What's Love Got to Do With It?

A/N: Hey, remember this story? Well, Yen and I finally got around to writing a new chapter! It's been, what, five, six months? Um, oopsies. :p Blame it on Yen. It's all her fault. Actually, it's mine, but shh! We've been busy little bees. Well, I'd suggest reading over the previous chapters, if you don't remember what happened beforehand. Hell, I had to read over the chapters before writing more! Well, we hope there's still interest in this fanfic. Please leave us a review. Thanks! :)

Disclaimer:  These characters are mine, I swear! I even tried to sue the creators! Unfortunately, my lawyer didn't think I had a case. How could I not have a case?! I mean he saw the napkin! People today have no manners!

CHAPTER 8

Chandler paced the length of his living room, every so often running his fingers through his hair. He was angry with himself and he was angry at his bad decisions. If he had not made such unbelievably poor decisions, he would not have been in this predicament in the first place. He closed his eyes, imagining what would have happened if he had never led Monica on. He could have asked her out and she could have said yes. He could have learned everything about her – not just her name, occupation, and where she worked. If he had not made such poor decisions, he could actually be holding her in his arms, and not imagining her in them, instead.

The door opened and, much to Chandler's surprise, Joey entered, alone. Chandler furrowed his brow.

"What are you doing home…without any women? It's only eleven!"

"I know, but I was worried about you."

"What?"

"Yeah, well…worried that Monica kicked your ass for tricking her…again."

Chandler sighed, "Yeah, so maybe that wasn't such a good idea."

"Really? I'm so surprised. I mean, tricking a woman into meeting you, who, by the way, was already mad that you tricked her the first time the two of you met, was such a smart idea!" Quipped Joey.

"Yeah, yeah. I see your point."

Joey grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and sat down at the kitchen counter. "So, what happened?"

"I told her I was falling in love with her and she pretty much answered by saying love has nothing to do with anything."

"Harsh," he took a swig of his beer, "She's right, though, ya know?"

Chandler leaned on the counter beside Joey, "What?"

"You really think she's capable of loving a man? You think that, just because you said you love her, she could just forgive you and fall into your arms?"

"What?"

"See, what I've noticed about these women is that…they see men as just a means of income. I don't know, maybe they don't allow themselves to get feelings for a man, or maybe they're just are so disgusted by men that they can't…"

"Are you saying that Monica's a lesbian?"

"Monica's a lesbian?! Seriously?! Oh man, this is great, I have to promote her!"

"No, Joey! I'm asking if you think Monica's a lesbian."

"Oh, no. I didn't mean that. I don't know what I mean. Something about these women not loving anyone."

"That can't be true," Chandler began to pace, "I mean…when I told Monica that there was no way she could feel ashamed that she'd owe me money, considering what she does for a living, she told me that she had reasons she did it…"

"Yeah, the money. These women, most of them don't have much else to give to the world. And, if they do, they can't get a job for some reason or another. Usually criminal record."

"Does Monica have a criminal record?"

Joey shrugged, "Dunno, don't care. My only requirements are that they make me money, and they get the job done right."

"But Joey, these are women! They're people! How can you say these things about them?!"

"Chandler…you live in a world where everything is perfect. In the real world, not everyone is kind. Not everyone has the ability to feel love. Not everyone wants to feel love!"

"That's not true."

"Yeah? Then what are you fighting for?"

"I'm fighting for love,"

"No, you're fighting to make someone love you who can't."

"Look, Joey…maybe some of the people in your life are like that. Hell, most of the women might feel this way. But Monica's different. I know she's different. I can see it in her eyes. She has goals. She has dreams. Being your prostitute is just a way for her to one day achieve them."

Joey shrugged, "I just can't believe it."

"You only can't believe it because then you'd have to accept that what you're doing is wrong! No matter how much money you make, you're just helping these girls work themselves to their untimely deaths! What happens when a crazed man shoots one of them, after refusing to pay her, huh? What happens when one of them gets an STD?! You've created your own world where, in your eyes, people don't feel anything! A world where, since no one cares, nothing is ever wrong!"

"You're a fucking bastard!" Joey spat, before storming out the door.

Chandler sighed and plopped down in his barkalounger. It didn't matter whom he was talking to; he always said the wrong things.

