Thanks so much for all the reviews! You made me so happy. Gellershort101, I
am actually a Chandler and Monica fan in the show, but find it more
interesting writing about the couples people aren't used to seeing
together. I've always written about Rachel/Chandler in the past, but
thought I see how this story went because the idea came to me, I also like
writing about Phoebe's life on the street because I don't think that's
explored enough. Hope that's all you wanted to know ;)
A little background info. This is set around season 1 or 2. I'm writing Phoebe as about 26. Ross and Rachel are together as you probably guessed. This doesn't follow any sort of timelines with the show, so don't expect to see season 1 characters turning up if they did on the show. Phoebe is out of character, but I've tried to show why she's difference and how living on the streets for so long did this.
Thanks again to my superbly-duperly tastic proofer David :p
Disclaimer: Yup they're still not mine.
Chapter 2 - Expectations
"It wasn't like that," Rachel rolled her eyes.
"You were flirting with him," Ross exclaimed, as he poured a drink. "It was obvious!"
"I wasn't Ross, honestly." Rachel said, with a smile, leaning in her lips pressed against him. "Honestly,"
"Ok," Ross smirked. "I'll believe you,." Just then the door to the apartment burst open and Joey wandered in.
"Guys," he nodded with a grin, "have you seen Chandler? We were supposed to be going to a Knicks game tonight."
"I saw him earlier," Rachel shrugged. "I think he was going for a walk. Something's up with him."
"Still here then?"
A voice floated down to Phoebe's ears, her eyes open, and her mind asleep, blocking the world out for just a few heavenly moments before once again becoming aware of her surroundings, of the bitter cold, the stares and the whispers. For the sheer effort she made to lift her head, meeting the man's piercing blue eyes was worth it.
"Where else have I got to go," she croaked, before letting her head drop again.
"Home?" The man suggested, with a sympathetic smile, and something inside of Phoebe rose, like lava from inside a volcano, parted from human contact for so long she didn't quite know how to react, years of hurt, of pain exploding into one moment, into one remark, snidely made.
"Very funny," she snapped, her hair falling in front of her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he replied, and to Phoebe's immense surprise, he lowered himself to the ground next to her.
"Why are you here?" She was blunt, and she knew it, but as the wind whipped her in the face she didn't care. She had learnt long ago, not to trust people. Not to trust anyone, except herself. He didn't answer straight away, he paused for a moment
"I don't know," he answered truthfully, for he knew she could tell a liar. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Why? What makes me different from the other thousand of homeless people in New York?" Phoebe asked, standing up. "Why talk to me, and not all of them? What do you want? You're expecting something from me."
"I'm not."
"You are. Everyone always is. You're no different, and neither am I." With that Phoebe ran off, her legs begging her not to, screaming out in pain, her frail body unable to cope with the sudden sprint, the wind against her, forcing her back towards him, but she couldn't. She had to get away.
As she ran off, he paused before shouting out.
"I'm Chandler," he called. Again he didn't know why, he wasn't sure she heard; if she did she didn't react. The wind had snatched it, moments before it reached her ears. There was something about her; he had to talk to her again. He had to know her name.
"Dude!" Joey exclaimed, thrusting the Knicks tickets into Chandler's face. "The games over, we missed it!"
"Oh god, I'm sorry Joe, I forgot. I was.... walking," Chandler said, sinking into the barcalounger, his head spinning.
"You were walking?" Joey repeated, as if he didn't understand the statement. "Since when has walking been more important that the Knicks?" he said, with a smile on his face, but as Chandler slowly stood up, turning to face his friend, the smile slowly faded.
"You wouldn't understand Joe," Chandler sighed, with the weariness of an old man. "It's... her."
"Her? This is about a girl?"
"I'm not sure; I don't know what it's about. But I just need to... I don't know." Words failed him, and he walked into his room, leaving Joey completely puzzled.
