Waiting – Chapter 2

Unanalyzed

A/N: So who saw Matthew Perry on Letterman the other night? *dies* "Lately Courteney's gotten really big. Yeah she gained like 350 lbs…some people say she's pregnant, but I don't buy it." (or something to that extent – I don't have it memorized…yet, heh) Oy, I love him so much. :p Weee, thanks for all the great feedback on my previous chapter – it made me very happy. Now do it again and get me through the tortuous hell of a research paper, Physics lab, and my mother's insane cleaning spree this weekend. Thanks! :) Oh and yes, Airy, you can picture Samantha Crumb, but since I've never seen the movie, I wouldn't know. Oh well *balances on window ledges* Whoo, at least that's the right movie this time!

Me: do u wanna say anything to my readers?

Yen: I suck my feet.

^^Okay, I made that up. In my defense, she told me to make up something for her. *shrug*

*

Chandler sat in a dark diner booth, with a cup of chicken soup sitting untouched in front of him. A baby began to sob, and the mother picked the screaming child up and walked around with him in her arms. The sounds of her low soothing words, against the child's cries, made Chandler feel hollow inside. He looked across at his own mother, who was blowing carefully on a spoonful of her soup. He never had what that child had – when he began to cry, his nanny would be the one in charge of silencing his cries. He would never have the chance to silence the cries of his own child, either. There never would be a baby in Chandler's life, his silent wish. He would always be missing what he needed to start a family – a wife.

His mother shifted and looked over at Chandler. He was still watching the mother with the baby, and she sighed.

"Still watching people, huh?"

He blushed, hating to be caught doing the crime.

"Come on," she tried, "Eat your soup before it gets cold."

He nodded, and picked up the spoon. However, at the moment, he did not feel much like eating. He studied the woman across from him; she had not a wrinkle in sight. He wondered when it was that he began to look older than his own mother.

She was starting to actually making a real effort to be there for him. At every opportunity she could get, she would come to New York and spend time with Chandler. He looked up at her as she brought the spoon to her mouth slowly, as if the contents were delicate to the touch. She might have been making an effort, but it didn't matter anymore. It was too little too late.

"So Chandler," she began tentatively,  "How was the appointment yesterday?"

"The woman's a bitch."

"Chandler," she admonished in the same tone she used when he acted stubborn as a child.

He looked up, as if challenging her to say anything. He was mad that she had used that tone with him. It made him feel like a child, not unlike how he felt with Monica.

"Eat your soup," she finished.

He picked the spoon up again, eating in silence. Things were always awkward between the two of them. Besides, Nora had to be sure to be careful of what she said to him; she was walking on eggshells. Everyone was, due to his suicide attempt. His friends knew, his co-workers knew, and worst of all, his entire apartment building knew. There was no escaping it. His deed became a ghost that followed him around everywhere he went. Even though he mostly did not speak of it, it never left his mind.

"What would you like to do about it?" Nora continued, cutting into his thoughts, "Do you want a new doctor?"

"How about no doctor?"

"Sorry, Darling, that's not an option."

"Then no," he muttered. It probably would not get much better than Monica, anyhow.

"I hear she lets you call her Monica."

"Yeah."

"That's nice, isn't it?"

"I'd rather call her nothing."

"Oh Chandler!" she cried out, exasperated, "You've made your bed, it's time to sleep in it!"

He took a sharp look at his mother, who he could tell already regretted the words that had come out of her mouth. His jaw clenched, and she looked down with sorrowful eyes. It was so hard not to get frustrated with Chandler's attitude, though. In fact, it was hard to believe that he had once been a happy, light-hearted man, with a love for the people around him. Now, it was as if the light had gone out inside him. He was as dark as night.

"No, you made my bed," he responded evenly, "Only now I have to sleep in it."

With that, he stood up and calmly walked out the door of the diner. His pace sped up a bit when he felt the cool autumn air on his face, and he hailed a taxi. He got in, allowing himself to sink into the soft cushion, ignoring the smell of feet that permeated throughout the cab.  Now, with time to reflect upon what he said, he was starting to feel guilty. It was not fair of him to blame his mother for all of his problems. Maybe she was part of the problem, but she wasn't the entire problem. It just felt like the perfect thing to say. Insults rolled off his tongue in the way jokes used to.

The taxi pulled up to his apartment building and Chandler paid the driver, before heading up the stairs. In his head, he rehearsed the apology phone call he would probably never make. Right now though, all he wanted to do was go to sleep.

*

"So Mr. Bing, how have you been?"

Chandler studied Monica's face. Such a simple, friendly question – there had to be more to it. She was trying to catch him in a trap; make him admit his most intimate thoughts. But Chandler wouldn't let her win.

"I've been fine, and you?" he responded with obvious forced friendliness.

"Oh, it's been pretty good," she answered, nodding.

"That's good."

There was a pause, when Monica sighed deeply and opened up his folder. He eyed it with suspicion, dreaming of stealing the folder and shoving it through the big shredder they had at work.

"Let's cut to the chase here," Monica cleared her throat, "Why are ya here?"

"I think you know that."

"Maybe I don't."

"You do."

"Maybe. But for a moment, let's pretend I don't. What would you tell me?"

Chandler laughed, the bitter, sardonic type, and looked back at her. She was staring at him with sincerity written all over her face. 

