The One Where Mercury Continues
Original story by: Ezika
Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!
Continuation by: Jana~
Chapter Nine
*********
--"Answer me this, Chandler," Dr Wagner requested, "If she had so much love for you and her friends and family, why didn't she think about how her death would affect you?"
"A mind that is depressed doesn't usually reason like a mind that isn't depressed."
"Sounds like you've done a lot of reading on the subject," Dr Wagner stated, watching him intently for his response.
A neutral expression was all he gave her as he stared back at her. "I have internet access," he eventually muttered.
"Why are you so bothered by me?" the Dr asked, curious.
"I don't like the mind games shrinks play," he told her.
"You think I'm playing mind games with you?"
"Aren't you?" he asked, indignant.
"No, Chandler, I'm not. Believe it or not, I care about Monica. I care about helping her to get well, and be a confident woman again. But, part of that requires her to understand how her actions affected those she's closest with. And, Chandler, she's closest with you. Of all the people who enrich her life, she talks about you the most. And I find it fascinating, that with as close to you as she is, you both have chosen not to discuss her attempted suicide, or your true feelings for one-another."
"It wasn't the right time," he explained, "To discuss our feelings. Relationships are hard, especially for me, and I didn't want to jump into anything, until I was sure-"
He stopped abruptly, and the Dr instantly knew he had because he was about to divulge something. "Go on, Chandler. Say it."
"I wanted to be sure, that if I did something stupid, that it wouldn't drive her over the edge again."
"Like what?" she asked. "What might you do, to drive her over the edge?"
With a shrug, he confessed, "I'm not good at relationships. Every one I've ever had, I've managed to destroy, one way or another. I have issues with commitment, and, sometimes, I do and say stupid things, I usually don't mean, because I get… scared."
"What are you scared of?"
"That I'll mess her up, or lose her."
"Mess her up, how?"
"I don't know," he muttered. "Like I said before, what if I say something, and I upset her so bad, she wants to kill herself?"
"Do you think that's a possibility?" the Dr asked, but he only shrugged in response. "Monica, tell Chandler what you told me last week," she instructed.
"I said, I was nervous about starting anything, too soon, because I don't know how well I'd be able to handle it, if- if you left me."
"I won't ever leave you, Mon," he told her. "Even if we're not a couple, I will always be your friend. I just don't want to hurt you, or cause you to hate me, so that you'll wanna leave me."
"That won't happen," she assured him. "I know you have relationship issues," she added, "And I wouldn't leave you because of them. I might ask that we see a counselor for them, and I know how much you love shrinks."
Chandler laughed. "For you, I would go to one every day, happily. I'm here aren't I?"
She smiled back at him. "Yes, you are."
***
SIX MONTHS LATER
--It seemed surreal. He'd only known her for six-something weeks. How could they be getting married?
"How you holdin up?"
Monica turned to see Chandler standing in the doorway. "I'm fine."
He smiled, walking towards her, pulling his friend into an embrace. "Is that the truth, or what you think I want to hear?"
"No, really, I'm ok. It's sudden, but I'm happy for them."
"And how could a trip to London be bad?" he asked, pulling back and grinning at her.
"Always looking for that bright side, huh?" she teased, resuming her task of packing.
"Of course," he said in response, then pointed at her suitcase. "Why are you packing now? The trip isn't for a few days."
"I know, but I don't like waiting till the last second."
He nodded in acceptance of her answer, then stepped over to raid her fridge. "How is Rachel doing?"
"Ok," Monica returned with a shrug. "As well as can be expected, seeing as how her ex-boyfriend is getting married, and she was dumped by her current boyfriend."
With a sigh, he popped open his bottle of Yoohoo, taking a sip before muttering, "I can't believe she's not going."
"She says it'll be too hard. To see him get married to someone else."
"She's still in love with him, isn't she?"
"She says she's not, but, Phoebe and I both think she is."
"Denial," he whispered, and she nodded.
"Yeah."
After a moment of silence, he stepped up next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder, placing a soft peck of a kiss on her forehead. "If you want to talk, I'm right across the hall."
"I know," she said with a smile, "And thanks."
*****
--Sounds of laughter and lively chitchat filled the hall, no one concerned or even aware of the one woman and one man who wasn't a part of any of it. Weddings are happy events, and the rehearsal dinner was a celebration of what the next day held: the marriage of Ross and Emily.
But it wasn't the impending ceremony that caused Monica to cry, or being homesick, like Joey was. It was something else entirely. The trip to London lost its charm completely, when the staggering British guy insulted her.
Near panic, Chandler struggled with what to say to her, to stop her crying, to console her. Something. Anything.
