In A Lifetime
Chapter Eight: Torn Asunder
Disclaimer: A month has passed, but this hasn't changed. I do not own any of the characters in this fic. The doctor could be considered mine, I guess, but I don't really want her.
A/N: I was writing this, and I realized…. This is so sappy! Good lord. Is it too sappy? It's kind of like sap-angst, which is weird.
I kinda… dropped the ball on this. Last Thursday was a month since the last update. Eek. In my defense, I finished another fic (finally!), and I've been working hard at school for my upcoming exams. So, forgive me? Not the longest chapter yet, but hopefully one you will like. Reviews make me world go round, so, if possible, leave one for me?
I proofed this myself… what a mistake. Hopefully nobody will spot the awful grammar and spelling that I have. ;)
Oh, and Cookie Monster… little tribute to Rachel's shirt in TOW Estelle Dies. ;) I much prefer Elmo, but y'know… Wait, why am I talking about this?
*~*~*
"What do you mean?"
"I'm sorry. But we can only do so much this way. There are no guarantees, and we can't tell yet."
"Can you usually tell straight away?"
"No."
"But… it could still be alright?"
"Yes. I'd say there's a 50/50 chance."
"Is that all?"
A pause. "Sir, in this world, nothing can be definite. You're just going to have to hope for the best. We'll make sure to tell you the minute there's any news."
Footsteps. They were gone.
Just like that.
*~*~*
Sunlight began to creep through the hallways, filling the floors with a ghostly glow as rays of yellow made their way above the rooftops. The snow on the ground sparkled brightly, crisp footsteps clearly marked along the roads.
The ambulance bay of the hospital, once covered in a blanket of snow, was now filled with watery residue, remnants of the white powder still evident at the edge of the curb. The damp wheel of a sparkling ambulance blew water onto the glass doors nearby as it sped away, sirens blaring.
Chandler sat slumped in a tiny chair in a hallway, deserted other than him and a vase of flowers on a table at the end. The sunlight from behind Chandler hit the vase, glaring off in all directions. A ray hit Chandler's face, and he stirred, groaning quietly.
A nurse exited a room at the opposite end of the hall, and watched for a moment as Chandler sat up, rubbing his eyes, hand outstretched against the sunlight. He saw her watching, and his eyes held a silent question. She nodded, and he leapt up, racing toward the room she had come from. She smiled and walked around the corner, humming to herself.
He shut the door quietly as he got to the other side of the door. She was sat in bed, her eyes closed, but her hand was tapping out a rhythm on the bed sheet, and she slowly let her eyes open as she heard him pull a chair across from the other side of the room.
"Chandler?" she whispered.
"I'm here," he said softly, kissing her hair lightly.
"How long have I been here?" she asked, looking at him.
He laid his hand on hers, rubbing it softly. "About two days," he said. "They said it was best to let you sleep."
"Did it work?" she asked quietly, her eyes not meeting his.
He sighed, adding his other hand to the one already joined with hers. "They're not sure," he admitted sadly.
She let a tear fall onto his hand. "What do you mean?" she whispered.
"They don't know whether the surgery… exorcised your cancer completely," he said, his breath blowing her hair softly around. "And if it's not… well, the part that remains could easily grow back to like it was already."
"And we'd be nowhere," she whispered, her eyelids resting quietly, blocking out the piercing light beaming through the window. Her emotions didn't mirror the weather; her mind was bleak, an endless plateau of no hope stretching out as far as her closed eyes could see. She saw red, her eyes not tightly shut, the bright lights flooding through her eyelids, glowing an incandescent scarlet.
She let her eyes slowly open again as his touch moved to her face, watching his eyes roam over her face in admiration, the sunlight making her skin sparkle, her eyes staring into his.
"We're not nowhere," he said. "We're going to get married," he said softly, as her eyes closed again, a slight smile coming onto her face at those words. "You still want that, right?"
"Of course I do," she said almost silently, brushing her hand across his cheek. "But what if it didn't work, and I start to… go?" she asked. "Would you still want it?"
