Waiting – Chapter 5

The Invisible Noose

A/N: My advice to all of you is: always wear sunscreen. Yesterday, I was outside all day at an amusement park and now my face looks like a tomato. :'( It was really fun, though, so I guess it was worth it. ;p Oh and in case you all are wondering about my Physics test, I got a B! That's…a huge thing. Actually, I got an A on the test before, but that was only b/c I spent every waking moment with my teacher, getting extra help (and, I can only assume, driving her nuts, in the process). Anyway, I really appreciate all the wonderful reviews! They really help to inspire me. So thank you all. :D

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to my bestest friend, Yen, whose birthday is…tomorrow! So happy birthday my darlin'. Wow, I just looked up to see what fic I was writing during your last birthday and it's on the 3rd to last chapter of Between Us. This is what it said, to be exact: "This chapter is dedicated to my very dear and weird sexy monkey buddy Yen (JenniGellerBing) in honor of her *coughs* teenth birthday which is today!! Yay!! I've been looking forward to this day all week! *gives Yen blank-teen birthday punches* that was fun! I think I'll do that more often. *kisses Yen* happy birthday babes! Thanks for being an awesome friend. I love u more than a monkey eating banana birthday cake! :-)"Man, the only thing I'd change in that for this year's dedication is to take out the monkeys. ;) Hey, I guess this means my birthday's coming up soon, doesn't it? ;P

Chandler sat up groggily in the hospital bed, engaged in a game of blackjack with Joey and Phoebe. The two of them were behaving in their usual aggressive card playing manner, including Phoebe yelling, "hit me!" so loud that a nurse ran into the room, thinking someone was being attacked. When they were on their twelfth hand, the doctor entered, and the three of them reluctantly tore their attention from the vigorous game they had been playing.

The doctor cleared his throat before he spoke. The man was tall and lanky, most likely about Chandler's age, he observed. His face was stubbly, the beginnings of a beard present on his dark face. He smiled and picked up Chandler's chart.

"You're going to be fine," he started off in a friendly tone, "No worries."

"Well, that's good," Chandler responded, "But what happened?"

"Well, from the looks of things, it was a reaction from the medication you're on."

That statement caused Chandler trouble swallowing. At first, he had been reluctant to agree to take medicine, but Monica had convinced him that it was not such a terrible thing. "Lots of people are anti-depressants and live completely normal lives," she had told him, "There's nothing to be ashamed of – it doesn't make you any different than anyone else." He had given her one of his incredulous looks that he reserved only for her, so she continued, "Look, the only people who are gonna know are me, you, and your pharmacist." But she was wrong. Now this doctor knew, as did the lab technician who tested his blood.  The secret was unraveling.

The doctor looked down at Chandler's chart as he spoke, "The side effects usually only effect less than 1% of those taking the medicine," He looked up and smiled, "Guess you lucked out, eh?"

"Oh boy did I," Chandler muttered.

"We're going to keep you here until the medicine is completely out of your system – you'll probably be out by tonight."

Chandler did not respond. He had reverted into one of his angry moods. Out of all those people taking the same medicine as him, he was the one to get sick from it. Figures.

"Thank you very much, Doctor…" Phoebe trailed off, realizing she didn't know his name.

"Thompson," he filled in, "Allen Thompson."

"Well, thank you very much, Doctor Thompson," Phoebe responded, a flirtatious smile present on her lips.

Joey watched the scene and also smiled, but in an immature fashion. "She's gonna get some action," Joey whispered, nudging Chandler in the ribs. Chandler couldn't help but smile back.

Phoebe watched him as he left, before turning back to the two remaining men. Her smile faltered and she slapped Joey on the arm, "I heard what you said!"

"Ow!" Joey complained, before taking her hand of blackjack that she had left on the bed and throwing it on the ground.

"Hey! I was winning!"

The two of them bickered back and forth, as Chandler watched from his spot on the bed, grinning. For a few minutes, lost among the fighting and laughter of his friends, he could forget about his sicknesses – both physical and emotional.

