Waiting – Chapter 4

Ocean Eyes

A/N: Bonjour! I'm baaaack, heh. I don't really have much to say. Since it was brought up, I'd like to address one review in particular of the last chapter. Mncali: I'm truly glad that this fic seems "real" to you; this story, in particular, comes straight from my heart. Unfortunately, I am all too aware of the helplessness that one feels when someone they love [for me, a family member] goes through this. My advice to you [whether or not you wish to take it] is to try and stick with your friends because I'm sure they could use a great friend like you. However, don't give your life away to them. You're only one person – you can only help them if they want help. *hugs* I hope everything works out for you. If you'd ever like to talk, I'm here for you  - my e-mail's in my profile. Anyway, I'm very grateful for all the wonderful reviews of the last chapter. I cannot tell you how glad I am that everyone understood the point I was trying to get across about Monica and Richard's relationship. I'm also glad I explained it though – people can be dense, even though you lot obviously are not. (hey, that rhymed!) :p I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

"You know, I don't like this office," Chandler admitted suddenly, during their fifth appointment.

Monica had been writing in his folder, and, raising her eyebrows, looked up curiously. "What don't you like about it?"

"For one thing, I hate all your goddamn clocks. I swear they're driving me mad."

"I'm sorry about that."

"Why do you have so many clocks anyway?"

"I don't know; I like to keep track of the time. Besides, I think they're nice."

"There's no need for more than one clock. I mean once you've seen one clock, you've kinda seem 'em all."

"Yeah? What if one of the clocks stops?"

"Well, then fine, get two. But why do you need eight?"

"I have eight?" she began to count, "Huh, so I do."

Chandler shook his head, frustrated to his very core with the nonchalant manner in which she handled his criticisms. If a man had told him that his office was ugly, he would have probably tried to beat him up. 'Tried being the keyword,' Chandler thought bitterly.

"What are you thinking about?" Monica wondered, breaking him free of his train of thought.

"That I don't want to be here."

"That's a shame. Well, I want to be here, and that's all that really matters."

Chandler eyed her angrily, undecided between wanting to push her against a wall or wanting to storm out of her office in an angry huff. "God damnit, you treat me like a child!"

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, that's right! You're all like…casual about everything I say. Didn't it bother you that I said those things about your office?! Why don't you ever get upset?"

"Well, you're entitled to your own opinion," she began, "As am I. I like the office and I especially like all my clocks. If you don't like it, tough; I'm not going to get upset just because our opinions are different."

"You're not human."

She laughed, "If only that were true."

Chandler was struck with a curious thought. "What would you do if you weren't human?"

She pondered his question for a moment, aware but uncaring that it was getting completely off the topic of Chandler. "I would use my magical powers to convince you that people care about you. I would show you that it's okay to have flaws. I would let you see that rejection is only a part of life, and failure is only a stepping stone to success."

Despite his harsh feelings toward her, he was touched, for a few moments, by her words. Then he remembered how many other patients she was saying that exact same thing to, and the sentiment left him as quickly as it had arrived.

"Such a shame that you're human then, isn't it?" he asked sarcastically, a touch of disbelief in his voice.

"Well, I answered, so now it's your turn. What would you do if you weren't human?"

"Hmm, I'd probably rob a bank. Then, when I was filthy rich, I would buy a city and name it after myself."

"Bingsville?" Monica giggled.

"I was thinking more like Chandler. Chandler, Texas."

"That actually exists, ya know?"

"Really? Well then, my work's already done."

"Sounds like a fun place to live."

"Yeah, but we'd have a rule that no shrinks would be allowed."

"Poor shrinks. I'll let them know that if they try to live in your city."

Chandler shook his head incredulously, a response that he had gotten quite used to giving her. "You are one strange woman."

"Right back'atcha," she joked. She watched when, for a split second, the slightest of smiles touched Chandler's lips. She was right; he was not a lost cause.

*

Chandler sat on a stoop a few blocks away from his apartment building. Before his suicide attempt, he would actually sit on the steps of his own apartment building. However, once the ambulance came that night and the rumors spread like a plague, he no longer felt comfortable anywhere, bar locked up safe in his own apartment. The looks that people gave – sympathy, pity, amusement – made him feel utterly ridiculous. Obviously, the burden of the 'suicide ghost' as he was beginning to call it, was not enough for him to deal with.

