Chapter 7:

I'm Leaving (On a Jet Plane)

Chandler stared at the clock on the nightstand; his eyes were aching for sleep, but try as he might, slumber had evaded him.  For several hours, he had been playing the lethal Alarm Clock Game: If I fall asleep now, I'll get two hours of sleep.  OK, ninety minutes.  OK, forty-five.  The alarm would buzz in less than a half hour, and Chandler had yet to get a single minute of rest.  Dreading the rest of the day, he burrowed down underneath the covers once more, turned onto his side and snuggled against Rachel.  She made a noise of contentment in her sleep, and he cautioned himself not to get any closer.  There's only room for two of us in this bed, he silently scolded his rebellious body.  As rebels are wont to do, his body completely ignored him and did exactly as it pleased.  Grimacing, he willed himself not to move, not to do anything that might stimulate movement from Rachel.  Think about baseball.  Or the Knicks.  Oh!  The Beverly Hillbillies.  Yes…Jed, Jethro.  Yeah, that's the ticket.  Granny.  Ugh, that woman was oooold.  Elly May…oh no, no, no, not Elly May. No Elly May!  Bad!!  Pigtails bad!!  Very, *very* bad!!  Go away!!  Shoo!!  No, ok, no…Beverly Hillbillies, not such a good idea.  Oh, God….

After several tense moments, the situation passed without incident.  Chandler breathed a sigh of relief and eased onto his back, gently, trying not to disturb his slumbering bedmate.  He gazed toward the ceiling, running through his mental packing checklist for what must have been the millionth time since Rachel fell asleep.  He glanced at the hated clock.  Fifteen more minutes.  What's the point?  Groaning inwardly, he slid reluctantly out from under the warmth of the covers and turned the alarm off.  He dressed quickly, then paused momentarily to appraise the sleeping Rachel in the growing morning light.  Her golden hair was splayed across the pillow, one hand tucked underneath her cheek, the other grasping the edge of the floral-patterned bedspread.  Her bare shoulder rose gracefully from under the covers, teasing him with the thought of what might have happened the previous evening, were it not for Ross' unwanted invasion of his conscience.  Chandler's mind rewound briefly to two mornings before, when he'd awoken in a similar situation, completely oblivious to the startling turn of events awaiting them; it seemed so long ago, and yet it had been less than forty-eight hours.  He heaved a tortured sigh and turned away, grudgingly, to look for his shoes.  Finding them, he sat down on the edge of the bed to tie the laces. 

Rachel stirred, and he turned expectantly toward the sound.  She rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself up on her elbows, yawning widely, finishing with a tiny squeak, a nearly non-sound that made Chandler's chest tighten in a way to which he was quickly growing accustomed.  She collapsed back onto the bed, moving onto her side, squinting at him drowsily through the wheat-colored curtain of her hair.  "Mornin', you," she greeted him softly.

Unbidden, his mouth curved into an affectionate smile, and once again he found himself battling the urge to wrap himself around her and nestle down under the covers, never to resurface.  "Mornin'."

She yawned again, covering her mouth self-consciously this time, pulling her shoulders up towards her chin in a futile attempt to stretch some life into her languid limbs.  "Did you sleep okay?"

He chuckled at the irony of her question.  At her befuddled expression, he explained, "Eh, not so much.  I, ah, never really fell asleep at all."

She frowned, deep lines of concern etching themselves slowly across her brow line.  "What?  What did you do all night?"

He attempted unsuccessfully to tame his sleep-rumpled hair, very conscious of how undoubtedly tousled it was.  "Ah…well, I just kind of…hung out.  Spent a lot of time with my, ah, thoughts, if you will."

Her frown deepened as she pushed herself upright, clutching the covers around her chest.  "Chandler, I'm so sorry…why didn't you wake me up?" 

He smiled sheepishly.  "Well, you were so peaceful…just because I couldn't sleep didn't mean that you shouldn't get to."

