"Extra marshmallows, as requested," Chandler smiled gently, pushing the mug across the kitchen table and dropping into a chair.
Rachel wrapped her hands around the warmth of the cup. "Thank you. Thanks, Chandler. I just... I don't know what to do..."
"There's nothing you can do, Rach..."
"You don't understand. This... this is all my fault."
"Everyone thinks that..."
"No, this really, this really is my fault! She's leaving him because she wants to be more like me!"
"Huh?"
"Today, I was so stupid, I was showing her all around, I showed her the coffeeshop, and the apartment, and she met Phoebe, and she saw Ugly Naked Guy playing the cello, and she started talking about... talking about how free I was, and how she'd never had that..."
Rachel swallowed hard, poking at a floating marshmallow. "And I... I tried to talk her out of it, y'know? And she said... she said I didn't marry my Barry, but she married hers."
"Ouch," Chandler whispered.
"I didn't know anything was wrong! They never talked to each other! How could anything be wrong?"
Chandler reached out, covering Rachel's hand with his. "Rach... it's still not your fault. She has to have been feeling this way for years..."
"It's just... when I was little, everyone's parents were getting divorced, y'know? I guess I just thought... at this age... I wouldn't have to worry about it..."
Chandler squeezed her hand.
"But it happens, right? I mean, it happens, I just didn't think about it, like poor Dr. Burke..."
Rachel broke off, a look of horrified realization crossing her face.
"Oh my god... Monica must hate me," she whispered.
"She doesn't hate you. She won't be mad once she finds out what happened, Rach..."
"But her catering thing! I was supposed to help, and then I forgot all about it..."
"It's okay, it's okay. Kathy waitressed for her, it's taken care of."
Rachel blinked, pulling her hand back. "Kathy."
"Yeah, she's done a lot of waitressing, I think it comes with the actress gig."
"Well, that's great." Rachel pushed herself away from the table, pacing towards the television. "Wonderful, perfect, Kathy covers for shitty old forgetful Rachel, that's lovely."
Chandler raised an eyebrow at Rachel's back. "Do you, uh... have a problem with Kathy?"
"No-no, of course not! Why would I have a problem with Kathy? She's lovely, she's great, she's... you with boobies..."
Chandler stood, taking a step towards her. "You don't sound like you mean any of that."
"Chandler, I... I want to be alone now, okay? I appreciate the cocoa, and you letting me rant, but..."
Another step. "I... I wish I knew what to do to make you feel better..."
"There's nothing you can do, Chandler."
"I mean, besides the cocoa, the only comforting divorce-thing I have is cigarettes..."
Rachel whirled. "On you?"
Chandler paused, blinked. "Yes..."
"Whip 'em out."
"Are you serious?"
"Out on the balcony, Bing."
***
He lit it for her, and she was struck all over again at the marvel of his hands in motion. It was a filthy, nasty habit, and she wished he'd quit, but... damn if he didn't look good doing it.
He held the burning cigarette out, and she took it from his fingers, raising it to her lips, feeling the burn in the back of her throat, her lungs expanding.
"This feels weird," Chandler muttered, lighting one for himself. "Mon would kill me."
"Monica does not need to know," Rachel tapped ash on the concrete.
"Why'd you want to do this?"
"I dunno. Maybe part of me wants to hurt my parents. They'd flip if they saw me."
"My parents didn't really care," Chandler said ruefully. "I wanted them to, but... they didn't. I guess part of me did it as kind of this 'Look what you've done to me!' thing, you know? But I guess you have to pay attention to your kid to notice any new habits he's picked up."
"Is your relationship with them that bad?"
He flicked his cigarette. "Not as bad as it used to be. They're good people, they just... shoulda been sterilized at birth."
"Aww... but then we wouldn't have you."
"Yeah, I'm such a gift to the world," Chandler drawled.
"Well... I like you."
Chandler stopped, smiled. "Rach... let's not fight anymore, okay? I know crap happened, but... let's put it behind us. I really... I don't want to lose you as a friend."
"Is that what it was?" Rachel said sadly, "Crap?"
"Certainly turned into crap, didn't it?"
"Yeah... yeah, I guess it did."
"How are... how are you and Ross doing?"
"Weird. Awkward. He's... he's not you."
"That's a good thing, though, right?"
"I guess... I guess it could be."
"You know, if you ever... if you ever need anything, Rach, I'm here. The things I said to you... I meant them."
Her breath caught in her throat. "I meant them, too."
"You think you can sleep now?"
"Yeah, yeah I... I'm kinda looking forward to not being conscious."
"I wish..." Chandler whispered, then stopped himself.
"What? What do you wish?"
"Nothing, nothing. It's stupid. Ignore me."
"Aw, c'mon, Chandler... tell me."
"No, it's really, really stupid."
"Tell me, or I'll tickle it out of you..."
Chandler sighed. "I was just thinking... I wish things weren't so complicated. I wish I could just... take you across the hall with me, y'know? Hide in my room and shut the world out... where it couldn't get to you, hurt you. I see you sad, and it just... it just breaks something inside me, it's like... it's like I have to make it better, have to kill whatever it is that's hurting you, and there's... nothing to kill, nothing to fight. And it seems like... maybe if I held you tight enough, I could keep whatever it was away."
