A/Ns: Since Joey does not know Chandler or the gang, I have written him to be more mature and much more intelligent than the idiot the writers turned him into in last few seasons of Friends. My reasoning for this change in his character is because he didn't have Chandler and the others to rely on all those years, he went through the process of coming out about his sexual orientation to his Catholic family and his friends, and because of other things that have happened in his life that you will find out in this chapter. Also, since he is gay in this story, I have written him to be more sensitive than the Joey on Friends, I'm not saying that all gay men are like this, it's just that most tend to be.
Even though it is an AU piece, I imagine that this would take place a few years after season 10. Imagine also that Chandler is/was much closer to Ross, Monica, Rachel, and Phoebe than he ever was in the show because he never became friends with Joey. I figured also that Chandler lived alone in his apartment next to Monica and Richard since he never met Joey and never dated Monica.
I also wrote this because I feel badly for the character of Monica. The writers really messed her up, just like they messed up all the other characters during the end of Friends. I loved the Monica from seasons 1 through 4 but she made such a drastic change though in her character that I hated her in the last 6 seasons. So I wrote this for the Monica that was lost.
I was going to make Phoebe carry Monica's child, but then I remembered in season 4, TOW Phoebe's Uterus, that Monica asked Rachel if she would ever be a surrogate for anyone and Rachel had said she would do it for Monica, even though she seemed she wouldn't. I figured in the situation presented in my story, Rachel would definitely had done if for her since she was going to die.
If you have any other questions please ask. Since I'm writing the story and know how everything fits together I might leave out certain details that might make things confusing.
---He wouldn't speak to me again once his tears dried. He simply folded his blankets, picked up his phone, and left. Frankie must have noticed I had a rough night when I came into work. It took two well placed hits to get the jukebox to come on.
"You all right, Joey?" he asked, watching me.
"Yeah, just didn't get much sleep, Frankie boy," I answered with a tired smile.
"Would have thought things would be easier on you since Jack Daniels walked out on his own last night."
"You would have thought," I agreed, before going to take care of our first customer.
I didn't give Chandler more than a brief glance when he walked in that night. We were unusually busy and my work needed most of my attentions even if my mind did wonder back to him. Truth was work needed all of my attention because my busy crowd had a few wild ones I didn't really trust. My instincts were right too when a fight broke out shortly after eleven. On any other night Frankie and I would have been able to easily handle the situation. I was tired and unprepared and distracted though. When I attempted to break up the fight I didn't put my self or my strength in the action and was thrown across the room instantly by two large, drunk, angry men. I slammed against the wall in an instant, my head spinning with the pain.
A moment later I heard a gun shot and jumped. I opened my eyes to see Frankie standing behind the bar with his shotgun in hand.
"The first shot was a blank. The next one's got real live bullets in it. Now get the hell out of my bar," he ordered.
For a single moment the troublemakers stood their ground. Then slowly they left the bar, mumbling profanities and tossing angry glares.Once they were gone Frankie was by my side in an instant. Right next to Chandler.
"Are you all right, Joey?" Frankie asked, helping me to sit up.
"I'm fine," I answered, holding me head to stop the throbbing.
"Joey, look at me," Chandler said, turning my face to him. I looked up into his crystal blue eyes and saw the compassion and worry in them.
"I'm okay," I assured him.
"His eyes look all right. I doubt he has a concussion," he said, ignoring me and speaking directly to Frankie.
"I want you to go home. I'll call you a cab just to be on the safe side," Frankie said as I got up and stumbled a little.
"I'm all right," I insisted.
"Just to be safe, please," Frankie said and I saw the concern in his eyes.
"He shouldn't be alone. I could be wrong about the concussion," Chandler added.
"Well what do you suggest, Jack Daniels?" Frankie demanded, turning on him.
"Frankie," I said, quietly to stop him.
"He can stay at my place. I'll keep an eye on him," Chandler promised.
