Waiting – Chapter 3

How's it Hangin'?

A/N: I tink Ib sick. I have a cold and I swear I sound like Monica! It's kinda scary…but more embarrassing than anything else. ;) Apparently, you can catch colds over the Internet b/c I received an angry e-mail from Yen blaming me for her catching a cold. ;) Sorry for the delay, things have been crazy. I wasn't lying when I said I didn't know if I'd be able to update again soon. School is crazy! I spent over 13 hours on homework between Tuesday and Thursday. When it's 10:00 and I've been working on homework since 4, it's hard to gather the energy to write fanfics, ya know? :/ But I will try to write on the weekends b/c I really wanna. Anyway, thanks for the reviews. Maybe do it again? Thanks. ;D

Monica walked around her office, rearranging things that only she could tell were out of place. She lifted a picture of her and Richard that she had on her desk, and stared at it for a moment. Then, she opened one of the desk drawers, placed it carefully facedown, and shut the drawer again. She was not quite sure why, but she could not stand to look at the two of them together. When she saw the picture, she would think of him. When she thought of him, she would begin to feel weak. She did not want to feel weak. She was not weak.

She stared at one of her clocks - the golden rimmed one that sat on the wall across from the desk. Chandler was five minutes late. She tidied some more, straightening the paintings and chairs. Then, she sat down and examined her appearance in the mirror.  Her hair was in the same bun she wore to work everyday, but strands of hair always fell out. Her hair was not quite as long as she wanted it to be yet.

Just as she finished putting on a new coat of lipstick, Chandler strolled into the room. Monica looked up at a clock – 7 minutes late. She watched him as he sat down in the chair across from her, a nonchalant look on his face. She was about to speak, when he broke the silence first.

"Sorry I was late," he said in an innocent voice, "I was just giving you time to become acquainted with the room."

Monica sat in a stunned silence, completely thrown off-course by his comment. Suddenly, she smiled, a wide, genuine smile. "You know, if you weren't so bitter, you'd be a really funny guy."

"Right."

"So, how have you been?"

"Do you have to ask that question every time?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know how you've been."

"Fine, well can you at least rephrase it?"

"I guess so. What do you want? How's it hangin'?"

"That works."

"Okay, then. How's it hangin'?"

He smiled, showing pearly white teeth, "Full and loose."

She stared at him for a moment, before wrinkling her face in disgust. "What are you, 13?!"

He smiled, "You understood it right away."

"Yes, well I was in grade school, too, ya know?"

"Really? You mean you didn't just pop out of your mother's vagina looking like you do now?"

"You're a foul man."

He smiled smugly, "Thank you."

She laughed, "You should smile more."

"Why?"

"It makes you look younger."

He paused, "Are you implying that I'm old?"

It was her turn to wear a smug smile on her face, "Well, if the shoe fits…"

The smirk re-appeared on his face, "Excuse me, but from the looks of these diplomas you've got on your wall, it doesn't seem like you're much younger."

She shook her head, "Okay, fine. We're both old - enough of this. Let's get down to business before I give you a wedgy."

"All right."

"So, how have you been?"

"I thought we were asking 'how's it hanging' now?"

"You lost that privilege."

"Fine. Well, I've been great. Never better."

"Well, that's good."

"Yes it is."

"Now Chandler, I was thinking about what we discussed on Friday…"

"Uh-huh?"

"And I decided I'd like you tell me about your friends."

"Why?"

"Because I'm nosy."

He contemplated for a moment, "They're people."

"Well, that's a relief. Tell me about their personalities."

"Hmm, okay, Phoebe's odd – almost as odd as you."

Monica nodded, and stared straight into his blue eyes. After a moment, he broke her gaze and looked down at the folder on her lap, which remained closed.

"Joey's kind of…dumb. But he's a great guy, so you have to forgive him for that."

"How'd you meet them?"

The question seemed harmless, but he watched her carefully as he answered, "Joey answered an ad to be my roommate and Phoebe…well, I'm not sure about Phoebe. She found us."

Monica laughed, "See? You are funny guy, when you're not bitter!"

He ignored her comment.

"I'm not very happy with them for making me come here."

"I gathered," she took the plunge, "Still, don't you think you owe them?"

"Owe them?" he scrunched his forehead, "What are talking about?!" he stood up and pointed his finger at her, "I don't owe them anything!"

"Really?" she answered calmly, "So they weren't the ones who found you bleeding to death after you'd cut your wrists?"

Chandler blanched, and sat down on the seat below him. He was afraid that if he did not sit, he would faint. No one had ever been so frank about his suicide attempt before. He could not decide which he hated her for more – the comment, or the way her kind eyes made his insides melt.

*

Chandler held the door opened for Phoebe as she walked inside, carrying a load of groceries. He figured it was the least he could do, considering Phoebe wouldn't let him carry anything. When he offered, she had insisted that she was not a weak woman, and could carry the groceries herself. That was fine by him, but he could not help but laugh inwardly as she struggled to get up the stairs.

When they entered his apartment, she almost dropped the groceries on the counter. She let out a huge sigh of relief and then began to unpack them. He just sat down at the counter and watched her.

"Aren't you going to help? This is your home, ya know?"

"Well, I tried to help before, but I got yelled at."

"Fine, be that way."

Chandler laughed, and reached into the bag, taking out some groceries. Phoebe always did their grocery shopping; she knew if she didn't, Chandler and Joey would live off of beer, Capn' Crunch, and take-out. She didn't mind; she liked to play mother hen in their little tight-knit group.

"So, how's work?" Phoebe asked casually, as she put away a bag of apples in the refrigerator.

He ignored her question, "Ya know, Joey and I are never gonna eat those apples."

"Yeah, I guess not," She looked down at them, "Oh well, more for me."

