After breakfast she looked around at the apartment. Leaves on the floor from Phoebe's stupid plants. Phoebe hadn't been around as much lately, spending loads of time with her grandmother, which left Monica to take care of plants she never wanted in the first place.
The door opened and Phoebe came in. Monica frowned slightly. "Where were you? I could have fixed you breakfast."
Phoebe blushed slightly. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "I was out for a, a walk."
Monica glanced out the window. She had no idea what the weather forecast was supposed to be - she truly felt disconnected from the world at the moment - but it looked cold. "Well, whatever. I'm going to vacuum for a bit, if that's all right."
"Oh, uh, of course." Phoebe went into her bedroom, presumably to change.
Monica first got out the broom to do some pre-vacuuming cleanup. The leaves were swept up in short order and then she began the vacuuming. As always, her eyes constantly roamed the floor, scouting for areas that needed extra attention. She still felt out of whack and that made everything look dirty.
Phoebe came out, smiled at Monica, and sat on one of the chairs. Monica immediately tracked along the path Phoebe had just taken, searching for newly-tracked dust or dirt. As she followed the trail through the still-swaying beads and into Phoebe's room, Monica froze.
She turned off the vacuum. "Pheebs?"
Phoebe looked over, her eyes going slightly wide.
A kind of numbness was settling over Monica's brain. "Where's your bed?"
The blush reappeared on Phoebe's face. "It's not in the apartment?"
The attempt to dissemble was so obvious that Monica merely had to glare before Phoebe backed down. Phoebe sighed and looked down at her hands. "I can't believe this is happening again."
Happening again? Monica had no idea what that meant. "What?"
"I... I've..." Phoebe drew in a breath and turned her head up towards Monica. "I don't live here anymore."
Monica blinked. "What," she said as calmly as she could, "are you talking about?"
"I'm sorry." Phoebe looked terribly sad and afraid. "I, I, I don't live here anymore, and I, I didn't know how to tell you."
"So you've been... what? Taking things out of the apartment and hoping I wouldn't notice? My God." Monica blanched. "The stereo you took to your grandmother's on Thanksgiving. That's when you started?"
Phoebe seemed beyond the capacity for speech and simply nodded.
Monica felt weak and sank onto the couch. "Why?"
Phoebe swallowed and suddenly words started flowing. "Okay, okay, it's, now, Monica, just listen, I, do you know, okay, do you know, I couldn't sleep for a month because I got an ink dot on one of the sofa cushsions."
Monica repressed an urge to leap to her feet. Suddenly her throat constricted. "You, you could have just turned the cushion over."
"Well, yeah, except there was a big spaghetti stain on the other side."
"What!" Monica yelled before she could stop herself.
"See!" Phoebe sounded slightly triumphant, as if having proved a point. "This is what I'm talking about! I need to live in a land where people can spill."
Monica felt tired, all the energy being drained out of her second by second. This couldn't be really happening, could it? This wasn't really Phoebe saying those things, was it?
"Aw honey." Phoebe rose from the chair and came over to sit next to Monica. She hugged her fiercely. "It's not your fault. This, this is who you are. I love that. I love you. I want us to be friends, but if I keep living here, I don't see that happening."
Oh God. It was Phoebe. She was leaving. And there was a fundamental kernel of truth to what Phoebe was saying that Monica couldn't deny. The last few months had seen Monica's relationship with Phoebe become more and more strained. Phoebe was careless about many things, not just sofa cushions, and that just didn't fit well with the orderly way Monica wanted to live.
And yet, no matter how true it was, it still hurt to hear, to acknowledge. Monica clung to Phoebe and said, "I love you too."
They held each other a while, then separated. Monica couldn't meet Phoebe's mournful gaze and looked down at the couch.
Phoebe suddenly giggled.
Monica looked up, surprised. "What?"
Phoebe grinned. "You're wondering which cushion it is?"
A smile somehow found its way to Monica's face. "Maybe I am."
"I'll, I'll go get it cleaned, I found a place that does that." Phoebe stood up and picked up one of the cushions. Monica was slightly amused to notice that Phoebe carefully kept only one side visible. "I, I, since today's Saturday, I think I'll move the rest of my stuff out."
Monica grimaced. "Where are you staying? You're not... not..."
"Living on the street? Oh no. Never again, I hope. I'm living with my grandmother now."
Across town. Monica felt her gut twist. "Want, want me to pack anything for you?"
"Oh no, no, I've got most of the big stuff out, just the dresser and some of my clothes, I can just stuff those in a bag." Phoebe was backing towards the door. "Anyway, anyway I'll go drop this off and then go get my grandmother's cab and the rest of my stuff and, and you have my last month's rent, and, and I'll help you post flyers or anything you need, I, I hope, I hope you're all right, if you ever need any help you let me know and, and okay I'll see you later." She grabbed her coat and quickly left the apartment.
