CUSTODY

Chandler sat stiffly in the cold bare claustrophobic room. He shivered. Emma's blood was evaporating off his shirt, making him chilly. His handcuffs chaffed his wrists. He reeked of blood, sweat and vomit. Constable Vaughn sat before him, nose wrinkled against the stench, pen poised over a notepad.

"Do you want an attorney present during this interview? You're legally entitled to one." Chandler shook his head, indifferent towards his fate. Emma was dying, or possibly dead, so who gave a shit what happened to him? He certainly didn't. He could rot in prison for the rest of his life, for all he cared. He was beyond caring.

"Fine, tell me what happened today." Chandler took a deep breath, recounting the events to the best of his ability. Scribbling away at his notepad, Vaughn maintained a poker face, giving nothing away.

"Alright, Mr Bing, that'll do for today. Legally, we're entitled to hold you in custody for 48 hours, before we're obliged to release you. We will keep you in custody for 24 hours, while we collect evidence from your person and your house. Don't be alarmed, this is just protocol to prevent suspects from tampering with evidence. Those with nothing to hide, have nothing to fear. Your wife is outside this room waiting for you. A police officer will escort her into this room to see you. She's brought a set of clean clothing for you." Vaughn handed Chandler a set of toiletries.

"You'll have 20 minutes to speak to your wife; then a guard will escort you to the shower block. We'll collect your soiled clothes for evidentiary purposes. Then you will be taken to your holding cell."

Chandler closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the cool metal table, grateful to be seeing Monica. Monica. Brave, wise, sensible, strong Monica. His lighthouse in the storm. She would know what to do; she would hold the fort; she would stop his world from crumbling. Vaughn thought Bing's story sounded plausible. All there was to do now was to collect the evidence, and see if it corroborated his story. And God willing, if the child survived, her testimony would be conclusive evidence of Bing's guilt or innocence. With cool distant eyes, Vaughn appraised the crumpled man before him, searching for behavioural signs of murderous intent. Officer Lam ushered Monica into the room. She gasped as a wave of stench assaulted her. Chandler looked as awful as he smelt. Shoulders hunched, skin pale, eyes swollen from crying.

"Perhaps we'll leave the door open to air out the room," Constable Vaughn muttered, stepping out of the room. Monica sat down, placing a set of clean clothes on the table. She took Chandler's hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. Feeling ashamed, Chandler stared at his feet, avoiding eye contact. Monica placed her hand beneath his chin, tilting his head upwards till it was level with hers. She spoke in a kind, but firm voice.

"Look at me, Chandler. Look. At. Me." Monica said emphatically. Chandler reluctantly met her gaze.

"Is she alive?" he whispered.

"I don't know… I-I kept trying to call Ross and Rachel, but they wouldn't pick up…"

Chandler buried his face in his handcuffed hands, murmuring "She's dead isn't she? I probably killed her. I killed Emma. I'm a killer, a murderer." Monica pulled Chandler's hands away from his face, grasping him firmly by the shoulders. She stared at him squarely in the eyes, her voice laced with ferocity.

"No, don't say that, you don't know that she's—. Look, I know you feel guilty, but it was an accident. You left a dishwasher open, it was an honest mistake. It could've happened to anyone. If I had a penny for every time my staff left a knife pointing upwards. Chan, I know your habits; you take quick showers, five minutes tops. That's how long you averted your eyes from her. Five minutes, that's nothing. The house was child-proofed down to a T, so don't kill yourself with blame. And don't you ever refer to yourself as a murderer again. Now is not the time to throw words like 'murderer' around casually. When you do that, you're incriminating yourself for a crime you didn't commit. The police are insinuating attempted murder. There are whispers in the wind that you stabbed her in a moment of stress or frustration. The minute I walk out of here, I'm getting us the best lawyer money can buy. But you have got to meet me halfway. Don't say anything that gives people reason to doubt your innocence, and-"

Chandler stared at Monica in bewilderment, "Mon, stop."

Monica opened her mouth to speak, "DAMMIT, MONICA, STOP IT!" Chandler yelled angrily. Monica stared at him shell-shocked. Pressing his fingers over his closed eyes, he continued in a softer voice.

"My God, Monica, do you realise you haven't mentioned Emma's name, not once? All I'm hearing is this cold and clinical talk about liability, lawyers, police. This isn't you. It scares, me, it's like you couldn't care less about her." Monica's eyes brimmed with tears, her voice cracking with hurt.

"You don't think I care, Chandler? She's my niece, my brother's child; I love her to pieces, and I am scared to death!"

"I know, I know you are, I'm sorry Mon, you should go. Em needs you," Chandler whispered.

Monica shook her head, "Do you know how many people are caring for Emma right now? Loving her, fighting for her? Her parents, my parents, Rachel's parents and sisters, Susan, Carol, Ben, Phoebe, Joey, a team of doctors, the police force, the State Prosecutor! I'm sure Dr Greene is at the hospital right now whipping his colleagues into action, you know what he's like; he's going to make sure his granddaughter gets the best medical care humanly possible. And do you know who's looking out for you?" Chandler watched Monica mutely.

"No one. Except for me. Chandler, I love you, and I'm gonna be here fighting for you, whether you like it or not. So you can accuse me of being a lousy aunt, but I sure as hell am not going to be a lousy wife." Chandler saw the fierce, resolute fire in Monica's eyes, and knew right immediately, there would be no negotiating with her.