"I swear he wasn't making any sense." Joey shook his head vigorously, as Monica glanced out the window. Rain was drilling down over New York, relentlessly tapping on the window, as if it was desperate to get inside.
"I'll try talking to him. He's been acting so distant recently; something's definitely wrong. Maybe he..." She trailed off as the door opened, and a soaking wet Chandler walked in. Water dripped off every inch of his body, creating a small puddle on the floor but Monica didn't even notice.
"I've got to... to go." Joey said, before hurrying out the door, leaving Monica along to deal with their friend.
"What's up?" she began casually.
"The sky," said Chandler dryly.
"Joey said it was about a woman?" Monica tried a different tact, as she handed a Chandler a towel and he rubbed his face slowly, hoping his thoughts would disappear with the water.
"Did he?" Chandler sighed, before finally submitting to Monica's worried glances, "I can't understand it, I just –just need to know about her. I want to see her, I miss her when I'm not near her, and I don't even know her name." He let his head lull back, staring intently at the ceiling, and there was a long pause, before finally:
"Oh."
She had seen him. He had come back, everyday. Always to the same spot. Sometimes he'd look around, for her, other times he'd just sit on the ground for a while.
She didn't understand. Why her? Why did he want to talk to her again? Something inside pleaded with her to go and talk to him, but she couldn't. She refused to let herself get close to someone, she didn't need anyone, because she was fine by herself.
Even as she thought it, she convinced nobody. His hair rippled in the wind slightly, as he sat on the concrete, his eyes darting around nervously. Finally she raised herself from the ground, walking over to him.
"You're back," she said solemnly.
"Sorry," he said, his head hung low. "I wanted to talk to you."
She paused for a moment before sticking out her hand.
"I'm Phoebe," she said, with a small smile.
Chandler released her hand. It looked paper thin, so fragile, and he was scared he might break her.
"I'm – "
"Chandler," she finished for him, as he stood up. "I heard."
"I didn't think you did."
"That's because I didn't want you to," Phoebe smirked, walking off slowly, and Chandler followed her. She led him into a small coffee house, and Chandler ordered two coffees. As they sat there, drinking their coffee, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. She seemed to be in awe of everything around her, appreciating every sip of coffee like it was a new chance at life, sinking into the chair as though it were the most comfortable bed in the world.
"So tell me about yourself," said Phoebe eagerly, and Chandler paused not knowing where to start, but Phoebe gave him a small nod of encouragement
And Chandler awkwardly launched into his story. From his childhood, his parents divorce, how he hated his job; and finally his friends, and how they were more his family than his parents had ever been.
And Phoebe listened with such an appetite, gorging on his life, imagining faces to these people,
"What about you?" Chandler asked nervously, desperate to know more, to soothe the craving inside of him to know about this girl, where she came from, who she was.
"There's....nothing. I'm just nothing. But you were saying how Ross and Rachel got together," she said quickly, her eyes sparkled with excitement, lighting up the room. Chandler knew he shouldn't press anymore, but he couldn't stop himself.
"Please? Just your childhood, anything?"
"I said no, alright?" Chandler looked on horrified as her eyes filled with tears and she dashed outside.
For a few brief moments Phoebe had forgotten herself, who she was. She had blanked it from her mind, absorbing herself in his life, imagining herself in their situations- she was their friend and she was there. She could picture herself, and what she would say.
But as he probed into her life, it hit her, like someone had slapped her round the face. She wasn't part of that family, or any family. She had no one to care for her. Sure, over the years people had tried to get close- Chandler wasn't the first- but Phoebe always pushed them away. She hated herself for doing it, but she couldn't let anyone get too close for fear they would reject her, like everyone always had. Her family rejected her, her street friends abandoned her.
If she never let anyone in, she couldn't get hurt.
But she was hurting. She was hurting so badly. Her heart seared with pain every second she was awake. It cried out for love. Her body cried out for someone to hold her, to tell her it would be ok. But no one ever would, because she wouldn't let them.