She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear.  "I feel so bad.  Here I am, all lazy, snoring away, and there you sit, all night, dwelling on God-knows-what…"

She looks so adorable, sitting there all guilty.  Chandler stopped himself just short of reaching out and tweaking her perfect little nose.  "Seriously, Rach, it's okay.  I'll sleep on the plane."

"Speaking of, I guess you'd better get back to your room.  Joey's probably going to be waking up soon."

"Yeah, you're probably right.  If I have to, I'll just tell him I went downstairs for a smoke."

"Ooooooh…he's not gonna like that…"

Chandler's eyes twinkled, despite his fatigue, as he raised one eyebrow and gazed pointedly in the direction of her nearly bare chest, hiding just under the edge of the blanket.  "Well, my guess is he'll accept that more readily than he would if I told him the truth, don't you think?"

Suddenly extremely aware of her less-than-decent state of dress, Rachel flushed, amusing Chandler even more.  "Alright, you."

"Alright, you.  I'm going, so you can get dressed.  Wanna share a cab to the airport?"

"Definitely."

"We'll stop by on the way down."  He leaned over and pressed a kiss against her forehead.  He lingered there, quiet for a moment.  "We're gonna get this whole Ross thing straightened out, alright?  Try not to worry about it…we'll figure something out."  His voice and words portrayed a confidence he wasn't sure he felt, but he needed to let her know that he was planning on doing…something.

His assurances had the desired effect; she smiled wanly, somewhat comforted.  "I'll see you in a little while."

Flashing a quick smile of his own, Chandler turned and strode from the room, closing the door silently behind him.  Rachel slid down into the den of blankets once more and buried her face in Chandler's pillow, inhaling the pleasantly specific Chandler-ness that she was quickly growing to cherish.  Finally, sighing unenthusiastically, she pushed herself upright and headed for the shower.

***

"Final call for Flight 760 to Newark, New Jersey.  All passengers for Flight 760 should be boarding at this time."

Rachel anxiously scanned the terminal for the twentieth time.  "I just don't understand where she could be, guys.  I mean, it's Monica, for cryin' out loud!"

Joey scratched the back of his neck, his eyebrows knitted tightly together with obvious concern.  "Is there any chance she got here before us and boarded already?"

Chandler shook his head resolutely.  "No way.  We got here too early."  He exhaled slowly.  "I think we'd better consider the possibility that we aren't going home yet."

Rachel sank into one of the uncomfortable, molded plastic chairs.  "I don't know what to do.  What do we do?"

Chandler dug in his pockets, searching for change.  "I'm going to call Ross' room, see when she left there.  Then we'll decide what to do next."

Rachel watched his retreating back, her stomach in knots.  Her original irritation at Monica for being late had turned quickly into dismay, and then, with only forty-five minutes left until departure and still no Monica, extreme apprehension.  Now they had a mere fifteen minutes remaining, and she was beginning to feel nauseous.  What if something's happened?

Joey seemed to sense her distress.  He plopped down into the chair beside her and rubbed her back reassuringly, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his façade of calm. "I'm sure everything is fine, Rach.  She's probably just stuck in traffic somewhere."

Rachel nodded absently as she murmured hollow words of agreement, doubting seriously that Monica would have been…un-Monica enough not to account for something as mundane as traffic ahead of time.  She checked her watch again, resisting the illogical urge to leap up onto the chair and scream her friend's name in a panic.  She and Joey waited in nervous silence for several long moments before Chandler returned.  At his bemused expression, she felt her chest lighten considerably. 

"Come on," Chandler began.  "We need to hurry.  I'll explain on the plane."

Perplexed, Rachel hoisted her carry-on bag to her shoulder and followed quickly on his heels, Joey in hot pursuit.  The three of them handed their tickets to the attendant and practically ran through the tunnel, their breathing labored by the time they reached the airplane and found their row.  Monica's apparent absence had vacated a seat, which Rachel fell into, admittedly grateful not to have to make the journey in isolation.  After stowing her bag and buckling herself in hurriedly, she turned to Chandler expectantly.  "Well?"

