Fall Together – Chapter 2
Vacant
Chandler paced the length of the immaculate room. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours now. The nervous adrenaline began to fade from his system, and he could feel the weariness radiating from his very bones. Nothing made sense. He could see the white walls and the metallic instruments beside the bed, and yet, he felt completely blind to everything in front of him. He could hear the beeping of the life-support machine and the pounding of his own heart in his ears, and yet, he felt deaf.
This was not real. Nothing was real. This place, this feeling of dread, this fear… it was all fake. He was living someone else's life - some unfortunate soul that was not connected to Chandler in any way. A chair scrapped the floor in the distance. Chandler looked toward the source of the sound. He sighed aloud and began to focus on his breathing.
A hesitant hand brushed against his. He closed his fingers around it, before turning to face her. With puffy eyes, she attempted a smile. It was an empty smile. His heart broke as he smiled back. His was empty, as well. They stood in silence for a time, both not listening, both not seeing, and most of all, both trying their hardest not to think. Thinking hurt too much.
The door handle jiggled and opened. A sandy-haired teenager entered. His usual happy eyes were lined with unshed tears. He did not look at Chandler. Instead, he concentrated on dialing the illuminated buttons on the silver cellular phone in his hand. He put the phone to his ear. A small, sad smile reached his lips.
"Hey," he mumbled.
Chandler could tell the boy did not want him to listen, yet could not bear to leave the room, all the same. Chandler listened anyway.
"I'm fine. Just hanging out." A pause. "No, I don't think we can go out – no – not tonight." Another pause. "No, everything's fine." He listened. "I'm not going out at all tonight. No, not with any other girl, I promise." Silence. "All right, I'll call you later. Bye."
He turned the phone off and pocketed it in his dark jeans, still refusing to look at Chandler. The boy focused on the white sheets of the bed instead. Chandler looked away. The girl with her hand in Chandler's did not, though. He could feel her tense. Chandler mustered all the strength from within and squeezed her hand. She relaxed. He wanted to speak. He licked his lips. It had been hours since he had last spoken. His voice was raspy and unfamiliar.
"You know, you're not supposed to use cell phones in here."
The boy looked up, focusing on Chandler's forehead. Chandler gazed back at him, unfazed by the lack of eye contact.
"Whatever."
The boy took a seat beside the bed, running a hand through his hair, leaving blond strands standing up in all directions. The girl's hand slipped from Chandler's. He turned his head toward her, questioningly. She shrugged toward the window and then walked that way. He followed. The two of them stared out the window together, for a time. It was comforting, to share this view, even though all they could see was a rather dull redbrick building. He did not dare touch her again. Not yet.
He cleared his throat. She looked at him. The beauty of her innocence struck him hard. His heart ached for her. She tilted her head, nervous. He was acting very unfamiliar. She could feel his fear. He was different now. She knew it, as well as he did. How could he act like himself in this situation, though? She understood. The look in her eyes insisted so. She understood his woes and worries, and she questioned nothing. He was grateful. Chandler placed a hand on her cheek. He told her that everything would be all right. No words.
-
Monica opened her eyes. The pain immediately hit, pounded against her small frame. Tears stung her eyes. Where was she? What happened? Her sight was blurry. She was dazed; drugged; woozy. She willed her eyes to focus and the searing pain to subside. She had never felt such pain in her entire life. She thought she was going to die of the intensity. She wracked her brain for any sign of a memory, but nothing came to her. It seemed that her ability to recall memories had been shut off.
She blinked rapidly. Sight. Her eyes were unclear, but she began to see shapes and figures. It was white and symmetric. She could see a lot of squares. She could not move her head, though. The pain was too great. She breathed in deeply and her ribs seared with new fire. She gagged and chocked on her bile. Something was moving. She tried to focus on the figure in front of her.
Pain. White. Sun. Stooped figure. Things were coming together. The figure was a man. He was familiar. She could not focus. She did not want to focus. A voice. It was familiar. She locked her eyes with the man in front of her. She knew him. She knew him. Who was he? She knew him.
"Ch – Cha…"
Something wasn't right.
-
Chandler did not remember when he drifted off to sleep that night, if where he drifted could even be described as slumber. His dreams were dark and unfamiliar, and there was a strong presence of his conscious self in them. He struggled to remain asleep. His dreams were dark, but his reality was even darker. Light pounded against his eyelids. His neck ached from hours in the same position on the straight-backed chair. He stretched and opened his eyes slowly. He almost jumped. Monica was staring at him. There was something unfamiliar about her eyes that wiped away all the joy he should have felt for her gaining of consciousness.
He stood abruptly, almost falling over himself. He was at her side. Chandler stared down at Monica. She was vacant. He was afraid.
Words.
He needed words.
Tell her she's beautiful.
He looked down at her heavily scarred, bleeding, and bandaged body. He recoiled. She was not beautiful at the moment. She would never believe him if he said it.
Tell her everything's going to be all right.
But it's not, he argued with himself, Nothing's gonna be all right!
So lie.
I can't. She deserves better than that.
He rubbed his eyes, the last of sleep far from them. He breathed deeply and bent closer to her. She looked up at him. He had never feared his wife more than he did at that very moment.
"M – Monica?"
She licked her lips. He took that as a reaction. He brushed a bundle of blood-caked hair from her face. She did not acknowledge his touch.
"I'm – I'm glad that you're awake."
No answer. Vacant eyes met his terror-filled face. He was at a loss of action. Instead, he remained crouched beside her, as she continued to ignore his presence in a way he had never experienced before. His legs began to ache. He rose, knees cracking, and her eyes followed. She licked her lips again.
"Ch – Cha…"
Her words came out in a whisper, but Chandler's neck immediately snapped toward her face. He nodded, questioning. He already knew what she was going to ask. She was struggling.
"My legs."
He looked down at his feet shamefully.
"Oh God."
Chandler said nothing. There was nothing more to be said. Her eyes were vacant and he was afraid. Nothing could ever be the same again.
A/N: A million apologies for my prolonged absence in the world Friends fanfiction. I blame thee, loss of muse! Anyway, muse has returned and I have embraced it with open arms. Right, I could give a million reasons for my extended hiatus (it was originally only supposed to last for the 6 weeks I was away this summer, oops!) like school work, college applications, and, above all else, one certain sexy, comma-loving Werewolf, but I don't want to bore you all to death with details. Short version: I'm back… at least for now. I'll try my hardest, anyway. 'Nuff said. Reviews would be nice, but I'm well aware of the dwindling Mondler fanfiction-base. :( I'm sorry to say I've contributed to this, as well. MONDLER, I LOVE YOU! I should watch another Friends episode soon. Thanks to Mrs. Beta (aka Yen) for her beta'ing skills. Any non-apostrophe-related mistakes are to be blamed on her. Just kidding! Again, I'm terribly sorry for the lack of updates and I hope someone's still interested in reading my fics. If not, I'll probably post anyway, just 'cos I'm cool like that. ;) Thanks for reading!