He watched a tear slip from her eye, flowing down her face to hit the bedspread, the mark vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Yes," he whispered. "Because I love you. And I want to marry you. And I will marry you. Right?"
"Definitely," she said, brushing her hand over his lips. She felt a tear drop onto her hands. She looked up, and saw him trying frantically trying to wipe his eyes. "Chandler," she said, and he looked at her. "You don't have to do that," she whispered.
"But-" he said.
"You don't," she insisted, and leaned forward, softly kissing his lips.
*~*~*
"Is that everything?"
The bulging bag sat on the bed, the sheets smoothed to perfection, the blinds open so the light was angled downward onto the opposite wall.
Monica lifted a blind slightly, peering out onto the road. It was still covered with snow, like a white blanket glittering over the city. Cars wound slowly along, snow spraying up from their wheels, and people trudged through the deep blanket lining the sidewalks, footprints invisible in the beautiful white.
"Monica?"
She looked around, dropping the blind. "What?"
"Is that everything?" he repeated, lifting the bag slightly.
"Yeah… yeah, I think so," she mumbled, looking distractedly at the floor. It gleamed, sparkling in the sunlight, highly polished.
"Are you okay?" he asked, trying to look at her downward face.
She looked up, oddly startled, and looking rather dazed. "What? Oh… yeah," she said slowly, walking slowly over. "We'd better get going, eh?" she said, straining as she tried to lift the bag.
"Let me get that," said Chandler quickly, gently moving her hands of the strap, and almost dropping the bag on the floor.
Monica smiled lightly, and pushed the door open, letting Chandler walk through. He started off down the hall, stopping when he heard no following footsteps.
He turned, the sun momentarily hitting his eyes, and saw Monica still at the door, staring inward. She had a kind of lost expression, her eyes sad, her face drawn.
"Mon?" he said, putting the bag onto the chair next to him and treading carefully back toward her.
With the blinds closed, the room was dark. It looked like new; the walls pristine, the bed sheets straight, the nightstand empty. To Chandler, it seemed cold; yet Monica was still staring into it, looking melancholy toward the blinds.
"Monica…" he whispered, his hand on her shoulder, his lips at her ear. "It's okay. You leave it behind here."
She didn't look at him, but her eyes moved, away from the room. "It's just… it's been a hard time. Very hard. And I want to leave it all behind, but it's affected me so much…" she said slowly, as if trying to understand her own words as she said them.
"I know," he whispered. Slowly, she moved, slipping her hand into his, and slowly pulling the door closed. A shaft of light beamed through the glass box in the door, causing a patch of light on the wall opposite.
"Thank you," she whispered, kissing him lovingly on the cheek.
He smiled, and hugged her to him. "No problem. Now, let's go home, okay?" he said cheerfully. "Race you to the elevator!" he teased, taking off down the hallway, leaving Monica giggling after him.
*~*~*
"No, that's totally wrong! Cookie Monster lived in the dustbin!"
Ross and Joey's argument was cut short by Rachel's exclamation, and they all turned to the door, where Chandler was letting Monica through.
Rachel raced over, pulling Monica into an excited hug, and Ross gave Chandler a more muted one, kissing Monica on the cheek when Rachel moved to Chandler. Joey hugged Chandler tight, and did the same to Monica, smiling happily.
"How did it go?" asked Rachel, grinning, but their straight faces pulled her smile away quickly. "What?" she said.
"They don't know," said Chandler, moving past them with Monica to sit on the couch, signaling to Gunther for a cup of coffee. Ross perched himself on the arm, as Joey sat forward in the armchair and Rachel sat next to Chandler on the couch. "They said they can never tell straight away. They'll tell us in a few days, after more tests."
Rachel sighed, rubbing Monica's arm supportively. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Mon," she said, smiling slightly.
"I know," Monica said, trying to smile. "But there's always just that little bit of doubt, y'know?" she said, leaning against Chandler.
"You'll be fine," said Ross insistently. "You have to be," he said.