*

As the day wore on, Phoebe left so that she could fit in two massage clients, while Joey halfheartedly headed off to an audition for a commercial, although Joey could not remember what the product actually was. Chandler stretched and turned on the small television that sat high on the shelf, looking down upon him. He flipped through an infomercial for farming equipment, The Jerry Springer Show, and settled on a Spanish soap opera. However, after a few minutes, following the foreign language only succeeded in making his head ache. He switched off the television and took the cards that Phoebe had left behind.

Once he was on his fifth hand of solitaire (after losing the first four), there was a soft knock on his door. He called for the knocker to come in, and was shocked to see Monica standing in front of him. She offered him a smile, but it seemed forced. She walked over and stood beside his bed, her hands grazing the metal railing for a few moments, as she attempted to collect her thoughts.

"How are you feeling?"

"What? No 'How've you been'?" he mocked.

She gave him a half smile, "I think it's pretty obvious how you've been."

"Yeah…"

Silence overtook the room. Chandler stared at the trash on the lunch tray in front of him, as Monica continued to stroke the railing absently. The cold steel reminded her that she was visiting Chandler for a reason.  He looked at her expectantly, but she did not look back – the words were caught in her throat.

She was fighting against herself – she wanted to crumble and cry right there in front of Chandler. She couldn't though, that was obvious. She just had to wait until the feeling passed. Looking at Chandler lying in the hospital bed made her feel incredibly guilty, even if he was not in any danger anymore. It was she who had prescribed the medication to him. Even though there was no way she could have foreseen that it would have made him sick, she could not fight away the blame.

"Did you come here just to stand around?" Chandler asked in an emotionless tone, startling her.

"N – no, I didn't. I came here to talk to you."

"Oh," he paused, "Well, go ahead."

She forced a grateful smile on her face, and could see a glimmer of pride in his face as she struggled.

"I'm really sorry that you're sick."

"Uh, thanks, I guess."

"I had no idea," she continued, "I didn't know it would hurt you."

"You couldn't have," he conceded.

"Well, I guess I just wanted to say I'm sorry. If I could go back in time and un- prescribe the medicine, I would."

Chandler propped himself up on his elbow, studying Monica as she shuffled in her spot beside him. She was dressed in jeans and a red blouse; wearing more colors with her current outfit than she had every other time Chandler had seen her combined. He could not help but admire the way her jeans hugged her curves. The thing that shocked him the most though was the way her hair was down – there were no stray pieces flying into her eyes. It was odd.

"It's okay," he responded, "I'm going to survive."

She gave him a half smile, before looking down at her shoes.

Chandler noticed that she was different at that moment. It was not just her physical appearance - her eyes were softer and her face less focused. But there was something else that he saw in her at that moment, as she stared down shamefully, that made him feel like they were connected. It was then that he realized she had been right; they were not all that different. She was a person - a person with feelings - just like him.

"I'm gonna go," she whispered, "I'll see you next appointment – whenever you're feeling – better, right?"

Monica turned to face the door, but stopped moving once he began to speak, "Yeah," he answered in a soft tone that he had never thought he would use with her, "I'll see you soon…Monica."

For a moment, she was frozen in her place. She looked back at him, thinking maybe she'd misheard him. But there he was, smiling genuinely, before turning his attention toward the television. Progress.

*

Monica watched Chandler warily as he shifted awkwardly in his seat during their next session, a week later. Things were not that different since the hospital visit. However, Monica could tell something had changed in Chandler. Something about his behavior toward her was different. It was as if, sometimes, he would forget that he was supposed to hate her. For a little, he would speak in a tone that she could tell was the true Chandler. He even smiled sometimes – short, faltering, but a smile nonetheless.  She lived for those moments when she could see him smile; it would cause a fluttering in her stomach that she refused to identify as anything but joy in his improvement.

"Chandler," she began, before taping her finger on the desk beside her, "You've talked about your relationship with your friends…but I never got to ask you about your family." He stared at her blankly, so she continued, "Is there anyone in your family you're particularly close with?"

"Well, my friends are like family…"

"I meant blood-related."

"Oh," he paused, "Then no one."

"You've never had a good relationship with anyone in your family?"

He shrugged, "Well, there was my grandfather…"

"You two are close?"

"Yeah, we were pretty close."

"Were?"