He felt most at peace as he watched people walk briskly past him, becoming just streaks of color in the wind. That was why he sat on a stoop and not in Central Park, where most other "people watchers" thrived – he liked to watch others during their daily routine. He wanted to see them rush from one place to another, doing nothing but being the typical New Yorkers that they were. How many of these people had he seen before? How many of them would he ever see again?

Chandler began to think of Monica, as he watched the people pass before him. She had captured his thoughts a lot lately. For one thing, she always gave him things about life to ponder. Although he would never let her know it, he really did ponder those things she brought up in the sessions.

Right now, he was thinking about what he would do if his friends had one day disappeared from his life. That had been her big question of the last session. He had refused to answer her, saying that a psychiatrist should not bring up appalling ideas like that. However, in the confinement of the busy Manhattan street, he could not help but let the daydreams seep into his mind.

What would he do if he had to come home every evening to an empty apartment? Life without Joey's smiling face and juvenile carelessness was like life without oxygen – inexistent. As for Phoebe - how could he cope without her outlandish stories? Even though she made little sense most of the time, her enthusiasm for her own words made even the most conservative of people smile. Besides, how could he ever survive the dreaded holidays without eating licorice out of her fake human skull?

It was then that he realized Monica had succeeded in giving him some perspective on his life. If he could not imagine his friends leaving him, then how must they have felt when they realized he did not even care to think about leaving them? He had merely slit his wrists; the repercussions of his actions far from his mind, not even considering for a moment the heart-breaking pain it would bring upon his friends.

They truly did care about him. The problem, however, was that it was becoming increasingly hard to accept that was possible.

*

"If I promised not to attempt suicide again, could we stop therapy?" Chandler tried at the next session.

"No, probably not. You're stuck with me."

"I think I should have a say in this, ya know. After all, it is my life."

"You do have a say in it. I gave you the choice of meeting during your lunch break or after work, and you chose your lunch break."

"Great," he mumbled.

"Are you hungry?"

"No," he lied.

"All right," she replied, taking out his folder. She noticed the discomfort that the folder brought to him; he tensed and straightened his back. Monica looked down at it for a moment, before placing it back into her desk drawer. She could fill it out later. "What do you like to do for pleasure?"

"Umm, watch TV."

"Anything else?"

"And movies."

"I see," she cleared her throat and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, "What if you didn't have television or movies? What would you like to do then?"

"Dunno, it's never happened." She gave him a look that showed she was not in the mood for his games. "Fine, well, I, uh, I like to sit outside."

"Yeah? What type of whether do you like?"

"Everything. But mostly the whether we're having right now. Most of the time it's not too hot, but not too cold."

Monica smiled, "Fall's my favorite season, too. See? We have a lot more in common than you make it seem."

"Right," he mocked.

"So you're sitting outside. What do you do?"

"Sit…"

"No, I know that. I mean do you just stare at the ground?"

He shrugged.

"Are you a people watcher?"

"I dunno," he responded, but he knew that she had already figured it out.

"There's nothing wrong with being a people watcher," Monica informed him kindly, "As long as you're not a stalker."

"I'm not a stalker!"

Monica patted his arm, causing him to pull back sharply,  "I didn't say you were. You have to learn to be less defensive."

"Oh and you're never defensive?" Chandler challenged.

"I never said that," she paused and then added, "And there you are being defensive again."

Chandler threw his arms up in the air, "You are the most frustrating woman in the world! You're worse than my ex!"

Monica knew she had hit a sore spot. She did not speak, merely looked into his deep blue eyes and allowed him time to calm down. Neither spoke for a few minutes, as Chandler let out shaky breaths.

"We don't have to talk about her," Monica said softly.

"Good."

"We can if you want to."

"No, that's – that's all right."

"Okay. If you ever want to –"

"I know where to go," he responded dryly.

Monica pulled her chair closer to him and grasped his hand in hers. This time, he did not recoil. Instead, for the first time, she felt herself losing control of a situation involving her job. Slowly, she caressed his hand, watching him in the same curious way that he watched her. For a moment, she saw the contempt he held toward her fade, and all that was present in his face was the softness of his heart.

"Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?" she whispered.

"No," he answered simply.