Monica just stared at the door after Phoebe closed it. Phoebe. Gone. Leaving. Leaving her.
For an hour or so she just sat there, not moving, looking at the space her roommate - her ex-roommate - had recently occupied. Her mind went around in circles, unable to focus, to think of anything.
Out. She needed out.
Monica got up, walked into her bedroom, changed into her winter jogging clothes. And then she was out, out of the apartment, onto the streets, into the park. Normally she started hard, then eased up for a while before finishing strong. This time she kept up the pace.
"Oh! Oh I'm sorry, oh!"
The first words she'd heard Phoebe say. Phoebe standing in what would turn out to be her bedroom and twirling. Phoebe flashing the first of many wide smiles, saying that she'd love to move in.
Monica deftly wove through the joggers, outpacing most of them. Her breath was already ragged and she welcomed it.
In high school, she'd joined the field hockey team because she enjoyed playing sports. Most of the other girls at the tryouts had boggled at her standing there in her gym clothes, and some had even laughed. Still, the coach put her in as goalkeeper to see how she'd do, and she'd blocked shot after shot. While she couldn't run around very well, she moved well enough and was quick enough to perform adequately.
Monica had at first been quite proud of her accomplishment. But at the first official game, when the few students who watched had also pointed at her as they laughed with their friends, she suddenly felt small and frightened. And then, it got back to her through Ross that they had a nickname for her: Big Fat Goalie. At first it had been whispered, then spoken openly by people watching the games, and soon even her teammates where calling her that, not much caring whether her feelings were hurt or not.
Monica had collapsed inwards, shutting out the rest of the team, determined to do well despite the ridicule. And she had; while she wasn't the best goalkeeper in the league she was all right. What she'd hoped to be a new opportunity to meet people and make friends had instead further isolated her from everyone in high school.
She'd only had one true and good friend during high school. And yet that person, too, had drifted away, feeling that Monica had become a liability, baggage to be dumped on the way to becoming a socialite.
In the end, all she'd had was family. Nana had taken her in, given her a place to stay in the city. Ross, despite being newly married, had maintained contact with her. Other than that, though, there'd been few people she'd truly felt close to.
And then Phoebe had moved in. Smiling, perky, formerly-homeless teenage runaway Phoebe. Phoebe who seemed to have no preconceptions about anything whatsoever. Phoebe who'd determinedly massaged Monica's feet after the breakup with Kip. Phoebe who played the guitar for her friends still on the street, Phoebe who found cuteness in an older man walking around naked in his apartment, Phoebe who would talk about the horror of her homeless existence in a breezy, amused fashion, Phoebe who had fiercely defended her against Kip.
And yet, even as Monica was allowing Phoebe deeper and deeper into her life, Phoebe had been pulling further and further away. Furtively smuggling things out of her apartment, distancing herself, breaking away. As had everyone else who had ever known Monica.
An empty bench approached and Monica practically fell on top of it, gasping huge chunks of air. Her whole body was shaking and she was on the verge of throwing up. Monica forced herself to sit up and put her hands on top of her head. And still she couldn't breathe right, still her heart raced and raced.
"I don't live here anymore."
Monica winced. Kip had used her, Bobby wanted to party more than he wanted to be with her, Jason had cared more about a shirt than he'd cared about their relationship, and now even Phoebe despised her.
Her whole body ached, her legs burned fiercely. She remembered asking Dr. Burke about that after her first serious workout, even though he was just an ophthalmologist. He'd gone on to explain about the difference between aerobic and anaerobic exercise, how lactic acid was produced, and how it got flushed out. The lactic acid was actually burning away her muscles, which accounted for the fiery sensation, but he'd assured her that it simply meant the muscles would be rebuilt and would end up being stronger than before.
Monica had liked the sound of that back then. She liked the sound of it now. She got up and walked back towards the apartment, almost consciously feeling her body washing away the hurt.
She turned the corner just in time to see Phoebe carrying two large plastic garbage bags, which appeared to be full of her clothes. She dumped them into the back seat of a cab, then got into the passenger side of the front seat. The cab drove away, Phoebe not seeing that Monica was a hundred yards away. Probably just as well.
Monica slowly walked up the stairs to the second floor. Steeling herself, she entered the apartment. She was almost surprised to see that Phoebe had removed the beads and replaced the door to her bedroom. The plants were gone and naked sunshine now lit the room through the windows. The room felt larger. Almost cavernous.
Monica trudged into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes, which were positively soaked with sweat. She turned on the shower and stood under it, letting the water flow over her. Monica picked up the soap and washcloth and began fiercely scrubbing herself.