Finally slowing down, trying to take in her surroundings, Phoebe glanced around. She saw trees, leaning in over her, crowding her. She couldn't escape; she let her legs collapse beneath her, falling to the ground she looked around once more before finally submitting to the pain, finally closing her eyes.
A little background info. This is set around season 1 or 2. I'm writing Phoebe as about 26. Ross and Rachel are together as you probably guessed. This doesn't follow any sort of timelines with the show, so don't expect to see season 1 characters turning up if they did on the show. Phoebe is out of character, but I've tried to show why she's difference and how living on the streets for so long did this.
Thanks again to my superbly-duperly tastic proofer David :p
Disclaimer: Yup they're still not mine.
Chapter 2 - Expectations
"It wasn't like that," Rachel rolled her eyes.
"You were flirting with him," Ross exclaimed, as he poured a drink. "It was obvious!"
"I wasn't Ross, honestly." Rachel said, with a smile, leaning in her lips pressed against him. "Honestly,"
"Ok," Ross smirked. "I'll believe you,." Just then the door to the apartment burst open and Joey wandered in.
"Guys," he nodded with a grin, "have you seen Chandler? We were supposed to be going to a Knicks game tonight."
"I saw him earlier," Rachel shrugged. "I think he was going for a walk. Something's up with him."
"Still here then?"
A voice floated down to Phoebe's ears, her eyes open, and her mind asleep, blocking the world out for just a few heavenly moments before once again becoming aware of her surroundings, of the bitter cold, the stares and the whispers. For the sheer effort she made to lift her head, meeting the man's piercing blue eyes was worth it.
"Where else have I got to go," she croaked, before letting her head drop again.
"Home?" The man suggested, with a sympathetic smile, and something inside of Phoebe rose, like lava from inside a volcano, parted from human contact for so long she didn't quite know how to react, years of hurt, of pain exploding into one moment, into one remark, snidely made.
"Very funny," she snapped, her hair falling in front of her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he replied, and to Phoebe's immense surprise, he lowered himself to the ground next to her.
"Why are you here?" She was blunt, and she knew it, but as the wind whipped her in the face she didn't care. She had learnt long ago, not to trust people. Not to trust anyone, except herself. He didn't answer straight away, he paused for a moment
"I don't know," he answered truthfully, for he knew she could tell a liar. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Why? What makes me different from the other thousand of homeless people in New York?" Phoebe asked, standing up. "Why talk to me, and not all of them? What do you want? You're expecting something from me."
"I'm not."
"You are. Everyone always is. You're no different, and neither am I." With that Phoebe ran off, her legs begging her not to, screaming out in pain, her frail body unable to cope with the sudden sprint, the wind against her, forcing her back towards him, but she couldn't. She had to get away.
As she ran off, he paused before shouting out.
"I'm Chandler," he called. Again he didn't know why, he wasn't sure she heard; if she did she didn't react. The wind had snatched it, moments before it reached her ears. There was something about her; he had to talk to her again. He had to know her name.
"Dude!" Joey exclaimed, thrusting the Knicks tickets into Chandler's face. "The games over, we missed it!"
"Oh god, I'm sorry Joe, I forgot. I was.... walking," Chandler said, sinking into the barcalounger, his head spinning.
"You were walking?" Joey repeated, as if he didn't understand the statement. "Since when has walking been more important that the Knicks?" he said, with a smile on his face, but as Chandler slowly stood up, turning to face his friend, the smile slowly faded.
"You wouldn't understand Joe," Chandler sighed, with the weariness of an old man. "It's... her."
"Her? This is about a girl?"
"I'm not sure; I don't know what it's about. But I just need to... I don't know." Words failed him, and he walked into his room, leaving Joey completely puzzled.
"I swear he wasn't making any sense." Joey shook his head vigorously, as Monica glanced out the window. Rain was drilling down over New York, relentlessly tapping on the window, as if it was desperate to get inside.