Monica walked through the familiar white-walled corridor. She no longer had to look at the rising room numbers; she had Ross' room memorized. He had been in the hospital for much too long. From the looks of things, he was not going to be leaving for an even longer amount of time. She tried to imagine a world without Ross. What would she do? There would be no one left to love. Before the death of her parents, she had not felt a particularly strong connection to her brother. However, now, she focused all of her attention on him. There were no memories of Chandler's confession, the one that sent her reeling, within these walls. All that remained was unbridled hope for a better tomorrow.

Monica opened the door to Ross' room, and quietly slipped in. He was sleeping. She brushed his pale skin with her index finger, and removed a strand of stray, untidy dark hair from his face. Her heart fell sick at the sight of him. He looked so much weaker today than yesterday...

Two weeks. This past hospital stay was supposed to last for two weeks. It had been six months. She refused to give up hope.

Monica sat down in a chair next to his bed and absently watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath. Eventually, sleep overtook her tired body. Her dreams ranged from her body burning, to hearing anguished screams in the distance, until she was on top of a fat man with crooked teeth. After a few restless hours, these visions became too much to handle. Her eyes snapped open, revealing a reality that was all the more bleak than her dreams.

The early morning sun shone through the blinds. Monica blinked a few times, trying to collect herself. She yawned and stretched, before looking towards Ross, who was staring at her with soft eyes.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he joked.

She stood up and rubbed her aching back, "Hey there."

"I'm glad you woke up. I was gonna havta throw my shoe at you soon."

She laughed, "You're not wearing any shoes."

"Oh right. Well, then it's especially good that you woke up, then."

"What time is it?"

"Six."

She groaned, "I'll have to leave in like fifteen minutes. I'm sorry, but I still need to go home and get dressed."

"It's okay," he paused, "Hey Mon, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," she joked, "But sure."

"What do you do for a living?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean are you really a busgirl?"

"Yeah, of course. Why?"

"Do you have any other jobs?"

"Yeah, I…I work at two…restaurants."

"Mon, don't lie to me. You come in here later each night, smelling like pot and alcohol. You're barely wearing a skirt!" Monica looked down and realized that, while she was sleeping, the bottom buttons of her jacket came undone. She quickly re-buttoned them, "Please, just tell me the truth."

"You don't want to know the truth, Ross. Ignorance is bliss."

He shook his head, "It's too late for that."

Monica sat down on the bed beside Ross. Weakly, he reached up and grasped her hand. "I'm sorry, Ross," she whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry."

"I'm a prostitute – how can I not be sorry? I sleep with men for money. I'm disgusting. I don't even deserve to be in the same room as you."

"Monica," She ignored him and continued to sob, tears streaking her gaunt cheeks, "Monica please. I know you're doing this for me but –"

"I am! I really am! This is the only way I can make ends meet. I can pay for your bills! I don't want to do it, but it's the only way. No one else'll hire me."

"Mon, why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean? I'm doing this for you!"

"I know, but why? What's the point?" she stared at him blankly, so he continued, "I'm going to die, Monica. It doesn't matter how much money you pay for treatments. They'll only prolong it. My fate has been sealed. It's just not meant to be."

"No, Ross! That isn't true!"

"I've come to terms with it. Why can't you?"

"Because you're not going to die!"

"The doctors said it won't be long now…"

"No," she shook her head violently, "No, no, no!"

"There's no reason to keep selling yourself for me. You have been given the gift of time - time to live your life."

"No, no, so were you!"

"Why keep me alive if I'm just supposed to die?"

"But you're not! No, I won't let you."

"Monica, I'm going to die, no matter what. The longer you keep me alive, the longer we both suffer."

"No, no. You're not going to die."

"What's the point of keeping me alive?" he repeated.

Monica mouthed wordlessly for a few moments. She knew how stubborn Ross could be, but she was not finished. She would never be finished, until he quit talking as he was.

"The point in keeping you alive is that you keep me alive."

"No, Mon. Life keeps you alive. Go live it."

Monica shook her head more. "I have to go," she whispered.
"I love you. Please turn your life around, while you still have the chance."

She stared at Ross, tears still flowing down her cheeks. He was crying, too. She continued to shake her head, even as she walked out of the room.

A/N: If you leave a nice review, maybe we'll consider updating in the next six months. ;) Thanks for reading! *hugs*