"Yeah right, like he'll go home with some drunk who gets so smashed he can't get himself home," Frankie bit out.
"Frankie, I'll be fine with Chandler," I said, stepping between them.
"Chandler?" he asked confused.
"Chandler," I repeated. "He's been staying with me. I trust him, Frankie. I'll be fine."
"What do you even know about this guy?"
I winced at the sound of his voice rising and pressed a hand to my still throbbing head.
"Knock it off," Chandler ordered.
"Stop, please. I'm going back to my apartment alone," I said. "And that's final."
With that I grabbed my backpack and headed for the door.
"Joey," Chandler called out as he followed me out the door.
"Chandler, please. My head is killing me," I said, then stopped in my tracks when I realized the phrase I had used.
I turned and saw him standing there, his pale skin seemed to get paler.
"Chandler, I'm sorry," I said, taking a step toward him.
"No," was all he said. Then he turned and took off running.
Well I was tired of him running, running from me and from everyone else in his life. So I took off after him. I chased after him for I don't know how long. He never slowed, he never stopped. He just kept running as if all the evil in the world was chasing after him.
"Chandler, stop running from me," I screamed. He stopped suddenly and spun on me.
"Stop following me," he yelled back.
"No," I shot back. "It's never going to stop if you just keep running from everyone. Your friends, me, hell you're even running from the damn bar where you've been trying to drown your life in. What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I'm scared," he screamed, sitting down with a thump on the pavement.
I moved toward him slowly and sat down next to him. Gently I reached out and took his hand in my own.
"What scares you, Chandler?" I asked.
"Everything, all of it. Every single day. I'm scared of every single day I wake up that I'll forget something about her. Her smile, her voice, her laughter. I'm scared of forgetting her but I'm scared to remember her too. I'm scared her memory will always hold me down, she'll never let me go. And I'm scared I'll stop loving her. I love her so much, Joey," he cried, leaning against me.
I held him in the middle of the night on that empty sidewalk and I let him cry once again. He had two years of tears pent up inside of him. It was time for him to let them go.
I'm not sure how long he cried. All I know is by the time he stopped I was running my hand through his short brown hair.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked me quietly.
"Doing what?"
"Taking me in, chasing after me. Why do you care so much? You don't even know me." he questioned, looking up at me.
"Because it's not right for one person to hurt so much," I answered, letting go of him.
"There's more though. I see it in your eyes," he added.
I looked away from him and down the empty street. He was right. There was more to my urge to help Chandler, but how had he known?
"I've been where you are. I've been drowning in the pain, dying in the hurt. I've been on that barstool in those dark bars where no one knows me or gives a damn," I finally answered.
"Who was he?" he asked, this time his hand reaching out for mine.
"His name was Alex and he was killed almost five years ago, " I explained. "How?" "He was beaten to death by a group of men because he was gay."
"Who was he to you?"
"He was my fiancé. We were going to get married, adopt kids, and live happily ever after."
"So that's your story," Chandler pointed out softly.
"That's my story. I can't stand to see other people suffer because I know how painful it is, but I also know you can get past it," I said, looking back at him. "It hurts to remember Alex, but Chandler he was my gift and I will never forget him nor will I ever let him take over my life again."
The pain in my head was getting worse and for the first time since I had hit that wall in the bar, I started to wonder if maybe Frankie was right. Maybe I should have gone home and laid down.
"Are you all right?" Chandler asked, reaching out to touch my face.
"Just a headache. Guess I hit that wall harder than I thought," I answered with a weak smile.
"Come on. I'm taking you home," he said, standing and pulling me with him.
"Whose home, Chandler?" I asked, looking him in the eye.
"Mine," he answered, quietly. He put his arm around my back for added support as we walked up the street before finally catching a cab.
A little bit later the cab stopped and after paying, we walked into his building and up to his apartment. I couldn't see much of it in the dark but I could tell it wasn't some tiny studio like my place. He showed me to his guest room and gave me some pillows and blankets.
