JUDGEMENT DAY
Sitting in the docks in a fluorescent orange jumpsuit, handcuffed to the table, Chandler felt dizzy and lightheaded. This was it. The be all and end all. Whatever the outcome, it would be set in stone for the rest of Chandler's life. The Courtroom took a collective breath of anticipation, as the jury announced the verdict.
"On the First Count of Attempted Murder, we find the Defendant, Chandler Muriel Bing, Not Guilty. On the Second Count of Aggravated Assault, we find the Defendant, Chandler Muriel Bing, Not Guilty."
Justice Courtenay nodded respectfully at Chandler, "Congratulations, Chandler Muriel Bing, you're free to go. I wish you all the best for the future. Court adjourned."
And just like that, Chandler was a free man.
In a large empty Courtroom, Phoebe and Joey sat silently, side by side.
Joey turned to Phoebe, "I'm moving to L.A," he blurted out.
Phoebe watched Joey sadly. Frankly, she wasn't surprised. She too, felt a desperate urge to abscond Manhattan, what with with all the emotional turmoil she and the rest of the gang had experienced in this city, over the last 12 months. Phoebe slipped her hand into Joey's, squeezing tightly.
"You're not gonna fight me on this?" Joey asked, hurt and confused.
"12 months ago I would have, but I ever since we almost lost Emma to liver failure, and Chandler to suicide, I just think life's too short. You've been talking about L.A forever, Joey, now's the time to make it happen," Phoebe encouraged.
"You really think so?" Joey asked anxiously.
"You bet. You're gonna make it as a movie star someday, and when you do, you're gonna buy a hand-shaped house in Hollywood, and I'm gonna move into the thumb. Just like you promised," Phoebe teased gently.
"Do you think Chan's gonna be okay without me?" he asked guiltily.
Phoebe kissed Joey's cheek, "He's gonna be okay... No, scratch that, he's gonna be awesome. I can feel it in my bones."
Suddenly without warning, Joey dropped his face into his hands, breaking down into tears. His childlike sobs echoed against the bare mahogany walls. Phoebe drew the muscular burly man into her arms, stroking his hair tenderly.
A cleaner walked into the deserted Courtroom, dragging a bucket and mop behind him, "Ummm… Is your friend okay? He's real emotional, huh?" the cleaner asked awkwardly.
Phoebe smiled wanly, "He's Italian."
Mike lined the tequila shots in a tidy row. "Who would've thought we'd ever be sitting at a pub, having a drink together. To think that just months ago we were practically enemies," Mike mused.
"We share a common bond, we both love the same woman," David said pensively.
Shaking the heart-wrenching longing out of his head, David lifted a shot of tequila into the air, "To Chandler and Monica."
"I'll drink to that," Mike said, knocking back the shot.
David stood up suddenly. "Where are you going?" Mike asked, perplexed.
From across the bar, a woman with frizzy brown hair and a skin-tight leopard jumpsuit smiled flirtatiously at David. Recognising the woman, Mike almost choked on his drink. Three words. Oh. My. God.
"As much as I love her, I think it's time to move on, for her sake and mine. Good luck to you, Mike," David said sincerely, walking away towards the new woman of his life. Unbeknownst to him, years from now, she would become the future Mrs Shaw. Well, Mrs Litman Goralnik née Hosenstein Shaw, to be precise.
Ross got down on his knees, pulling his small daughter into a tight hug. He held her by the shoulders, looking into her anxious watery eyes, "Hey, no need to cry honey, you're gonna be okay. Mum and I love you," he reassured softly.
Planting a kiss on the little girl's head, he turned to his mother, "Mum, could you take her home? I desperately need to talk to my best friend."
"Absolutely," Judy nodded, lifting the exhausted little girl into her arms.
"I'll need to book an appointment with a child psychologist, it could be that Em has PTSD. All I know is, she can't go on believing Chandler's a monster," Ross sighed forlornly.
The verdict confused Emma, as did her parents. At five, she could not wrap her head around the complexities of adults. She thought evil Uncle Chan was going to be put away forever, but instead the Judge had wished him well, and sent him on his way. Why had Aunty Carol testified in Uncle Chan's favour? And why oh why, did her father refer to Uncle Chan as his "best friend"? What had changed in the last few days? Was it something she did? Was it something she said?
"Daddy, did I do something wrong?" she asked in a small voice.
Ross took his daughters face between his hands, resting his forehead against hers, "No sweetheart, I'm the one who did wrong. I didn't believe in my best friend, I let him down," he whispered.
"Daddy, why did they let Uncle Chan go?" Emma asked shakily.
Ross tucked a lock of blonde hair behind Emma's ear, "I know you're scared sweetheart, but in time you'll understand. That's a promise," Ross said gently, offering Emma his pinky finger.
When Phoebe got home, she wandered around her apartment in a daze. Her flat had been completely stripped bare of all of Mike's belongings. Everything that defined her husband had disappeared. His electronic keyboard, his sheet music, his piano books, his music CDs, his criminal procedure legislation, his suits, his ties, his briefcase, all of it was gone. Phoebe's heart felt as empty as her apartment. Shell-shocked and devastated, she collapsed onto the couch, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Oh God, he's left me," she whispered.