"That's not stupid."
"It sounds stupid in my head."
"Well, in mine... it sounds like the biggest temptation in the world."
They stared at each other, unspoken words echoing all around them.
"I'm, uh. I'm gonna go." Chandler ground the cherry out of his cigarette, sticking the butt in his pocket.
"Yeah, I guess I should get some sleep."
"Call me if you need me, okay?"
Rachel nodded, watching him crawl through the window. She wouldn't, of course: she needed him all the time.
***
Joey looked up at the sound of the buzzer, his arms still cradled around Phoebe's waist. He'd expected her to move to the other Barcalounger when Chandler had left, but she'd stayed put.
"Who's ringing?"
"I dunno, I..." His eyes flew wide. "Oh, crap!"
"Crap? What crap?"
"That reporter-guy! I have this interview-thing, I totally spaced it."
Phoebe crawled off his lap. "Do you want me to leave?"
"No, no, that's okay, it's just this little piece for 'Soap Opera Digest', shouldn't take long. Buzz him in, okay? I'm gonna put on a clean shirt."
***
"So, this character, Dr. Ramoray," the interviewer said, tapping his pencil against his pad. "Does playing him come easily for you?"
"I feel like I'm sort of -- in sync with Dr. Drake," Joey said. "Actually, I write a lot of my own lines."
Phoebe coughed on her soda, eyes bulging.
"You -- you do?" the interviewer replied, shocked.
"Joey, don't confuse him," Phoebe laughed airily. "You know, for a poet, you'd think he could speak more clearly... I guess his mind's always off in the clouds."
"A poet?" The interviewer swung around to her. "Really?"
"Oh, yes. Joey writes brilliant stuff. Actually, Joey and I were just talking the other day... so much of what Drake says is reminiscent of Joey's own words in his poetry. Really, it's like they were meant to be."
"Ahh, okay," The interviewer smiled. "I thought you meant your own lines on the show."
"But I --" Joey began.
"Oh no, nooo," Phoebe soothed. "Joey would never change a word of the writers' brilliant work. We were just talking today, weren't we, about how much you respected their craft... right, Joey?"
"Right..." Joey stammered.
"Huh. This is great stuff, but I don't really know how to phrase it... I mean, this is just supposed to be an interview with Joey..."
"Aww, well, why don't you come over here?" Phoebe smiled coyly, pressing her breasts firmly into the reporter's arm. "I'm sure we can figure something out."
Rachel wrapped her hands around the warmth of the cup. "Thank you. Thanks, Chandler. I just... I don't know what to do..."
"There's nothing you can do, Rach..."
"You don't understand. This... this is all my fault."
"Everyone thinks that..."
"No, this really, this really is my fault! She's leaving him because she wants to be more like me!"
"Huh?"
"Today, I was so stupid, I was showing her all around, I showed her the coffeeshop, and the apartment, and she met Phoebe, and she saw Ugly Naked Guy playing the cello, and she started talking about... talking about how free I was, and how she'd never had that..."
Rachel swallowed hard, poking at a floating marshmallow. "And I... I tried to talk her out of it, y'know? And she said... she said I didn't marry my Barry, but she married hers."
"Ouch," Chandler whispered.
"I didn't know anything was wrong! They never talked to each other! How could anything be wrong?"
Chandler reached out, covering Rachel's hand with his. "Rach... it's still not your fault. She has to have been feeling this way for years..."
"It's just... when I was little, everyone's parents were getting divorced, y'know? I guess I just thought... at this age... I wouldn't have to worry about it..."
Chandler squeezed her hand.
"But it happens, right? I mean, it happens, I just didn't think about it, like poor Dr. Burke..."
Rachel broke off, a look of horrified realization crossing her face.
"Oh my god... Monica must hate me," she whispered.
"She doesn't hate you. She won't be mad once she finds out what happened, Rach..."
"But her catering thing! I was supposed to help, and then I forgot all about it..."
"It's okay, it's okay. Kathy waitressed for her, it's taken care of."
Rachel blinked, pulling her hand back. "Kathy."
"Yeah, she's done a lot of waitressing, I think it comes with the actress gig."
"Well, that's great." Rachel pushed herself away from the table, pacing towards the television. "Wonderful, perfect, Kathy covers for shitty old forgetful Rachel, that's lovely."
Chandler raised an eyebrow at Rachel's back. "Do you, uh... have a problem with Kathy?"
"No-no, of course not! Why would I have a problem with Kathy? She's lovely, she's great, she's... you with boobies..."
Chandler stood, taking a step towards her. "You don't sound like you mean any of that."
"Chandler, I... I want to be alone now, okay? I appreciate the cocoa, and you letting me rant, but..."
Another step. "I... I wish I knew what to do to make you feel better..."
"There's nothing you can do, Chandler."
"I mean, besides the cocoa, the only comforting divorce-thing I have is cigarettes..."