"How do you feel?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine," I answered, trying to find some detail in the inky blackness of the room.
He stared at me for a few minutes in silence. I couldn't see him but I felt his eyes on me and the hesitation in his body. I wondered what he was thinking, waiting for. Then it occurred to me.
His sleep tortured him when he lay alone, It gave him peace when he held me in his arms. He didn't want to leave me for the nightmares that awaited him, but I'm sure he didn't want to ask to join me.
"Empty apartment, empty bed, empty heart," I whispered into the night. That was Chandler, that was his problem. He felt empty.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"Just thinking out loud," I answered.
I watched him sitting there, silent and alone in his pain. Reaching out, I took his hand in mine.
"Do you want to lie down, Chandler," I said, gently.
"No, you need your rest. My room is just next door," he said, pulling away.
"I won't get any rest if I have to go to you in an hour. You obviously don't want to leave, just lie down," I said, touching his face.
He sat unmoving for a moment before slowly lying down next to me. His body lay ridged next to mine, but as he relaxed his arms went around me, pulling me closer.
The soft sound of Chandler's voice woke me the next morning. Maybe it wasn't so much the words he spoke but the tone in which he spoke them that drew me from my sleep.
"He's kind of odd, Monica. I mean he carries me drunk into his apartment without knowing anything other than my first name. He answers my cell phone like he's done it a million times. He runs after me down empty streets when he should have just gone back to his apartment. He knows nothing about me and yet he opens himself up to me so completely," he whispered, his voice filled with wonderment and awe, confusion and understanding, longing and completion as he spoke to a long dead woman.
"I know you're awake," he said softly, his hand once again in my hair. For a straight man, he was awfully affectionate. Every straight man I know would never get into a bed with me, let alone curl up against me. He must be so desperate and alone that normal social behavior didn't matter to him anymore.
"How did you know? I haven't moved," I asked. "The beating of your heart. I can feel it and it changed," He answered.
"So am I your resident oddball you were telling Monica about?" I asked, softly.
"Yes, although my friends would probably think I'm just as weird as you," he answered.
"And why is that?"
"I would always just start talking about the weirdest, most random things. I would always make stupid jokes, usually about my friends. They usually didn't get them, I guess that's why they thought I was weird," he stated, "I miss them, we used to hang out all the time at this coffeehouse or at Monica's apartment. They were the best times of my life." "What happened, did that stop when she died?" "Well there were five of us who always used to hang out together. Myself, Monica, Ross, Phoebe, and Rachel. Then Monica and Richard got married and things changed a little, but not much. But then as the years went on, Ross and Rachel got married and had a baby, and then Phoebe married a man named Mike, her wedding was so beautiful, I got to walk her down the aisle. That meant a lot to me. After that, we learned about Monica's illness, and well you know the rest. We just never went back to the way it was. I couldn't go back. Eventually everyone just moved out of the city after that, left me to myself," he explained.
"That's not why they moved Chandler, they moved to get on with their lives, start their families together. Ross was the one I talked to on the phone, Chandler, he misses you. They all miss you. Pick up the phone. Call them. Let them know they haven't lost you along with Monica," I pleaded, turning finally to look up into those blue eyes that haunted my own dreams, eyes so tortured.
"What do I say to them?" he asked me as if I had all his answers, as if I had all the answers to the world. "How about telling them you are still here, that you need help. Maybe you should tell them you don't know what to do without her. They lost her too, Chandler. They loved her and they saw her die. Just let them know you're all right please."
He lay silent for a few more moments, his hand still stroking my hair. Then finally he spoke.
"In a little while. I'll call them in a little while. I just don't want to move yet," he answered softly.