"He died when I was nine…around the same time my parents got divorced."

Monica's jaw tightened. She didn't know that Chandler's parents had divorced. In fact, she really did not know much about his life at all. But, at the moment, he seemed willing to open up to her, as long as she did not pry too deeply. She was going to have to take advantage of his comfort with her as much as she possibly could. The last thing she wanted was to see him close up again.

"He and I used to go finishing. I didn't really like fishing, but I never told him," Chandler recalled, "I didn't want to ruin things between us. It was hard when he died. I felt really alone in a way that none of my friends could understand."

"Did your parents know how you felt?"

Chandler shrugged, "They probably did, but thought that if they didn't confront it, it wouldn't become real, ya know?"

"Yeah definitely. How about now? Do you keep in touch with them?"

"My mom, a little. Ever since I tried to kill myself, she's been around more. She travels, a lot, so I don't see her all that often. When I do see either of my parents, it's awkward, though," he explained, careful to avoid telling Monica about the outburst that occurred the last time his mother came for a visit.

"Awkward?"

"Yeah, we don't know what to say to each other, so we pretty much just sit there in silence – them regretting how much they neglected me as a child, and me resenting them for not trying to fix our relationship when they had a chance."

 "So, if they would make a real, honest effort to reconcile, would you forgive them?"

Chandler thought about it for a moment, "No…no, I don't think I would."

Monica nodded.

He looked down at his hands, "That makes me a horrible person, doesn't it?"

"No, of course it doesn't – not that I would tell you that you're a horrible person, even if you were…which you're not," she added quickly, "It's normal to feel spiteful toward people who've hurt you in the past – namely, family. I know I had problems with my mother for the longest time."

"But you fixed them?"

"Yeah," she lied. There was no use in making him feel like it couldn't be done, just because she had not yet fixed her problems with her mother, "We talked and fixed them."

"What were your problems?"

"She was very critical of me. She bowed down to my brother, but she always criticized me. I think she saw herself in me – she wanted to live vicariously, and therefore was too strict with me."

"You know when the first time I realized I hated my father was?" Chandler asked, but did not wait for an answer, "I was four and I'd found a kitten in our backyard. I showed my nanny and she told me, 'I don't think your father will approve,' but I insisted that he would let me keep the cat. I named him Chopsticks and carried him inside, chatting happily about how much I loved Chinese food and how much I would love Chopsticks."

"Then my father came home. I ran down the stairs, with Chopsticks in my arms, and I showed the tiny white kitten to him. He started to get angry, demanding to know why my nanny had let me take in a cat. He hated cats. I think he hated children, too, though – hated anything needier than him," Chandler paused, staring at Monica's desk, "Needless to say, he made me get rid of Chopsticks. The funny thing is, I couldn't eat Chinese food again until I moved out of the house for college. It always reminded me of my cat. I had just wanted a friend."

Monica sat across from him and despite her position as the professional in the office; tears prickled the corners of her eyes. It was he who made her personal self join with the professional. She cared too much about him. Realizing she had to focus on her patient and not herself, she forced her attention upon Chandler again, all the while holding back her tears.

"Are we done yet?" he asked impatiently, his frustration with her apparent once again.

"Yeah," Monica answered distractedly, "We're done."

It all made sense now; his stubborn childish behavior, his defensiveness…as a child, he had never been allowed to be a child. Now, as this man approached the thirty-year mark, he still possessed aspects of his childhood. He was so used to be alone that he could not accept that anyone would want to step into his world. Monica had an overwhelming desire to walk over to him and brush his cheek, whispering that it would all be okay. But she couldn't touch him and she certainly couldn't tell him it would all be okay. After all, she was the same as him.  They were both being strangled by the arms of their pasts – the invisible noose.

A/N: All righty, I know there wasn't much Mondlerness in this chapter (at least not in the way you're all waiting for!) but I promise the good stuff's on its way. I've already started to write it. Of course, I'm 3 chapters ahead of what I'm posting, but still…patience is virtue. :D Argh, SATs again tomorrow. I need to break my goal or I'll have to study/have my tutor over the summer. :'( Oy, I'm nervous. :-x Please leave me a review, thanks! :)