The Theory
Chapter VI~The Next Morning~
Chandler opened his eyes slowly, and tried to ignore the way that his eyeballs seemed to be thumping rhythmically against his eyelids. It was as though two tiny drummers were beating on his eyelids from deep within his head. The thought of tiny drummers made Chandler smile a bit, but his smile quickly faded when he sat up and felt the 'elephant' that seemed to be sitting on top of his head. He stretched slowly, and climbed out of bed, before looking around his room. He was alone at the moment, but evidence that Monica had been there throughout the night was scattered around the room; a fresh glass of water, an extra blanket, a clean, damp cloth. Chandler sighed and opened his bedroom door.
Just as he'd expected, Monica was sat in his brown leather recliner. Joey was asleep on the other recliner, and Ross, Rachel and Phoebe were eating in the kitchen.
"Is this an intervention or something?" Chandler mumbled hoarsely. Under any other circumstance, his joke would have been taken as just that—a joke. But there wasn't a trace of good humor in Chandler's voice, and consequently, the statement sucked the humor out of the room, and replaced it with lead-heavy tension.
"How are you feeling?" Monica stood up, and approached Chandler. She stopped, when she saw his body tense, and his face contort.
"Better. I need a shower though," Chandler said quickly, and walked into the bathroom without another word.
He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for several minutes; until the steam from the shower water he'd turned on when he'd entered started to steam up the glass. He wasn't sure he could do this—he wasn't sure he wanted this confrontation. But he knew that his friends weren't going anywhere until they Talked To Him. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and decided to face the inevitable…after a long, hot shower.
Chandler opened the door, and clouds of steam followed him out of the bathroom. Clean, and in fresh sweats, he felt better physically, but was not looking forward to talking to everyone about 'how he felt'. He plopped down onto the sofa, and looked up to see Phoebe standing over the couch, looking at him. Ross and Rachel stood in the kitchen, but were still looking at him as well; Monica sat on the other end of the sofa, playing with a renegade string on her sweater; Joey was still sound asleep in his chair.
Chandler smiled, as he recalled the day that Joey had named his chair 'Rosita'. Chandler was the only other person who knew about the name—in fact he was the only one who knew about a lot of Joey's strangely endearing quirks—quirks that Joey didn't want getting out, for fear of 'ruining his reputation'. Chandler's smile faltered, when he let in the dark thought that he really wasn't the only one who knew about Rosita…that perhaps Phoebe, or even Ross knew about it, too. Suddenly, the profound friendship that he had with Joey seemed tainted, somehow. He was jarred from his thoughts by Phoebe, who was now sitting on the recliner that Monica had vacated.
"Chandler, we are really sorry about what we did—"
"It's not about that…I mean…it…it's not just about that. I feel like…" Chandler trailed off.
"What? Chandler, please tell us what we did," Ross said.
"Look, it's not just one thing, ya know? I mean, I feel like…you guys are only here because I told you I was leaving…the thing is, this stuff has been building for a while now…ever since…" Chandler shook his head irritably.
"Ever since…what?" Rachel asked softly.
"It doesn't matter," Chandler mumbled. Then out loud he said, "I feel sometimes like…like I don't …belong here."
"What? What are you talking about?" varied replies came from various friends.
"I just…sometimes I feel like you guys don't even really know me, ya know? I mean…I guess that's partly my fault, for… you know, being the way I am, but…"
"Chandler, what are you talking about?" Ross grabbed a green stool, and carried it closer to the sofa before sitting on it; Rachel slowly followed suit.
"You don't even know what I do for a living," Chandler retorted, exasperated by his friend's inability to see what he saw.
"Yes, we do! You're a data…something," Rachel said.
Chandler shook his head, and continued, "It's…not important, I guess. I just…I sometimes feel like I could just…disappear, and no one would be the wiser."
"Chandler, we all feel like that sometimes," Ross said slowly.
"No this is…this is different," struggling to explain himself, Chandler sighed and decided to use examples.
"I remember…a few years ago, I was bringing up some laundry for Monica, and I was gonna walk into her apartment, but I heard Rachel and Phoebe talking…and…I just remember that they were talking about me. And it wasn't so much what they said, but how they said it. It's like…Phoebe, I'm sorry, but it's like you just put up with me because I live with Joey…or across from Monica…"
"Is that what you think?" Phoebe's voice was shaking, and she wilted down onto the floor, and pulled her knees up toward her chest defensively. She suddenly looked very small and child-like.