They continued to put away the groceries in silence, until the last of the food was tucked away in its respectable place.  Chandler plopped down on one of the barcaloungers, put his feet up, and turned on the television. After a moment, Phoebe joined him on the adjacent chair, and turned to face him.

"So, you never answered my question. How's work going?"

He stifled a groan, "It's going. How's yours?"

"It's all right. The Robin Williams look alike is grossing me out so much, though. I'm tempted to bring a razor next time."

Chandler laughed, "Well, if you want one, take Joey's."

"Thanks!"

He smiled, the amusement radiating from his face, "Anytime."

The two of them began to watch TV, but Phoebe continued to sneak glances at Chandler. He could see her in the corner of his, but remained silent. Finally, during the commercial, Phoebe turned to look at him. He watched as the light from the television bounced off her face.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"I think you just did…" Phoebe let out a frustrated sigh. "But yes, you can."

"How are the…umm, therapy sessions going?"

He shrugged, "Fine."

"That's, umm, well, that's good."

"Yup."

Chandler saw the ghost of his past join them at that moment, looming in between their two chairs, leaving an awkward air about the room.

*

Monica sat uncomfortably in a restaurant, as she and Richard waited for the check.  He had finished talking about his day twenty-five minutes ago. Aside from his day, they never had anything to talk about anymore. Monica refused to divulge information about her patients, bar their names if need be, and they had no hobbies or interests in common.

She was about to get up to go to the restroom for the forth time that night, when the check came. 'Finally,' she thought as Richard gave in his credit card. She tried to reflect back upon the previous year, when they had first started dating, how they never had this awkward silence. Back then, they could talk about the past, remembering those who had lived in their neighborhood, laughing at the different perceptions their ages gave them. Now, there was nothing amusing about their differences.

Finally, the receipt came and Richard stood up, holding her coat out as she placed her arms inside of the sleeves. 'This is going to be the night,' she told herself, 'This will be the night that you break up with him.' She could smell the scent of his cologne mixed with the potent cigar smoke.  She held her breath.

Richard grasped her elbow as the two of them walked outside into the brisk night air. Richard took a deep breath and then let it out.

"Such a beautiful night, isn't it? What do you say we walk back?"

"Okay," Monica agreed easily.

It really was a beautiful night, Monica noted, as she passed the different shops that were beginning to close up for the night. She loved the way the cool air felt as it blew through her hair, sending pieces flying against her face. Fall was her favorite season. It was the time of the harvest, the end of a cycle. She had decided long ago that when she died, she wanted to die during the fall, as the falling leaves gathered on her casket before the dirt covered it forever.

To anyone but Monica, that would have been a morbid thought. But death was something she dreamed about; a long-off goal that she was waiting patiently to reach. She was determined that she would die peacefully, and no one would have to watch her suffer as she had watched her father so many years before. She shuddered at the memory, and Richard, mistaking her shivering for temperature discomfort, wrapped his arms around her.

When they got to her apartment, Richard came inside, out of habit. She got him a cup of coffee, and together they sat on the couch in silence yet again, sipping their coffees. Monica knew she had to get it over with; tell him good-bye for good. She took a deep breath.

"Rich –"

The door opened and Monica jumped, spilling coffee all over herself.

"Shit!" she yelled.

"Let me get you a towel, Hon," Richard said quickly, knowing how upset the stain was going to make her.

She cleaned off her skirt and sighed in relief when she realized there was no stain on the white couch. "Thanks," she responded sheepishly.

Monica turned around and noticed Ross still standing at the door. "Sorry for scaring you."

"It's okay," she responded, "What's up?"

"Well, I was here to see if Rachel was around, but I'm guessing she's not."

"No, sorry. She's working late."

"Oh…right."

"Want me to tell her you're looking for her?"

"No, that's all right. I'll talk to her tomorrow," he turned to Richard, "Sorry for interrupting you guys."

"Don't worry about it," he answered lightly.

Once Ross departed, Monica began to muster up the courage again to talk to Richard. The coffee spillage had thrown her all of course. However, before she could begin, Richard stood up and stretched.

"Look, babe, I'm gonna take off…unless…" he paused, hoping she would invite him to stay the night. When she didn't, he muttered, "Never mind," and placed his coffee mug on the counter next to the sink.

She walked him to the door, intent on telling him what she had to say, when he kissed her passionately on the lips. It had been a few months since they had contact in that fashion, and it made Monica feel uneasy. When they broke apart, he pulled her into a tight embrace. Suddenly, her senses were overwhelmed by the familiar scent of his cologne and cigars. She closed her eyes and she was ten again, being held in the strong, protective arms of her father.  But then, he pulled away; she found that she was staring into the eyes of not her father, but of a man whom she had lost all attraction to months ago – it was a completely different situation.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he whispered, before opening the door and walking down the hall.

Monica stood rooted to her place in front of the door. She could not break up with Richard. She did not want to lose the last remnants of her father.

A/N: I know some of you want to say, "EWWW! She's in love with her father!" but I would like to explain that's not what I mean. I'm trying to show that Richard comforts her in a way that reminds her of her father, bar the sexual aspects. That's why, when he kissed her, she felt nothing…it was when she was hugged that she felt comforted. Understand? No? Think I'm a pervert? Yes?  Oh well. :-x If you're going to say I'm disgusting then don't review, b/c I've explained myself. If that isn't enough for you, then I'm sorry, but this is part of my plot and I'm not changing it just b/c everyone thinks everything has to be sexual nowadays (I wasn't only saying to you Yen :p). Wow, I sound old. :p Otherwise, please leave me a review…maybe I'll update faster next time. ;) (or at least I won't end up forgetting that I had a fic to work on, hehe, oops. I've been so stressed lately that I'd forget my head if it weren't screwed on though, believe me. It's nothing personal.)