Chandler sighed. "Guys… I know, god, I know… Monica probably will be fine… but you have to accept that there is a possibility that she won't be. If you go in without knowing and accepting that, then if it's not… if" he evoked, at Joey's look, "then you won't know what to do if it happens." He took his coffee from Gunther, letting Monica sip gladly at it before continuing. "I know I'm hardly the best preacher, but you need to understand," he said, with Monica mutely agreeing with a nod of the head.
"I know," said Rachel. "But… it's scary to say that it won't be fine," she admitted.
Monica smiled. "Thanks guys," she whispered, and rubbed Rachel's hand back in appreciation. "It means… well, you know what it means to me. To us."
Chandler smiled at them too, before placing his empty coffee cup on the table before him, and straining as he rose from his seat again. "We've got to go and unpack Mon's stuff, but we'll come in later," he explained to Joey, who stared at him. "Come on, Mon," he said, offering his hand, which she grasped gladly, heaving herself up.
"Bye," she said softly, raising her hand. They murmured it back, looking rather sadly after the couple as they disappeared beyond the window.
*~*~*
"We gotta go, babe!"
Chandler's voice called across the apartment, reaching Monica's ears through the closed bedroom door.
She looked up from the spread of photos on the bed, shouting back a quick, "Just a minute!" before looking down again.
About a hundred photographs lay across the bed. Some were from her childhood, showing a rather chubby Monica in a head-wrestle with a skinny Ross; a day on the beach, large hats sitting happily on their heads, spades stuck in the sand. Gleaming white shone from a photo near the pillows, showing a resplendent Judy standing next to a happier, thinner Jack. Confetti stood around them, dancing merrily in the air. Judy's stomach glowed largely, signs of Ross clear already.
Monica smiled as she picked up a more recent photograph. It was Chandler with her in Montauk.
Her smile widened as she remembered that weekend. To the rest, she knew it recurred memories of Ross and Rachel's brief reunion, but to her, it triggered memories of Chandler's attempts to get her to take his seriously. She laughed lightly as she recalled his pathetic voices late into the night, lame suggestions like "I've got canned goods!"
If only they had known then how things would have turned out to be. Monica knew she wouldn't have wasted so much time. Time was precious to Monica, every bit sacred, and it scared her to think that she might not have much of it left.
"Mon!" His call interrupted her reverie, and she gathered the photos together, stuffing them into the box, vowing to tidy them later. She slipped the Montauk picture into the pocket of her jeans, and ran out to Chandler.
*~*~*
"I'm afraid… there are still some cancerous cells present in your breast."
Chandler gaped at her, while Monica tried to wipe away the tears that sprang to her eyes.
"But… how can that be? You operated… surely you got them all," he protested, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat, resting his hand instinctively upon Monica's.
The doctor looked sadly at Monica. "It doesn't always work. I'm sorry. But there are other options for treatment, so there's still a good chance of recovery."
Monica looked at the doctor through tear-stained eyes, hearing the wariness of her voice. "But?" she prompted slowly, wiping her cheek clear of tears again.
The doctor sighed. "The best options we have are chemotherapy or radiotherapy. Anything else is unlikely to help, I'm sorry," she said, looking regretfully away.
Monica stared at her. "But… my baby," she said, immediately realizing what it meant. She looked to Chandler, who looked back with the hurt and sadness she felt herself. Her stomach was churning, and her eyes darted around the room, looking hopelessly for a solution.
"Do you want to continue with treatment?" asked the doctor slowly, looking sadly to Monica.
Monica looked to Chandler, and saw tears running freely down his face, his eyes staring intently at the edge of the highly polished gleaming desk. She looked to the doctor, and saw the question still hanging in her eyes, black mascara slightly smudged above her eyes.
The air was still, waiting; and Monica felt like she was drowning in invisible water, miles from land, unable to swim. It was an impossible for decision for her, and her eyes were blurred with tears.
Then her voice rasped with a single word, and Chandler's head snapped up, the doctor's gaze intense.