sighed and shook his head. "Send her in later, will'ya?"

"Sure. Look, sir," Ross began hesitantly. "We all got together, pitched in, for Carl's widow." He pulled a card from the file folder he was holding. "And I was wondering if you would like to sign--"

"Yes," Chandler interrupted, his hand outstretched to take it.

Ross handed it to him, then a pen, waiting patiently as he looked it over.

"How is she doing?" Chandler asked softly as he signed his name.

"As well as can be expected, sir."

He nodded, then handed the card back.

"So, how's Monica?" Ross asked, trying to change the subject.

"Oh, she's fine," Chandler said with a smile. "She's wonderful, in fact."

"Did she tell you?" Ross asked. "She was questioned about Kathy. Rachel, too."

He nodded. "She told me."

"Kathy had been planning this for a while," Ross informed. "According to her journal found at her apartment. Since just before we hired the catering company."

"That's why she wanted to work here," Chandler added, to which Ross nodded.

"Oh! Also!" Ross suddenly remembered. "Each class at Raney Elementary sent you letters and get-well cards!"

"Really?" he asked, touched by the gesture. "That's so great!"

"I can have them brought up to you," Ross offered. "If you want."

"Yeah," Chandler nodded. "Thanks."

"Ok, so, I'm gonna go." Ross gestured towards the door, took a few steps, then stopped. "Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you… mad at me?" Ross asked hesitantly.

"No," Chandler replied without pause. "Should I be?"

"Well, I sorta pushed you into going to that speech. If I had just listened to Phoebe and--"

"Ross," Chandler interrupted. "This is in no way your fault, alright? It's no one's fault. Except Kathy's," he added. "I don't want you blaming yourself for this, alright?"

Ross nodded, but didn't seem any more at ease.

"Ross," he scolded. "I mean it! That's an order! No blaming yourself!"

He nodded again, a little more assuredly, then quietly left the room.

"He blames himself, huh?" Monica asked as she entered the room from the back.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Phoebe does too, apparently."

"They all love you, Chandler."

"I know," he sighed as Monica climbed into bed beside him. "I love them too."

*****

--"Awww," Monica cooed, "Look at the picture this kid drew for you!" She extended the hand drawn picture, colored in with bright crayons of Chandler waving at the school.

He took it and smiled. "This is so great!" he exclaimed. "This is the best medicine, right here," he said, gesturing to the bins of cards and letters they had yet to and already had opened.

She stole a glimpse of him admiring the picture, a bright smile on his face, and she inwardly smiled. "You would make a good dad," she said softly, taking a chance and broaching the subject.

He slowly lowered the picture from his line of vision, his eyes focusing on Monica. "You think so?"

She nodded. "You ever think of having kids? You know," she added, "Someday?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I think I would like a little Bing, or Bingette," he added quickly. "But I would need a most wonderful woman to be the mom. You know, someone who is kind, and nurturing. Someone who can bake fantastic cookies and kiss boo-boos to make them better." He smiled when she did. "You know I'm talking about you, right?"

She chuckled as she shook her head. "Yeah. I know." She kissed his lips softly, briefly, then her expression grew serious as she adjusted her position on the bed. "Something's changed, since the shooting," she said with a slight scowl. "Just after Christmas, you grew distant, but then after the shooting…"

"I was confused," he admitted, "When you told me you love me. And I guess a little scared."

"Scared of love?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Why would love scare you?"

He sighed. "My parents made it seem as if it was something to fear. As if it were evil and horrible and to be avoided. And as an adult, sure I knew better than to still believe that, but I guess some of those old feelings lingered beneath the surface, kinda doing that 'Tell Tale Heart' thing. Except, instead of a heartbeat, it was saying," he put his hand to his chest and thumped his fingers in a heartbeat-like rhythm, "'Fear love. Fear love.'"

She laughed, placing her hand over his, over his heart. "You know what I hear?" she asked, "When I listen really close to my heart?"

He shook his head, and she took his hand and placed it to her heart, thumping her fingers against his. "True love. True love." He smiled. "Do you hear it?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I think I do." He freed his hand after a moment, running it through her hair, bringing her closer to him so he could kiss her.

When the kiss started to grow needy, she pulled away. "Not till you're better," she scolded.

"Oh, come on!" he whined. "I'm fine! Besides, it's good for what ails you." He winked suggestively.

She laughed, then leaned in close. "Ok, but only on one condition."

"What's that?"

"I do all the work."

A sly grin spread across his face. "Were you expecting an argument?"

She returned his smile as she crawled into his lap. "Not really."

TBC

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