The One With The Transporter

Chapter five

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--Chandler strained to keep his eyes open, the long monotonous drive beginning to take its toll. The car with its slight vibration and rocking motion, the road with its broken centerline whizzing towards him in an almost rhythmic pattern, it was all serving to lull him to sleep. His hazy brain finally decided that if he didn't get some sleep soon, he would end up crashing the car for sure, killing them both.

He glanced over at Monica, noticing her eyelids were just as droopy.

"Maybe we should pull over and get some sleep?" he asked, and her eyes widened at the sound of his voice.

"Yeah," she agreed drowsily. "Good idea."

"As soon as I see a turnout or rest area," he mumbled, "I'll pull over."

"Or," she countered, "Couldn't we just stop at a motel or something?"

"Well, yeah, we could," he validated her suggestion. "But, here's the thing. I don't really have any money. They gave me some, figuring I would need a little for the trip, I guess, but it isn't much."

"Well, I have some," she informed. "Some cash, a little on my credit card I think, and I have some in savings."

"But," he asked, confused, "Don't they have your purse?"

"No, actually, I didn't have my purse with me when they kidnapped me. When I'm at work," she explained, "I just take a wallet with me. Don't need to be babysitting a purse while I'm trying to cook."

"Makes sense."

"I think so." She pulled out her wallet and thumbed through it. "I have my ATM card, a credit card, and a few dollars cash. They didn't check my pockets for some reason." She tapped it against her palm before slipping it back into her pocket.

"Not very bright, your abductors," Chandler half-quipped, "Are they?"

She gestured in agreement. "Apparently not."

***

--The first motel to present itself wasn't a very good one, as was apparent by its obviously poor maintenance, but as long as it had beds, they mutually decided, they were stopping for the night.

Immediately upon entering their room, Monica headed for the bathroom, muttering something about wanting to take a shower. After being behind the closed door for a mere minute or two, Chandler heard the bath water running.

Utterly exhausted, he kicked off his shoes and dropped onto one of the double-sized beds, not even bothering to climb under the covers. He was vaguely aware of the water being turned off near-about 30 minutes later, the noisy pipes ceasing their racket, but he was too tired to care, until Monica poked her head out the bathroom door.

She only opened the door a crack, and just her head could be seen beneath the cloud of steam that began its escape from the tiled room.

"Chandler?"

"Hmm?" he asked, his eyes remaining closed.

"Would you mind if I was just in a towel?" she asked hesitantly.

His eyes opened, squinting at her from his angle on the bed. "Um, ok."

"It's just," she awkwardly explained, "I wanted to rinse out my clothes. And now they're hanging on the shower rod-"

"But that leaves you with nothing to wear," he finished her sentence.

She chuckled, embarrassed. "Yeah."

He smiled, "Didn't think that far ahead before you did it, did'ja?"

"Not really," she sighed.

"Don't worry, I won't look," he assured her. "Much," he added with a smirk on his face.

"Typical guy," she scoffed, a similar grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she crossed the room to her bed.

"Hey, when a beautiful half-naked woman is in your room, you take notice!" he said with a laugh, pulling himself into a sitting position on his bed.

She shook her head as she climbed into bed, using the blankets as cover in place of the flimsy towel. "Do you think we'll ever get to go home?" she asked, suddenly melancholy.

"I hope so!" he replied, his tone sounding more sure than he actually was.

"I'm already starting to miss my friends. And my brother. Hell," she added, "I would even settle for seeing my parents!"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "I know what you mean. I would even settle for seeing my co-workers!"

"You don't like the people you work with?" she asked incredulously.

"Eh. They're office drones. I swear," he snorted, "Some of them are 2 dimensional."

"What is it you do again?" she asked. "Data entry?"

"Yeah," he mumbled apathetically. "Exciting, huh?"

"Well," she shrugged, "If it pays the rent."

"It doesn't really," he replied. "That's why I took this job."

She responded with a brief nod, "Right."