"Are you sure you're…what are you?!"

Monica crossed her legs, in the same mannered fashion as she had at the beginning of their last session. "I'm a human being. What are you?"

Chandler shook his head, "You're insane, that's what you are."

"Could be. But you still didn't answer my question."

Chandler looked into her eyes. She looked back at him with calm, curious interest.

"I tried to kill myself," he said casually, as if it was an every day occurrence. Although in this building, it probably actually was an every day occurrence, he realized, especially if the person had Monica as their shrink.

"Why?"

Why? Such a simple question; just like 'how have you been?' Then again, no one had ever asked him why before. He had just assumed that they didn't want to know, while they assumed that he didn't want to tell. No one knew, except him…and in a moment, Monica would, too. He wished he didn't have to tell her.

"Because I hate my life."

She was unfazed by his response, as if she already knew he was going to say it, and was just waiting to hear it from his mouth, "Well, what is it about life that you hate?"

"I think a better question is 'what is it about life that you don't hate?'"

"We can go with your question first, if you want."

"Sure. What is it about life that I don't hate, eh?"

"That's right." 

"Nothing." He crossed his arms, challenging her to challenge his answer.

"What about your friends?"

"Well, I liked them until they made me see you."

She laughed, "Well, I'm glad we got that out of the way. Now answer my question, what do you hate?"

"Everything! My job, my personality, my family…" he paused, realizing just how much he had let Monica know. His cheeks grew hot, as Monica studied him.

"You know what I hate about my life?" she asked suddenly.

"What's that?"

"Those very same things."

*

Monica walked up the stairs to her apartment. She unlocked the door and groggily fumbled for the light switch. She was exhausted, although she wasn't sure why. All she ever did was sit around all day. Yet, somehow, listening to the world's problems had a way of exhausting her to her very core.

She looked around her apartment, with its purple walls and many different wall hangings. Everything seemed to be in place, just as she had left it. She placed her purse on the counter, so that it fit perfectly in the center of the table, before sifting through the mail that sat on the kitchen table. After opening a few envelopes, Monica placed the mail on the counter next to her pocketbook, and collapsed on the couch.

She shut her eyes and immediately saw Chandler's face. He was going to be a tough case; she knew that from the start. He was very stubborn, but growing up in the Geller household, Monica had much dealing with stubbornness. Not only that, but she had a lot of dealing with suppressing her own flagrant stubbornness. She knew that there was more to him than the quick, sharp insults that he threw out. He was not a lost cause. Of course, she had learned in school that no one was a lost cause. Experience taught her otherwise. You could only help those who wanted help. No matter how bitter Chandler was on the outside, she could tell her truly wanted help. He was once a happy man, and he wanted to be happy once again. Something about him was calling her to his aid, deep within her, and not just because it was her job. No, there was something special about Chandler Bing.

Monica jumped when she heard a sound from the far bedroom. She settled when she saw it was just her roommate, Rachel. Rachel existed her bedroom and smiled at Monica.

"Hey! How was your day?"

"Tiring, like usual. Why are you home?"

"My day was all right, thanks," she joked, "I'm home because I'm sick."

"Well, you do sound sick," she observed sarcastically.

"I didn't feel like staying for inventory!" she whined, "It's so long and boring. I deserve a break."

Monica laughed and got up from the couch. She headed over to the kitchen, and took out a package of ground beef from the freezer. She threw it down on the counter, before getting out the rest of the ingredients for dinner. Rachel moved into the kitchen, looking over Monica's shoulder, but at the same time being careful not to disturb Monica. Rachel knew how touchy she could get while cooking.

"What are we having?"

"Spaghetti and meatballs, if that's okay. I'm too tired to cook anything more."

"No, that's great!" Rachel enthused, happy to not have to eat one of her fancy salmon dishes again.

Monica began to cook with precise concentration. She loved to cook. It was her favorite hobby. She stuck the meat in the microwave to defrost it, and while it was heating, filled a pot with water and put it on the stove. As she was doing this, the phone rang, causing Monica to jump a bit. Rachel answered it, and, after a few moments, passed it to Monica.

"Who is it?"

Rachel raised her eyebrows and winked. Monica shook her head disapprovingly and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey Hon," a man's voice said on the other line, "How are you?"

"I'm okay, a little tired. You?"

"I'm great," he paused, "Does that mean I can't convince you to come over and visit me tonight?"

"Not tonight, sorry. I can barely keep my eyes opened."

"Who said you have to keep your eyes opened?"

"Richard," she half stated, half sighed.

"It's just, we haven't seen each other much lately."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Take a rain check?"

"You got it."

"Bye babe," he said.

"Bye."

When she hung up the phone, Rachel looked at her accusingly.  She knew that Monica had been avoiding Richard for the past month, although she had no idea why.

"I'm gonna break up with him," Monica explained, as she shaped the meat into perfect spheres.

"Uh-huh," Rachel responded, unconvinced, "Just like you say every day."

Monica didn't respond. Some things were better left unanalyzed.

*

A/N: Well, I hope ya'll aren't disappointed. If you are disappointed, then blame Physics class. I don't know why exactly, but I always blame it for everything that goes wrong in my life, so why shouldn't you? ;) Now I must go; I need to throw up a hairball. (You don't want to know, believe me :p) Please leave me a review – thanks! :)