"He was drunk!" he announced. "There's no way you look like Ross' mother!"
"Then why would he say it?" Monica challenged.
"Because he's crazy! Earlier, he thanked me for my very moving performance in Titanic!"
"Chandler," she said with a sigh, "Get me out of here, ok?"
"And go where?"
"To get drunk?" she said, it more of a question than an answer.
"Do you really think that's the best solution?"
"Of course it's not the best solution!" she shot back, "But it's what I want to do."
He shook his head, putting his arm around her and walking her towards the door. "I have a better idea."
*
--Holding her tight to him, he swayed to the music that played on the hotel room's stereo, sighing contentedly at how perfect they fit together.
"Feeling any better?" Chandler whispered, and she nodded against his shoulder.
"You always know just what I need," Monica said with a far-away lilt to her voice. "Why is that?"
His heart rate soared, and he took in a shaky breath as he heard himself admit to her, "Because I love you."
He'd said those words dozens of times, but there was something in the way he said it that called her attention. Pulling back, her eyes met his, and she knew.
"I love you, too, Chandler," she whispered, her arms snaking around his neck as her lips neared his.
It was thrilling and frightening, all balled up into a wonderful sensation of being so right, and without words, they knew their relationship was about to change forever. For the better.
*****
FIVE YEARS LATER
--So much crap to sort through. Boxes and boxes had already been moved, and still there was more crap. It's what comes from living in the same place for so many years.
"Half this shit is just, shit," she mumbled to herself, tossing her husband's items in the box marked 'Chandler's junk'. If she didn't love him with every ounce of her soul, she would've given his excessive junk to some charity years ago.
Careful so as not to throw away any important papers, she opened and glanced at each letter and note before deciding if it was to be saved or trashed.
"Shopping list from a million years ago – trash," she mumbled, tossing it in the trashbag she had set up next to the bed. "Note from Joey about the meatball sub in the fridge – trash." She pulled out the next pile of papers, smiling when she heard her husband's voice fill their apartment.
"Hello my wife, love of my life, and mother to my unborn baby, I am home!" he announced, and her smile grew wider.
"Ya'know," she called back, "You can just call me Monica. It saves time."
He poked his head into their room, leaning against the doorframe. "But it's not as fun," he told her, smiling at her. "What we doin?"
"Packing your crap," she replied, looking flustered.
"I told you, you don't have to do that. I'll do it! You should be resting," he added as he gently touched her swollen stomach.
"Then nothing will get tossed!" she returned. "The house is bigger, but it doesn't mean I want to fill it with trash."
"One person's trash is another's treasure," he defended, rescuing a hat out of the trash and brushing it off. "Hey!" he complained, holding it up.
"Are you seriously ever going to wear that?"
He sighed, conceding, "No. Probably not." She nodded, then pointed back towards the trashbag. He took the hint and tossed it back in.
"Thank you," she muttered, then picked up a piece of paper from the pile and opened it by tugging at the bent corners of it.
When the writing came into view, she gasped, staring down at it.
"What?" he asked, looking over to see what she held. He recognized it immediately.
"You saved it?" she asked, her voice a shaky whisper, and he nodded. "Why?"
With a shrug, he said, "I don't exactly know. So much was said, in that one letter. I couldn't just throw it away, like it was trash. It's clearly not trash."
The words on the paper blurred as tears filled her eyes, and she carefully folded it, set it in the box of stuff to be saved, then stood and wrapped her arms around her husband, her pregnant roundness pressing against him.
"I love you," she whispered, and he smiled as he rest his chin softly atop her head.
"I love you, too," he assured her. "Completely and forever."
Just then, they both felt a kick from their unborn child, and Chandler pulled back and smiled.
"Joey is already cutting in on our private moments," he joked, and Monica smiled, placing her hand over his as it stroked her belly.
"We're not seriously going to name him Joey, are we?"
"We promised Joey senior we would," Chandler reminded, "When he caught us conceiving him, the night we were watching Emma."
"I know," she muttered in complaint, "But I really had my heart set on Daniel."
"Well, maybe we can talk Joey into allowing his Godson to carry his middle name instead."
She wrinkled her nose. "Frances? Daniel Frances?"
Chandler smirked. "Well, ok, what about Daniel Joseph?"
A slight smile showed itself as she considered the name. "Daniel Joseph Bing." With a nod she announced, "I like that."
"I'll talk him into it," Chandler told her. "Your happiness is more important to me than his is."
"Well, I should hope so!" she exclaimed teasingly. "Since I'm the one who could potentially withhold sex from you!"
"Well," he joked, "Joey can too, but it doesn't hold the same weight when he withholds it."
