"What the hell are you doing?"
The angry screech sliced through Rachel's consciousness, freezing all neurons in its wake. Rachel jumped, the cigarette in her fingers tumbling over the edge of the balcony as she blinked, statue-like, at the window-framed Hellwrath of Monica.
"Did you not hear me?"
A guilty smile creaked rustily onto her face. "Hi, Mon..."
"Since when do you smoke? How long have you been hiding this from me? Do you have any idea how horrible that is for you? Rachel? Rachel? Rachel Karen Green??"
"Umm..."
Monica hauled herself angrily through the window, fluffy slipper catching on the sill. She shoved it back on her foot with disgust. "You completely bailed on me tonight, you know! Do you have *any* idea how freaked-out I was? You knew how much this job meant to me! The most irresponsible, inconsiderate... I come home and you're sleeping, and I wake up and you're smoking? What the hell has gotten into you?"
"I was mostly just..." Rachel sighed, gripping the pack in her pocket for reassurance, "Holding it..."
"Well, blaze up another one! You've got about three minutes to live, anyway! Why are you holding cigarettes, then? In your pyjamas? It's wet out here, it's been storming all night!"
"It smelled like..." Rachel began. Her mouth snapped shut around the truth, and suddenly, inspiration struck. "... my dad."
"Your dad," Monica repeated dubiously.
"My mom's leaving him, Mon."
Shock flared over Monica's face. "And you... you found out about this today?"
"Yeah."
"Is... is that why you forgot?"
"Yeah..."
"Oh... sweetie..." Monica rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Rachel before springing back with a cough. "Ugh. You smell like Chandler after a break-up."
A ghost of an ironic smile touched Rachel's lips, and she raised the pack. "You mind?"
Monica groaned. "I guess not. Since you're in pain and all. Stay downwind!" She peered a little closer. "Isn't that Chandler's brand?"
"Yeah, I... stole these from his pocket."
Or went down to the Korean deli at 3 a.m. and picked them out in my pyjamas, one of the two...
"Well, at least you're not buying them yet," Monica muttered. "This isn't something you plan to do permanently, is it?"
"No, no, I'm just... sad tonight." Rachel inhaled deeply, let the Chandler swirl around in her lungs, exhaled reluctantly. "How did your catering thing go?"
A little glint danced in Monica's eyes. "It went... okay..."
Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Okay, huh?"
"Yeah," Monica said breezily, stretching out her palms on the concrete railing. "It was fine. Y'know. Uneventful. Calm."
"You are lying to me," Rachel laughed. "You have the worst poker face in the world... what happened?"
"Nothing!" Monica insisted, unable to suppress her grin.
"Who'd you meeeeeeet...?"
"I did not meet anyone," Monica said, blinking with wide-eyed honesty.
"Who'd you run intooooo..."
"I didn't... run into anyone..."
"Okay, who was at the party that you already knew and..." Rachel stopped, gasped. "Nooo."
Monica looked up at the pre-dawn sky, the portrait of innocence.
"Monica...?" Rachel prodded.
"Yes?"
"Can I ask you a... teensy little question?"
"I suppose..."
"Is Dr. Burke still as hunky as he was when we were kids?"
And Monica collapsed in on herself, giggling. "Oh dear god, so hunky."
"Aaand...?"
"And I have an eye appointment tomorrow."
Rachel laughed. "Didn't you just get your eyes checked?"
"27 is a dangerous eye age!"
"So... is this one-sided?"
Monica grinned around a mouthful of knuckle. "I don't think so."
"Monica Geller!"
"Yeah, well." Monica hung her head coyly, kicking the brick lightly with her slipper. "So how about your love life, huh? How's stuff with Ross?"
Rachel's temporary cheer evaporated, her fingers tightening protectively around her cigarette. "Oh... fine, just fine."
"So how..."
Rachel cut her off. "So... I know what I'm doing up a four a.m... what's your excuse? Mooning over the good doctor?"
"Cramps," Monica laughed. "And... a little bit of mooning over the good doctor."
"He is pretty dreamy," Rachel smiled.
"Yeah... yeah, he is," Monica hugged herself. "Okay, I'm freezing my butt off, I'm going back to bed. Don't stay out here too long, okay? Hypothermia and lung cancer..."
"Just a few more minutes."
"Okay." Monica touched her shoulder, avoiding her smoke cloud. "Sweetie... I'm really sorry about your parents."
"Yeah. I am too."
She watched Monica crawl through the window, then turned her gaze back out to the night. The storm had turned to mist, and she watched as tiny dark spots formed on her cigarette, dried from the heat, formed again.
That was pretty awesome, wasn't it? Monica and hunky Richard Burke?
She inhaled, remembering Dr. Burke as best she could. Dashing... urbane... charming... witty. Perfect for Monica.