"Sometimes…I'm sorry, I just…don't think you respect me or something…maybe because I'm kinda weak or…"
"Chandler, if I didn't like you, I wouldn't hang out with you—ever. I know you don't realize it, but you and I are soul mates!"
Chandler's eyes widened, and Monica's head shot up, her eyes boring jealous holes into Phoebe's skull. Phoebe took note of Monica's reaction, and smiled inwardly.
"No, no, calm down—not like that," Phoebe smiled ruefully, and continued, "We're like soul—friends, I guess."
"What are you talking about?" Ross looked at Phoebe crossly.
"Chandler and I have been friends in all of our past lives," Phoebe said matter-of-factly.
"What?" Ross shook his head, but Chandler sat quietly, intrigued by what Phoebe was saying.
"We've always known each other. We were pirates together. We were in the Civil War together. And in World War I. Although, we were French during that one," Phoebe smiled at Chandler, as though she were expecting him to back her story up.
"That's—"
"Ross, shut up!" Rachel warned, and looked at Phoebe, urging her to continue.
"Chandler, we've always been there for each other…and we always will be. You think I don't respect you, but you don't see what I see. You saved my life once, many lifetimes ago, and I still need to pay you back for that. Our souls are bound…so you see, even if you leave me…I'll always find you," Phoebe stated, in all seriousness. She looked over at Chandler, and, for the briefest moment, she saw a set of gray-blue eyes looking back at her—eyes that belonged the man that had saved her 700 years earlier. In a blink, they were gone—replaced by the steely blue ones that belonged to Chandler—the current reincarnation of her soul mate.
"That's…interesting," Chandler finally said, and sat back.
"You've always been a good person too, Chandler," Phoebe continued, as she realized that Chandler was not one hundred percent convinced, "and I do respect you. You think that I think you're weak…but Chandler, I see the things you do everyday; things that make other people's day. You do it without asking, and sometimes, you don't always know that you're doing it. But I've seen it, lots of times. You think we don't notice the way you are always helping out, or making one of us laugh or smile when we've had a down day? I mean, you just said, in your story, that you were bringing Monica her laundry! And you should hear the way Joey talks about you. He's asleep right now, because he was up most of the night, worried about you, and worried that you were leaving. He loves you like a brother, and he feels awful that he hasn't shown it more.
Chandler, it takes a real man to put himself before others constantly. But that's what you do. That's what you do everyday, without even realizing it. And the funny thing is, you're still doing it, even now! You are sitting there, feeling guilty that you made us feel bad, even though we all know perfectly well that we all deserve to feel bad!"
Chandler stared at Phoebe in wonderment. How did she know that? Maybe she really was psychic after all.
"The problem is, because you put yourself before everyone, you run the risk of becoming invisible. But that's not your fault. You only become invisible, when others take you for granted. And that's what we've all done. We've taken you for granted. We take for granted the fact that you pay most of Joey's bills, that you are always there for us when we need you, that you listen to all of our problems, and rarely weigh us down with yours. We take for granted the way that you care for us, and this past month, we took your feelings for granted. It won't happen again." Phoebe sighed, as she sat back and waited for Chandler's reply.
It was quiet for a long minute, before Chandler finally looked at Phoebe and replied.
"The thing is—it's not that easy. It will happen again, unless I put a stop to it. I need…time…distance. Maybe not geographically—maybe I won't move out the city—but it can't be like it was before…I doubt it could ever be. I'm sorry, Phoebe, I know that you mean well, but I just don't—"
"Then what can we do? What can we say? How many times do we have to say we're sorry for being so stupid?" Ross asked, exasperated.
"Nothing, Ross, there's nothing you can do. There's nothing you can say, because it's all been said and done. You can say what you want, but it's already out there—the damage has been done. I need time and space to recover—to heal. I know you don't understand, but if you care about me like you say you do, then you'll let me go. You'll let me do this—without question."
Monica stifled a cry; she was sure she could hear her heart breaking. She did not realize how much she loved Chandler until that moment—until he was out of reach…until he was gone.
And she knew the others felt exactly the same way.