"I'll try talking to him. He's been acting so distant recently; something's definitely wrong. Maybe he..." She trailed off as the door opened, and a soaking wet Chandler walked in. Water dripped off every inch of his body, creating a small puddle on the floor but Monica didn't even notice.
"I've got to... to go." Joey said, before hurrying out the door, leaving Monica along to deal with their friend.
"What's up?" she began casually.
"The sky," said Chandler dryly.
"Joey said it was about a woman?" Monica tried a different tact, as she handed a Chandler a towel and he rubbed his face slowly, hoping his thoughts would disappear with the water.
"Did he?" Chandler sighed, before finally submitting to Monica's worried glances, "I can't understand it, I just –just need to know about her. I want to see her, I miss her when I'm not near her, and I don't even know her name." He let his head lull back, staring intently at the ceiling, and there was a long pause, before finally:
"Oh."
She had seen him. He had come back, everyday. Always to the same spot. Sometimes he'd look around, for her, other times he'd just sit on the ground for a while.
She didn't understand. Why her? Why did he want to talk to her again? Something inside pleaded with her to go and talk to him, but she couldn't. She refused to let herself get close to someone, she didn't need anyone, because she was fine by herself.
Even as she thought it, she convinced nobody. His hair rippled in the wind slightly, as he sat on the concrete, his eyes darting around nervously. Finally she raised herself from the ground, walking over to him.
"You're back," she said solemnly.
"Sorry," he said, his head hung low. "I wanted to talk to you."
She paused for a moment before sticking out her hand.
"I'm Phoebe," she said, with a small smile.
Chandler released her hand. It looked paper thin, so fragile, and he was scared he might break her.
"I'm – "
"Chandler," she finished for him, as he stood up. "I heard."
"I didn't think you did."
"That's because I didn't want you to," Phoebe smirked, walking off slowly, and Chandler followed her. She led him into a small coffee house, and Chandler ordered two coffees. As they sat there, drinking their coffee, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. She seemed to be in awe of everything around her, appreciating every sip of coffee like it was a new chance at life, sinking into the chair as though it were the most comfortable bed in the world.
"So tell me about yourself," said Phoebe eagerly, and Chandler paused not knowing where to start, but Phoebe gave him a small nod of encouragement
And Chandler awkwardly launched into his story. From his childhood, his parents divorce, how he hated his job; and finally his friends, and how they were more his family than his parents had ever been.
And Phoebe listened with such an appetite, gorging on his life, imagining faces to these people,
"What about you?" Chandler asked nervously, desperate to know more, to soothe the craving inside of him to know about this girl, where she came from, who she was.
"There's....nothing. I'm just nothing. But you were saying how Ross and Rachel got together," she said quickly, her eyes sparkled with excitement, lighting up the room. Chandler knew he shouldn't press anymore, but he couldn't stop himself.
"Please? Just your childhood, anything?"
"I said no, alright?" Chandler looked on horrified as her eyes filled with tears and she dashed outside.
For a few brief moments Phoebe had forgotten herself, who she was. She had blanked it from her mind, absorbing herself in his life, imagining herself in their situations- she was their friend and she was there. She could picture herself, and what she would say.
But as he probed into her life, it hit her, like someone had slapped her round the face. She wasn't part of that family, or any family. She had no one to care for her. Sure, over the years people had tried to get close- Chandler wasn't the first- but Phoebe always pushed them away. She hated herself for doing it, but she couldn't let anyone get too close for fear they would reject her, like everyone always had. Her family rejected her, her street friends abandoned her.
If she never let anyone in, she couldn't get hurt.
But she was hurting. She was hurting so badly. Her heart seared with pain every second she was awake. It cried out for love. Her body cried out for someone to hold her, to tell her it would be ok. But no one ever would, because she wouldn't let them.
Finally slowing down, trying to take in her surroundings, Phoebe glanced around. She saw trees, leaning in over her, crowding her. She couldn't escape; she let her legs collapse beneath her, falling to the ground she looked around once more before finally submitting to the pain, finally closing her eyes.