Didn't screw her over so badly after all, didya?
A small comfort. But a comfort, nonetheless... and damn, but she needed one.
She sighed again. Chandler.
She'd always thought his name was so... weird. Stuffy, formal, didn't fit him... even he hated it.
When had it become so achingly beautiful, the perfect name, a mantra, a charm? When had it become a noun meaning home, warmth, love?
She'd tried to sleep again and failed miserably, padding into the kitchen for a Diet Coke, pushing open the refrigerator door with half-open eyes...
And she'd seen a single Yoo-Hoo, forgotten behind a jar of maraschino cherries, languishing in the fridge door.
She'd grabbed it, mostly to look at... that stuff had an ungodly number of calories... and then found herself shaking it, twisting the cap off, sipping... then pouring it down her throat in rich, chocolatey gulps.
This is the thing he drinks. This is what it tastes like to be him...
The somber, almost religious fervor of her thoughts scared her. Ridiculous... like she was taking communion, at one in the morning, in front of a jar that said "Cookie Time".
How had she lost control of her heart so completely? She'd never been this... this freakishly obsessed. With Pete, with Barry, even with Paolo and Ross... she'd loved, sure, but she'd never been so consumed, so drenched with emotion... like Chandler had snuck into her every atom while she slept and scrawled his name on it.
She'd tried to distract herself, flipping through channels... then slung the remote away in disgust when she realized she was subconsciously looking for "Baywatch".
That had been when she'd shoved on shoes, thrown on her raincoat, and gone for the "cleansing walk" that had turned into a beeline for the deli.
Sitting on the park bench, freezing her ass off, flannel sheep-print pyjama legs protruding comically from her raincoat... fumbling inexpertly with the package of Marlboros, taking a moment to decode the child-proofing on the lighter...
And then... heat inside her. It wasn't searing heat, Chandler-heat, but... she could feel it. She watched the clouds stream from her lips, entranced by the notion that, separated by space, she and Chandler were breathing together.
Communion.
It was what she had wanted, wasn't it?
Rachel snapped back to the present, shivering in the dampness. She had to, had to think about something else...
Mon was so cute, all giggly and moony, wasn't she? Too bad she had...
Whoa. Cramps?
But... Monica was always two weeks after her, always. It was one of their little jokes... all that time living together, and they'd never managed to synchronize...
And she hadn't...
Rachel gasped, frozen, blinking hard... and then hurled the cigarette away from her.
The angry screech sliced through Rachel's consciousness, freezing all neurons in its wake. Rachel jumped, the cigarette in her fingers tumbling over the edge of the balcony as she blinked, statue-like, at the window-framed Hellwrath of Monica.
"Did you not hear me?"
A guilty smile creaked rustily onto her face. "Hi, Mon..."
"Since when do you smoke? How long have you been hiding this from me? Do you have any idea how horrible that is for you? Rachel? Rachel? Rachel Karen Green??"
"Umm..."
Monica hauled herself angrily through the window, fluffy slipper catching on the sill. She shoved it back on her foot with disgust. "You completely bailed on me tonight, you know! Do you have *any* idea how freaked-out I was? You knew how much this job meant to me! The most irresponsible, inconsiderate... I come home and you're sleeping, and I wake up and you're smoking? What the hell has gotten into you?"
"I was mostly just..." Rachel sighed, gripping the pack in her pocket for reassurance, "Holding it..."
"Well, blaze up another one! You've got about three minutes to live, anyway! Why are you holding cigarettes, then? In your pyjamas? It's wet out here, it's been storming all night!"
"It smelled like..." Rachel began. Her mouth snapped shut around the truth, and suddenly, inspiration struck. "... my dad."
"Your dad," Monica repeated dubiously.
"My mom's leaving him, Mon."
Shock flared over Monica's face. "And you... you found out about this today?"
"Yeah."
"Is... is that why you forgot?"
"Yeah..."
"Oh... sweetie..." Monica rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Rachel before springing back with a cough. "Ugh. You smell like Chandler after a break-up."
A ghost of an ironic smile touched Rachel's lips, and she raised the pack. "You mind?"
Monica groaned. "I guess not. Since you're in pain and all. Stay downwind!" She peered a little closer. "Isn't that Chandler's brand?"
"Yeah, I... stole these from his pocket."
Or went down to the Korean deli at 3 a.m. and picked them out in my pyjamas, one of the two...
"Well, at least you're not buying them yet," Monica muttered. "This isn't something you plan to do permanently, is it?"
"No, no, I'm just... sad tonight." Rachel inhaled deeply, let the Chandler swirl around in her lungs, exhaled reluctantly. "How did your catering thing go?"
A little glint danced in Monica's eyes. "It went... okay..."
Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Okay, huh?"