"It wasn't supposed to be a permanent position. I took it originally as temp work." He chuckled, "It's not like data entry is anyone's dream job."

"What happened to your dream job?" she asked him.

"Got lost along the way, I suppose."

"What did you want to be doing?"

"I wanted to be a writer," he admitted. "Once upon a time."

"A writer? Like, of books? Journalism?"

"Comedy writing, actually."

"Like, for sitcoms?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, sort of. What about you?" he asked, turning the question to her. "You working your dream job?"

"Yeah, actually. I've wanted to be a chef for as long as I can remember. Of course, that's probably because of my love of food as a kid. But I always dreamed of being a chef. And, now I am."

"You're lucky," he told her. "Not everyone has that."

"I know. I have a lot to be grateful for…"

She left the sentence dangling, and he waited a moment for her to finish, only speaking up when he realized she wasn't going to.

"You trailed off," he pointed out. "I'm sensing there's more to that."

"It's just- sure, I have great friends, I love my brother, my job. I even love my parents, though they're a bit strange. But, aren't everyone's parents?"

"I know mine are," he interjected.

"It's just, something is missing."

"And that is?" he pressed.

"A husband. Kids."

"Ah," he smiled politely. "Those."

"And to hear my mom talk about it," she went on, "I'll never find anyone! I'm destined to die alone, an old spinster cook."

"That's crazy!" he contended. "Ok, granted, I don't know you very well, but what little I do know- You're bright, funny, beautiful. Who wouldn't want you?"

She smiled at the complement. "What about you? Surely you're dating someone."

He shook his head. "There was Janice. Dated her for several months, but she was in the middle of a divorce when we hooked up. She ended up going back to her husband."

"Wow, that's rough. How long has it been?"

He gave it thought, doing the math in his head. "Five, six months. I've had a lot of first dates since then, but, nothing serious."

"Are you looking for that? Something serious, I mean."

"Not actively looking," he replied, "Not at the moment. But, yeah, someday, I would like to find someone. Do the marriage and kids thing. Just not so sure it's in the cards for me."

"Why do you say that?" she asked curiously.

He laughed, avoiding the question. "If my dating record thus far is any indication."

He forced a yawn, which quickly turned into the real thing as the day caught up with him. She took the hint and dropped it.

"Maybe we should try to get some sleep," she suggested, and he agreed with a nod.

With a quick tug of the chain, Chandler turned off the only light in the room, plunging them into darkness. All was quiet, the stillness of the room causing an odd pounding in his ear, and he cleared his throat just to have something break the deafening silence.

Minutes later, when he was almost asleep, just falling into that fuzzy state of altered consciousness, Monica's voice startled him back into reality.

"Chandler?"

His body jumped of its own volition. "Huh?"

"Sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's ok," he muttered sleepily. "What'cha need?"

"I was wondering, if I could, maybe- I wanted to ask- Can I, sleep, in your, bed?" she stammered awkwardly. "I just- I just don't feel safe by myself," she quickly added, explaining her request.

"Well, ya'know, I'm right here," he reminded her, "If you need me."

"I know," she sighed. "I'm being silly."

"No, you're not," he sympathized. "You're just on edge. You can- You can sleep with me, if you think that it'll help."

"Thanks." She left her bed and started to climb into his bed, but then stopped, clutching the bath towel tighter around her chest. "You won't…?"

He chuckled. "I'm so tired, I couldn't if I wanted to," he assured her. "But believe me, I don't want to."

"I don't know whether I should be relieved or insulted," she muttered as she slipped under the covers, starting to settle in to his bed.

"It wasn't meant as an insult," he insisted. "I just meant that I have way too much respect for you to take advantage of you. Is all."

"Thank you," she near-whispered. "For everything."

"You're welcome," he smiled. "Night."

"Goodnight, Chandler."

TBC…

**Ok, I had about 98% of this chapter finished when my hard drive crashed and I lost all of it. I tried to draft it again from memory, but I don't think it is as good as my first draft. Still, I hope you all like it.

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