"Well, they are," Monica responded, "They're like an ocean." Suddenly, she let go of his hand and pushed her chair back against the wall. She straightened in her seat, and rested her hands upon her lap. "Now where were we?" she began breathlessly, "Oh yes, defensiveness…"

*

Once Chandler's session was over, Monica quickly ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.  What had happened back in there?! She had completely lost her head! She never did that…well, not in her professional life, anyway. She had always been confident, radiant. She knew exactly what to say at the exact, precise time. However, when she had taken Chandler's hand, she had completely lost control over her words as they rolled off her tongue in a brainless effort.

It was as if her personal life had seeped into her professional one.

The fear, the lack of confidence, the utter disdain for herself – they all tore down the walls of her personal life like a rampant tornado.  However, when she was Dr. Geller, the walls went back up, sturdy and demanding, and she could be as secure and positive as she wanted.

She had watched in horror as, unbeknownst to Chandler, the last of her walls came tumbling to the ground. The walls, the enforcements of her life, had gone back up after that moment, and she could again pretend to be strong and sturdy in all of her words and actions. However, the walls were not as sturdy as before. She feared for her life that she would lose the last of her strength to Chandler and his ocean-blue eyes.

"Don't mess this up," she whispered at her reflection in the mirror, before pushing open the door and facing the world once again.

*

Chandler tossed and turned in his bed. He could still feel the light touch of her warm hand against his. The words, "They're like an ocean," echoed through the silent night air, making him break into a cold sweat. In the dark, he could see her eyes, glowing bright and blue, watching him in a way that showed she knew every thought in his head – comforting him.

Finally, between the hours of one and three, Chandler drifted off into an uneasy sleep. He dreamt that he was on a cliff, staring into the ocean. As he looked down, he saw a pair of eyes staring back at him. For a moment, he thought they were his own, and panic pulsated through his body, as he thought his eyeballs had fallen from their sockets. Slowly, he began to realize they were not his eyes at the bottom of the clear sea. They were Monica's.

He leaned over the cliff; his body curled over in a diving position and he let his toes slowly leave the ground. He plummeted head first into the ocean, feeling the cold water wash over him. He looked everywhere for Monica, but all he could see was the sun glistening off the surface of the sea.

"Monica?" he called, "Monica?"

Suddenly, darkness overtook the ocean. Waves began to crash over Chandler's body, causing him to sink deep down to the ocean's sandy floor. His feet touched the floor and he tried to push up from it, but the blanket of water was too strong. He began to struggle for breath, gasping and panting like a fish on land. As the last of the air left his lungs, he felt his body fall limp and float up to the surface. Suddenly, it was light and he could breath again.  He opened his eyes and saw Monica's eyes for a split second, before everything went completely dark.  He moaned, feeling cold hands against his forehead. There was some mumbled chattering around him, but he couldn't make any of it out as he squirmed in his soaking wet t-shirt.

"Dler," he heard, and then, "Chandler," was audible, but it sounded distant. "Chandler," a familiar voice said sharply, and a moment later he felt frantic hands feeling around his head. With much effort, he slowly opened his eyes, feeling blinded by the light around him.

"Chandler!" Phoebe shouted, upon noticing his eyes were opened, "Joey! Joey, his eyes are opened! He's awake!"

Joey ran back inside of the bedroom, his ear pressed against a black cordless telephone.  Joey covered the mouthpiece and patted Chandler on the shoulder.

"Don't scare us like that again," he joked heavily.

"Wha – what happened?"

"You have a fever – it's at around 103, " Joey informed him.

Phoebe stuck a thermometer in his mouth, "Nope, make that 102.5!"

Joey let a sigh of relief, as Phoebe dabbled Chandler's forehead with a cold, wet washcloth.

"We should still get you to the hospital though," she began, "Do you think you can walk?"

Chandler stood up and almost fell backward. Immediately, Joey placed his hand under Chandler's elbow and steadied him as they stumbled carefully down the stairs.

"Why am I all wet?" he asked, still frazzled from the fever.

"Some of it's your sweat, some of it's from when we poured cold water on you to try to get your fever down."

Chandler shuddered, wishing he could be dry. He hated water with such a strong passion. Suddenly, he remembered his dream, swimming in the water in search of Monica's eyes. However, he was too tired to think about it anymore. Instead, he allowed himself to be led into the taxi by his worried friends.

A/N: Well, that was fun. ;) Anyway, I've got to go study for a major Physics test on Monday. Yes, my Saturday nights consist of updating fanfics and studying Physics at 11 PM – what a life I lead. Hey Yen! (I don't know what else to say :p) Please leave me a review, thanks! :)