"Yeah," Monica said breezily, stretching out her palms on the concrete railing. "It was fine. Y'know. Uneventful. Calm."
"You are lying to me," Rachel laughed. "You have the worst poker face in the world... what happened?"
"Nothing!" Monica insisted, unable to suppress her grin.
"Who'd you meeeeeeet...?"
"I did not meet anyone," Monica said, blinking with wide-eyed honesty.
"Who'd you run intooooo..."
"I didn't... run into anyone..."
"Okay, who was at the party that you already knew and..." Rachel stopped, gasped. "Nooo."
Monica looked up at the pre-dawn sky, the portrait of innocence.
"Monica...?" Rachel prodded.
"Yes?"
"Can I ask you a... teensy little question?"
"I suppose..."
"Is Dr. Burke still as hunky as he was when we were kids?"
And Monica collapsed in on herself, giggling. "Oh dear god, so hunky."
"Aaand...?"
"And I have an eye appointment tomorrow."
Rachel laughed. "Didn't you just get your eyes checked?"
"27 is a dangerous eye age!"
"So... is this one-sided?"
Monica grinned around a mouthful of knuckle. "I don't think so."
"Monica Geller!"
"Yeah, well." Monica hung her head coyly, kicking the brick lightly with her slipper. "So how about your love life, huh? How's stuff with Ross?"
Rachel's temporary cheer evaporated, her fingers tightening protectively around her cigarette. "Oh... fine, just fine."
"So how..."
Rachel cut her off. "So... I know what I'm doing up a four a.m... what's your excuse? Mooning over the good doctor?"
"Cramps," Monica laughed. "And... a little bit of mooning over the good doctor."
"He is pretty dreamy," Rachel smiled.
"Yeah... yeah, he is," Monica hugged herself. "Okay, I'm freezing my butt off, I'm going back to bed. Don't stay out here too long, okay? Hypothermia and lung cancer..."
"Just a few more minutes."
"Okay." Monica touched her shoulder, avoiding her smoke cloud. "Sweetie... I'm really sorry about your parents."
"Yeah. I am too."
She watched Monica crawl through the window, then turned her gaze back out to the night. The storm had turned to mist, and she watched as tiny dark spots formed on her cigarette, dried from the heat, formed again.
That was pretty awesome, wasn't it? Monica and hunky Richard Burke?
She inhaled, remembering Dr. Burke as best she could. Dashing... urbane... charming... witty. Perfect for Monica.
Didn't screw her over so badly after all, didya?
A small comfort. But a comfort, nonetheless... and damn, but she needed one.
She sighed again. Chandler.
She'd always thought his name was so... weird. Stuffy, formal, didn't fit him... even he hated it.
When had it become so achingly beautiful, the perfect name, a mantra, a charm? When had it become a noun meaning home, warmth, love?
She'd tried to sleep again and failed miserably, padding into the kitchen for a Diet Coke, pushing open the refrigerator door with half-open eyes...
And she'd seen a single Yoo-Hoo, forgotten behind a jar of maraschino cherries, languishing in the fridge door.
She'd grabbed it, mostly to look at... that stuff had an ungodly number of calories... and then found herself shaking it, twisting the cap off, sipping... then pouring it down her throat in rich, chocolatey gulps.
This is the thing he drinks. This is what it tastes like to be him...
The somber, almost religious fervor of her thoughts scared her. Ridiculous... like she was taking communion, at one in the morning, in front of a jar that said "Cookie Time".
How had she lost control of her heart so completely? She'd never been this... this freakishly obsessed. With Pete, with Barry, even with Paolo and Ross... she'd loved, sure, but she'd never been so consumed, so drenched with emotion... like Chandler had snuck into her every atom while she slept and scrawled his name on it.
She'd tried to distract herself, flipping through channels... then slung the remote away in disgust when she realized she was subconsciously looking for "Baywatch".
That had been when she'd shoved on shoes, thrown on her raincoat, and gone for the "cleansing walk" that had turned into a beeline for the deli.
Sitting on the park bench, freezing her ass off, flannel sheep-print pyjama legs protruding comically from her raincoat... fumbling inexpertly with the package of Marlboros, taking a moment to decode the child-proofing on the lighter...
And then... heat inside her. It wasn't searing heat, Chandler-heat, but... she could feel it. She watched the clouds stream from her lips, entranced by the notion that, separated by space, she and Chandler were breathing together.
Communion.
It was what she had wanted, wasn't it?
Rachel snapped back to the present, shivering in the dampness. She had to, had to think about something else...
Mon was so cute, all giggly and moony, wasn't she? Too bad she had...
Whoa. Cramps?
But... Monica was always two weeks after her, always. It was one of their little jokes... all that time living together, and they'd never managed to synchronize...
And she hadn't...
Rachel gasped, frozen, blinking hard... and then hurled the cigarette away from her.