Rachel whirled. "On you?"
Chandler paused, blinked. "Yes..."
"Whip 'em out."
"Are you serious?"
"Out on the balcony, Bing."
***
He lit it for her, and she was struck all over again at the marvel of his hands in motion. It was a filthy, nasty habit, and she wished he'd quit, but... damn if he didn't look good doing it.
He held the burning cigarette out, and she took it from his fingers, raising it to her lips, feeling the burn in the back of her throat, her lungs expanding.
"This feels weird," Chandler muttered, lighting one for himself. "Mon would kill me."
"Monica does not need to know," Rachel tapped ash on the concrete.
"Why'd you want to do this?"
"I dunno. Maybe part of me wants to hurt my parents. They'd flip if they saw me."
"My parents didn't really care," Chandler said ruefully. "I wanted them to, but... they didn't. I guess part of me did it as kind of this 'Look what you've done to me!' thing, you know? But I guess you have to pay attention to your kid to notice any new habits he's picked up."
"Is your relationship with them that bad?"
He flicked his cigarette. "Not as bad as it used to be. They're good people, they just... shoulda been sterilized at birth."
"Aww... but then we wouldn't have you."
"Yeah, I'm such a gift to the world," Chandler drawled.
"Well... I like you."
Chandler stopped, smiled. "Rach... let's not fight anymore, okay? I know crap happened, but... let's put it behind us. I really... I don't want to lose you as a friend."
"Is that what it was?" Rachel said sadly, "Crap?"
"Certainly turned into crap, didn't it?"
"Yeah... yeah, I guess it did."
"How are... how are you and Ross doing?"
"Weird. Awkward. He's... he's not you."
"That's a good thing, though, right?"
"I guess... I guess it could be."
"You know, if you ever... if you ever need anything, Rach, I'm here. The things I said to you... I meant them."
Her breath caught in her throat. "I meant them, too."
"You think you can sleep now?"
"Yeah, yeah I... I'm kinda looking forward to not being conscious."
"I wish..." Chandler whispered, then stopped himself.
"What? What do you wish?"
"Nothing, nothing. It's stupid. Ignore me."
"Aw, c'mon, Chandler... tell me."
"No, it's really, really stupid."
"Tell me, or I'll tickle it out of you..."
Chandler sighed. "I was just thinking... I wish things weren't so complicated. I wish I could just... take you across the hall with me, y'know? Hide in my room and shut the world out... where it couldn't get to you, hurt you. I see you sad, and it just... it just breaks something inside me, it's like... it's like I have to make it better, have to kill whatever it is that's hurting you, and there's... nothing to kill, nothing to fight. And it seems like... maybe if I held you tight enough, I could keep whatever it was away."
"That's not stupid."
"It sounds stupid in my head."
"Well, in mine... it sounds like the biggest temptation in the world."
They stared at each other, unspoken words echoing all around them.
"I'm, uh. I'm gonna go." Chandler ground the cherry out of his cigarette, sticking the butt in his pocket.
"Yeah, I guess I should get some sleep."
"Call me if you need me, okay?"
Rachel nodded, watching him crawl through the window. She wouldn't, of course: she needed him all the time.
***
Joey looked up at the sound of the buzzer, his arms still cradled around Phoebe's waist. He'd expected her to move to the other Barcalounger when Chandler had left, but she'd stayed put.
"Who's ringing?"
"I dunno, I..." His eyes flew wide. "Oh, crap!"
"Crap? What crap?"
"That reporter-guy! I have this interview-thing, I totally spaced it."
Phoebe crawled off his lap. "Do you want me to leave?"
"No, no, that's okay, it's just this little piece for 'Soap Opera Digest', shouldn't take long. Buzz him in, okay? I'm gonna put on a clean shirt."
***
"So, this character, Dr. Ramoray," the interviewer said, tapping his pencil against his pad. "Does playing him come easily for you?"
"I feel like I'm sort of -- in sync with Dr. Drake," Joey said. "Actually, I write a lot of my own lines."
Phoebe coughed on her soda, eyes bulging.
"You -- you do?" the interviewer replied, shocked.
"Joey, don't confuse him," Phoebe laughed airily. "You know, for a poet, you'd think he could speak more clearly... I guess his mind's always off in the clouds."
"A poet?" The interviewer swung around to her. "Really?"
"Oh, yes. Joey writes brilliant stuff. Actually, Joey and I were just talking the other day... so much of what Drake says is reminiscent of Joey's own words in his poetry. Really, it's like they were meant to be."
"Ahh, okay," The interviewer smiled. "I thought you meant your own lines on the show."
"But I --" Joey began.
"Oh no, nooo," Phoebe soothed. "Joey would never change a word of the writers' brilliant work. We were just talking today, weren't we, about how much you respected their craft... right, Joey?"
"Right..." Joey stammered.
"Huh. This is great stuff, but I don't really know how to phrase it... I mean, this is just supposed to be an interview with Joey..."
"Aww, well, why don't you come over here?" Phoebe smiled coyly, pressing her breasts firmly into the reporter's arm. "I'm sure we can figure something out."