Her biggest nightmare had come true. He hadn't forgiven her for her indiscretions. She didn't blame him. After all, she had almost killed two people, lied to him, and forced him to commit the crime of perjury in a Court of Law to protect her. As she ached over the loss of the love of her life, she spotted an envelop sitting on the coffee table. Her face blanched and her breathing quickened. What was this? A breakup letter? Or worse, divorce papers? Phoebe opened the envelope with trembling hands. A note and set of keys fell out of the envelope. Taking a shuddering breath, Phoebe unfolded the note.
"These are the keys to our new caravan home; I've already moved my things in. Sell your apartment, because we're going to travel the world, jamming together; you on the guitar, me on the piano. We'll start with 'Smelly Cat' and work our way through to 'Little Black Curly Hair'. Let's escape Manhattan and grow old on the road together. Just two musicians trying to make it. What do you say? – Mike"
Stunned beyond words, Phoebe ran to the window. On the street below, she saw the love of her life standing beside a caravan, smiling up at her.
"Get down here, Mrs Hannigan, we have a life to begin," he called out to her.
Chandler leaned against the prison gate, his back facing the boisterous crowd of reporters and curious strangers.
"Aren't you gonna get out of here?" the prison guard asked, perplexed.
"Got a cigarette?" Chandler asked quietly.
The prison guard pointed at the prison gate, "You realise you're just one step away from freedom, don't you?"
Chandler sighed, "I know, but I just need a moment."
The guard nodded, lighting Chandler up. With closed eyes Chandler turned his face to the sky, taking a long deep drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke trail luxuriously out of his mouth. From the thick of the crowd, two long lost friends pushed their way to the front of the prison. Chandler appraised them silently, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Chandler, we're so sorry about everything," Rachel whispered guiltily.
Although there was nothing but an iron gate separating Chandler from Ross and Rachel, emotionally, it felt as though they were now oceans apart. He hadn't spoken to them in over a year, and they had almost imprisoned him for life. The uncomfortable distance between them was excruciating.
"Chandler, talk to us, we're your best friends," Ross pleaded gently.
"Are we? Somehow that all feels so long ago now," Chandler replied softly, taking another deep inhalation of his cigarette. Somehow, the words best friends sounded stiff and unnatural coming out of Ross's mouth.
"We didn't have the benefit of hindsight," Rachel explained earnestly.
Chandler nodded, "I know, but that doesn't mean I can flick our friendship off and on like a light-switch," he said flatly.
"Where do we go from here?" Ross asked gently.
"I wish I knew," Chandler said sadly, dropping his cigarette butt to the floor, and putting it out with his heel.
Chandler nodded at the prison guard, "I'm ready."
The guard opened the gate, and Chandler stepped out onto the pavement. Taking his first steps as a free man, he brushed past Ross and Rachel, without another word. Time stood still as Chandler walked quietly away from his former best friends. A swarm of reporters swallowed him whole, shoving a multitude of microphones in his face.
"How does it feel to be a free man?"
"Why do you think Emma got so confused?"
"How did you cope in the face of all those false accusations?"
"Did your family stay by your side throughout this ordeal?"
"Were there times during the trial that you lost hope?"
"Is it true that you were suicidal at one point?"
"How did you get Hannigan, NYC's greatest Defence Lawyer to defend you?"
Chandler ignored the bombardment of questions raining down upon him… All, except for the last one.
"Will you ever be friends with Ross and Rachel Geller again?"
Chandler looked straight into the camera, "Yes, in time I will."
In his minds eye, Chandler could see that the gang of six would one day reunite. But it wouldn't happen overnight, it would take time. Lots of time. Years, in fact. But he was willing to put in the hard yards, and he was sure Ross and Rachel were too. One day he would be friends with them again, just... not today.
Caught in the mass of people, Chandler scanned the crowd for the one person he yearned to see most. Against all odds, he spotted her. Small, pale, thin, fragile, standing at the back of the crowd, waiting for him. She locked eyes with him, and in an instant, it was as though the rest of the world fell away. Gone was the chaos, the crowd, the reporters, the noise, the cameras, the commotion. At that very moment, there was only husband and wife, facing each other on an empty street.
Chandler stepped towards Monica. "The kids are with mum and dad. I wanted some time alone with-"
Chandler placed a single finger over Monica's lips, silencing her. She stared up at him with watery blue eyes. He gently wiped a stray tear from her face. Drawing her into his arms, he combed his fingers through her long raven hair. Her tense rigid frame slowly relaxed, as she melted into him. Closing her eyes, she buried her face in the nape of his neck. It had been so long since she had felt his touch. Three hundred and sixty-five days, to be exact. Chandler slipped his hand under Monica's chin, gently tilting her face upwards. The boisterous crowd of news reporters leaned forwards, their cameras poised in anticipation.
Finally, Chandler pressed his lips gently against Monica's. In an instant, a flurry of camera flashlights simultaneously went off, immortalising Chandler and Monica's private moment forever.
THE END