"Thank you for that visual," she jokingly grumbled, waddling out of the room and for the kitchen as Chandler followed behind. "I need some tea."
"Want me to make it for you?" he offered.
"I got it," she assured him. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid. Besides," she added, "You don't do it right."
"How many ways are there to place a tea bag in a cup of hot water?"
"At least two," she said in response. "My way and the wrong way."
Shaking his head, he chuckled at his wife's comment, noting how her belly jumped as their baby kicked within it.
Since being pregnant, Monica carried with her an extra temperature: that of the baby. Especially in the later months of the pregnancy, she often wore her shirt riding high and her pants or shorts riding low, exposing her pregnant belly in an attempt to be comfortable. If he watched closely, he could often see the baby's movements as his wife puttered about the apartment.
Chandler liked the look, but Monica never did sport it in public. It was only for his eyes, or their friends', if they happened to come by unannounced, which was actually fairly often.
Even while with child, she loved being the hostess. When her love of entertaining came back, it was one of the sure signs to all who know and love her, that she was over her depression.
The smile faded from Chandler's face as he remembered that dark time. So long ago, but seeming like yesterday. Finding the note brought it all back to the surface of his mind, and her reaction to him keeping it for all those years surprised him.
"Monica?"
"Hmm?" she answered absently, steeping the tea bag in her hot water.
"Does it bother you that I kept your note?"
There was a slight yet noticeable pause in her actions before she replied. "No, it doesn't bother me. It surprises me though."
"What did you think I did with it?"
"I wasn't sure," she admitted. "I probably should've asked, huh?"
He watched as she eased herself onto one of the diningroom chairs with her tea, and he moved slowly as he joined her. "So, ask now."
"What do you mean?" she asked. "I know now that you kept it."
"You know what I mean," he told her, reaching across the table to take her hand in his. "Like Dr Wagner used to say, let's open a dialog."
She smiled, which brought a smile to his face in return. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Us. The baby. The move. Whatever you want," he answered.
"Are you concerned?" she questioned him, "That all those things will take me back to that place?"
"No," he told her emphatically. "I want to know if you have any concerns."
"It's always in the back of my mind," she said with a sigh. "That, what if something happens, and I fall back into the pit."
"What will you do, if you feel yourself falling?"
"Sweetie," she whispered, "I know to lean on you, if I feel lost. I won't shut you out."
"You'll be honest with me?" he asked. "Even if you think what you're feeling is 'nothing'?"
Nodding, she assured him, "I promise."
For a moment, all he did was stare back at her, conveying the importance of what he was about to request of her. "Tell me about the nightmares."
"What nightmares?" she asked. "I haven't had any nightmares-"
"Maybe not recently," he interrupted, "But before…"
As abruptly as her condition allowed, she stood and waddled towards the sink, to throw the used tea bag away and rinse the plate it sat on. "That was so many years ago," she muttered. "I don't see why-"
"Monica?" he interrupted, and she stopped her busy activity and shut off the water, her back still to him.
"With everything we've shared, that's the one thing you never talked to me about. Please," he pleaded, "I want to know."
"No," she sighed. "You don't."
"Why?" he asked, standing. "Why don't I?"
She turned around to face him, leaning against the counter. "I don't want to revisit that place, Chandler. I don't want to relive it."
"What are you afraid of?" he asked, running the back of two fingers gently down her face.
"I hate that place," she said quietly, through gritted teeth. "It swallowed me up, and nearly killed me, and I don't want to give it satisfaction by reliving it, or talking about it." Taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly, she willed herself to relax and unclench.
"Sweetie, I'm not trying to upset you," he soothed, pulling her into an embrace.
"Why is it so important that you know?" she whispered.
"You had them almost nightly for close to a year," he reminded. "They were so upsetting to you, that you climbed into bed with me, begging me to hold you and protect you from them. But, you never told me what was in them."
"I thought it would be better left unsaid."
"Why?" he asked, pulling back and making eye contact.
"I didn't want to freak you out," she admitted. "The dreams… were about you."
"What about me?"
"I need to sit down," she told him, gesturing towards the couch, and he quickly moved aside so she could lead the way into the livingroom.
Joining her on the couch, he waited patiently for her to begin.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Ok, one chapter left after this. I really enjoyed writing this one, and I know that might seem like an odd comment, because of the subject matter, but Ezika wrote such a powerful story, that just begged to be continued, I just felt really honored to be able to do that. It was an emotional roller coaster, putting myself in the character's positions, to get the feelings as realistic as possible, but it was worth it.
Please, take a moment to review, and if you haven't yet, you should read Ezika's original story. It can be found on fanfiction.net
MTLBYAKY