"Tell me more about Chandler . Who is he?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Chandler was a funny, sarcastic man, who was always uncomfortable in silence. He made fun of his friends all the time, but they were his life and he loved them, still does. They were the best thing that ever happened to him. He was basically just a normal guy who was content with his life," he answered. "Is he not that man anymore," I asked. "No, Chandler is no more, I don't think I'll ever get him back," "I don't think that's true, I just think he's hiding, he's afraid to return to himself, that's why you drink, Jack Daniels hides Chandler from himself," I said.
"I don't drink to hide from myself," he argued.
"Then why do you drink?" I shot back.
"I don't know but it's not to hide from myself. There's nothing about me to hide from."
"Except your pain, your anger, your loneliness, your fear. Should I go on?" I asked, pulling free of his arms and sitting up to look down at him. "Everything you do is to hide from the man you are, Chandler."
"I still don't understand why you give a damn."
"Neither do I, but I know when I close my eyes at night you haunt my dreams. I can't walk away from you knowing you're hurting like this. Now please go call your friends. Please."
He nodded then slowly left the bed. At the door he looked back at me where I still sat in the center of the bed.
"What are you going to do?" he asked me.
"I don't know. Go home I suppose, shower, dress. Why?" I countered.
"No reason," he answered, shaking his head sadly as he walked out.
"No reason my ass," I mumbled crawling off the large bed. I followed him out of the room and downstairs.
Sliding to the floor, I leaned against the wall and did a horrible thing. I listened to his phone call. Thank God for speakerphone.
"Hello?" I heard a voice answer after a couple of rings.
"Hey, Ross," Chandler greeted.
"Chandler, man where the hell are you? Are you all right?" Ross demanded.
"I'm fine. I'm at home and I'm alive."
"What's going on, Chandler?" Ross asked, his voice quieter, more concerned then his original greeting. "Where have you been?"
"Drowning," Chandler answered, softly and I could hear him sitting down.
"What?"
"I've just been gone, all right?" he snapped at the voice of a friend who had once been one of the best friends.
"Chandler, I'm calling out of work and I'm coming over," Ross announced.
"No," Chandler yelled. "No, Ross."
"Why not? Chandler, I'm worried about you. We're all worried about you. Why won't you let me come over and make sure you're all right?" Ross asked.
"Because I don't want any company right now."
I stood up then and walked into the room with him.
"Chandler, don't push him away," I whispered, hoping the man on the other end of the line couldn't hear me. No such luck.
"Chandler, who is that?" Ross asked. "Who's there?"
"Please, Chandler," I begged, touching his arm, hoping against hope that he would let his friends back into his life.
"That was Joey, you already talked to him before" Chandler answered, looking at me. His face was filled with confusion and anguish. He didn't know what to do, he had been lost in his own pain for too long.
"Who exactly is he, Chandler?" Ross continued.
Chandler looked first at the phone then at me as if wondering himself what that answer was. Then quietly he spoke.
"He's a friend.. he's a friend."
"And so is he, so let him come," I whispered. "Please."
"Whoever he is, Chandler, listen to him," Ross added.
"All right. All right, I'll see you in a few," Chandler conceded.
"Thank you, Joey," Ross said before hanging up.
"It's time for me to go," I told Chandler when he turned off the phone.
"How are you going to get home?" he asked, looking down at me with worried eyes.
"A cab, same way I got here," I answered, smiling.
"Let me take you home. After Ross leaves I'll drive you," he offered.
"No. You need time alone with him to rebuild the bridges you've been trying so hard to burn. Take care, Jack Daniels," I said, quickly hugging him and then I left his home before he could say or do anything to stop me.
On the cab ride home I thought of him. Some how he was finding a place in my heart. I knew that deep down he was a good man, a man easily loved by the people in his life. He needed to find his peace and move on. I also knew that when he found his peace he would no longer need to drown his sorrow in a bottle on the stool at the end of my bar. He would no longer have a place in my life and I knew that I would miss him then. Possibly as much as his friends now missed him.