AN: Okay, I'm gonna try to move this story along, so I can finish it sometime before I die!
The next two chapters will be kind of short, because they are two parts that each need to stand alone. This one is all Monica and Chandler, the next one will deal with Ross, Rachel and Joey.
The Age of Aquarius
Chapter Twenty-Six: Echoes of the Past, Part I
All her life, she had been prepared to accept whatever hand fate dealt her—to deal with disappointment, and to understand life's cruel twists.
At least, that's what she kept telling herself.
The truth was, she had grown up in a bubble, in a protective shell that led her to believe that her dreams were more than dreams…they were wishes that would someday come to fruition…if she were patient enough.
But as the years passed, she began to see the world for what it was…cruel, heartless, and blind to the wishes of a little girl who grew up too soon.
Through it all…through everything that she had seen and experienced over the past few years, Monica kept her faith in the one thing that felt true. The one thing that felt pure.
Love
It had been nearly four years since the summer that changed her life, and it amazed her that the love she felt for Chandler had stayed so strong.
When she'd discovered that Chandler was alive…and possibly so close, her heart leapt—her hands were literally trembling with nervous anticipation. A million thoughts raced through her head: Would he want to see her? How much had he changed? How much had she changed? Would he be happy about Jake?
Did he still love her, as well?
The closer she'd gotten to his parent's old place, the more certain she was that she would find him.
She was not prepared for such heartbreaking disappointment.
And as she walked away from the house that day, she felt a pain in her heart, which increased with every step she took.
It was the pain of knowing that he was so close, but so very far away;
It was the pain of wondering if she would ever see him again;
It was the pain of thinking that he thought she'd moved on—and that he was hurting too.
She would give up her soul, to see him one more time.
And knowing that she may not ever get that chance, knowing that the single tendril of hope she had left was slipping from her grasp, knowing that as the years wore on, they would grow farther apart; knowing that he could live, never knowing his son, and that their son could grow up without knowing his father.
That was what hurt, more than anything.
She hovered in the comfortable state between dream and wake, her body not yet ready to give in to her mind.
She let out a soft breath, and snuggled deeper into the warm confines of her bed, before reluctantly opening her eyes.
Through the window, a spectacular sight: the warm, dusty pink glow of the very early morning, whispering across the room. She turned her head, and saw him—his eyes sealed shut, his mouth slightly agape, and his tangled, golden brown hair half covering his face.
She smiled, as euphoria overtook her. She raised her arm, and slowly brushed the hair from his eyes.
His nose crinkled, and he let out a short sigh.
She smiled, and committed the moment to memory.
Unbeknownst to her—it was a memory she would hold onto, when her world darkened around her.
Moments later, his eyes fluttered open, and she was met with an endless sea of blue.
"You're awake," he smiled.
"So are you," she whispered in return.
"You look like an angel," he sighed, "in the morning light."
She felt her stomach flutter, as he leaned forward, and brushed his lips against her own.
It was then that she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there would never be another.
*
Six Months Later
He was in pain.
Horrible, horrible pain…as though someone…something were dragging razors through his soul.
He struggled to scream, but no sound emerged. He tried to close his eyes, but all he could see was blood.
Blood.
He heard a scream…and knew it wasn't his own.
More screams…but not his, no.
Children. Hundreds of them.
And then…nothing.
Chandler sat up suddenly, his heart racing and his body and bed soaked with sweat.
He looked around, and saw that he was in his room…and he was alone.
He shivered, as the night air touched his sweat-soaked skin.
The dreams…were getting worse.
And now, the dreams were accompanied by flashbacks, of some sort, catching Chandler off guard at any time of day or night.
He was haunted by them…wanted them to stop…needed them to stop.
Claire had urged him to seek help…counseling, or a shrink. He refused, and now she was at a loss over what to do.
He was sinking…into depression and into the dreams that had taken hold.
And he was leaving her behind.
She struggled to understand—she knew his memories were coming back—but the more she tried to help him, the more he pushed her away.
It had all started nearly four months earlier. They were alone in the house, and in the throes of passion.
She wanted desperately to put the pain of loss behind her—to move forward toward the future.
He struggled with his inner demons, and with haunting echoes of the past.
She wanted to make love, and he could not.
That night, the nightmares that had disturbed him abroad, began again.
As the months wore on, Chandler became distant, irritable and cold. Their passion cooled to a close friendship, and then, as Claire's tolerance grew increasingly thinner, that too cooled.
Which was why Chandler now found himself alone, in a darkened, rented room, shivering through night sweats, his heart and head weary.
He lay back down on his creaky bed, and pulled his thin blanket over him.
He needed help…desperately. And he knew it. He looked to the sky, and prayed that somehow, Claire would forgive him, and take him back.
Deep in his heart, he felt the question burning through him.
Was that what he really wanted?
Claire had been his salvation, taking him in when he had no one and nowhere to go.
The feelings he had for him confused him; they were fuzzy and complex.
He loved her, he knew he did, but he'd pushed her away when he needed her most.
Why was it so hard to let her in?
Deep down, he knew, but he would never admit it to himself…or anyone else.
The past was haunting him, in more ways than one.
He closed his eyes, ignored the slow ache that burned in his heart, and prayed that he would be able to get through the night.