Chandler grinned.  "She's staying here for now, then going to Greece with Ross."

Rachel started.  "Wait.  Say again?  She's going…with her brother…on his…honeymoon?"

Chandler chuckled.  "Well, not exactly his honeymoon, seeing as he didn't actually get married…."  At Rachel's less-than-amused expression, he continued, "Apparently, Ross was able to exchange his suite for a double, much to the amusement of the hotel staff."

Joey seemed as bewildered as Rachel.  "But – why didn't she call and let us know?"  Despite his confusion, relief was evident in his voice.

Chandler grinned sardonically.  "Well, it seems she did call.  Only we'd already left.  Except she didn't know that; she thought we'd just gone for breakfast.  So she left a message with the front desk."

Rachel gaped.  "But we had to be here at 9:30!  What the hell time did she call?"

"8:45, apparently."

"Why the hell would we be having breakfast when we had to be at the airport in forty-five minutes?"

"Well, it's Monica.  It seems she didn't think that we could manage an organized trip to the airport without her supervision."  His mouth twitched in silent laughter.  "She was pretty surprised to hear that she was wrong."

Rachel flung herself back against the seat indignantly.  "When she gets back to New York, I am going to kick her sorry skeptical ass."

Chandler snickered again.  "I don't think you'll need to.  A week, in a hotel room, alone, with Ross?  After what's happened?  I think she'll be kicking her own sorry ass."

Rachel crossed her legs and, annoyed, roughly flipped open the cover of the Cosmo she'd picked up in the terminal.  "Yeah.  A weeklong, all expenses-paid vacation in Greece.  Poor, poor Mon."

Joey stared, unseeing, toward the front of the plane.  Almost to himself, he said, "Yeah.  Sucks to be her."

The melancholy in his tone was not lost on Rachel.

***

After the relatively mild weather in London, the sultry heat of May in the City was a stifling homecoming.  Rachel dropped her sunglasses down over her eyes as they adjusted to the bright midday sun.  The jet lag was heavier on this side of the Atlantic - her body told her it was dinnertime, but the sun almost directly above her head argued that only half of the daylight had passed.  Silently thankful that she'd had the foresight to take an extra day off of work, she trudged, fatigued, to the curb in search of a cab; Chandler, however, beat her to it.  "Here, give me your bags," he beckoned to her, stepping toward the opening trunk of the taxi.  Joey motioned that he would get his own and promptly disappeared into the matching yellow box behind Chandler.  He waved as his car departed, and Rachel slid into the cool, musty interior of theirs.  Groaning at the soreness in his muscles, Chandler followed suit. 

She muffled a yawn and appraised Chandler, smiling timidly.  He leaned back against the headrest and turned to meet her gaze.

"Hey, you."  Her eyes, betraying her exhaustion, squinted at him through the darkness of her sunglasses.

"Hey, yourself."

"Tired?"

"Hell, yeah.  Exhausted."  He faced forward, drinking in the approaching skyline of Manhattan.  "It's good to be home again."

She nodded in hearty agreement.  "All I can think about is my bed."

The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.  "That's funny, all I can think about is your bed, too…"

Her stomach did a short gymnastics routine, then landed unceremoniously on its face as she remembered their circumstances.  Eyeing the silent cabby, she muttered, "What are we gonna do for the next week, Chandler?"

All trace of amusement vanished from his face; he regarded her seriously, his voice soft, but determined.  "We're just going to have to be careful not to put ourselves in any…compromising positions, that's all there is to it.  If what happened last night happens again, well, I'm not sure I'll be strong enough to…"  He let the sentence hang heavily in the air between them, unfinished, his implied meaning perfectly clear to Rachel.  Although she knew he was right, she couldn't help but feel a secret tingle of excitement at having the whole apartment to herself for the next week.  All that privacy…who knows what could happen? an optimistic voice inside her head insisted. 

Shut up, she replied.  You're not helping.

The annoyingly cheerful voice laughed, evilly.  I'm not trying to help, stupid.

***