Suddenly she doubled over. She crouched in the tub, unable to breathe. Hot water was spilling down her face and she wasn't entirely certain it was all coming from the shower. Monica closed her eyes, drew in a deep shuddering breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob, and mentally berated herself for being so weak and stupid.
Through sheer force of will she straightened and resumed cleaning herself. She washed her face over and over again until the salt water was gone.
Monica stepped out of the shower, dried herself off, wrapped herself in a towel. Suddenly all she felt was tired. Listlessly she left the bathroom and wandered towards her bedroom.
The door opened behind her and a voice called out, "Hey, got any beers? We're out of beer."
Monica turned. Stand there, looking exceptionally casual, was Chandler. And with an overwhelming force that almost frightened her, she was suddenly very glad to see him. Here, here was one person, one man, that despite everything that had happened between them, both good and bad, had stuck with her, still hung out with her, still enjoyed being with her.
She gestured towards the refrigerator. "Help yourself."
He didn't move from where he stood in the kitchen. "You okay?"
Monica swallowed. "Phoebe moved out."
Chandler nodded, unsurprised, and Monica found herself wondering if his bursting into the apartment right after she stepped out of the shower had been a coincidence at all.
The words came out before she could stop them. "I don't understand. Am I so hard to live with? Is that why I don't have a boyfriend?"
"No!" Chandler sounded honestly surprised by the question. "You don't have a boyfriend because..." He trailed off, then grimaced. "I don't know why you don't have a boyfriend. You should have a boyfriend."
Her eyes began to burn. "Well, I think so."
Sudden determination settled over Chandler's features. "Come here." He stepped up and hugged her, and Monica found herself returning the hug, clinging to him.
"Listen." Chandler spoke almost directly into Monica's ear. "You are one of my favorite people and the most beautiful person I know in real life."
Monica made a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan and tightened her hold on him, her head turned to one side and her cheek buried in his shoulder. Chandler had this uncanny knack for saying either exactly the wrong thing or exactly the right thing. This time he'd said just the words she'd needed to hear and she was intensely grateful for that.
They held each other, seconds stretching on to minutes, and Monica found herself growing more and more relaxed. Chandler seemed to know that for once he should keep his mouth shut. He knew her, understood her, and - even more amazingly - liked her. So few people seemed to.
And then the thought occurred to her. Maybe she could have a boyfriend after all. Maybe a boyfriend was hugging her at this very moment. Only now did Monica realize how un-self-conscious she was being around him dressed only in a towel. She wondered how she'd react if he bent down to kiss her.
But he never would. That was one of the things Monica didn't actually care for too much about Chandler. He was incredibly wimpy. And yet he hadn't been hesitant at all to openly mock her the first time they'd met all those Thanksgivings ago. The "fat sister" comment still stuck with her, still made her wonder how much cruelty he kept hidden behind his façade of jokes.
But still... she'd changed so much since then, and not just physically. Perhaps Chandler had changed as well. Perhaps it was time to move past all that, just as Chandler had suggested while they were eating cookies together way back when he'd first moved across the hall.
But... but... but...
Endless arguments and counter-arguments flooded Monica's brain while she stood there holding Chandler. In the end, she remembered Joey explaining to Chandler why he wasn't going after Phoebe: he feared ruining his friendship with her. Right here, right now, Monica needed Chandler's friendship more than she needed his love. Perhaps that would change, perhaps in time she'd feel more secure and trust the people around her. For now, she just couldn't risk losing the one man besides her brother she had come to depend on.
Chandler stirred slightly. "This feels nice."
"Yes, it does." Monica found a smile growing on her lips, because she was absolutely certain what was coming next.
His hand began to rub her towel. "Is this one hundred percent cotton?"
Monica silently laughed. Chandler deflecting emotional moments with a joke was utterly predictable. And, somehow, endearing. She released the hug but still stood close to him. "Yeah. I got it on sale."
"Well, I should let you get dressed."
Monica was pleased that Chandler kept his eyes strictly on her face. "If you want, later we can go get a drink."
"Sounds great." Chandler hesitated, floundering for words. "Listen, it's, it's going to be..."
Monica spared him the effort. "I know." She smiled. "Thanks."
Chandler nodded. For a fleeting second, Monica thought he really was going to lean down and kiss her. Or maybe she thought she was going to reach up and kiss him.
But the second passed, and Monica turned away as Chandler left the apartment. She felt at once relieved and disappointed that nothing more had happened.
Monica pushed aside the insistent thought of how pleasant his chest had felt pressed against hers and put on some clothes, ready once again to face the world, basking in the knowledge that the city contained people like Chandler.
(to be continued)
Author's Notes: This is the last of the restaging of the events of "TOW the Flashback". We still have about a year to cover in Monica's pre-Friends existence. You can probably guess what that will mostly consist of.