Chapter 1: It All Comes Crashing Down

There had never been a sight so beautiful and yet so grotesquely terrifying all at once.

In the pains of labor, Monica Bing's face was scrunched up with pain, tears streaming down her face as she cried out in agony.

Seated at her side, holding her hand, her husband felt like he was being shanked in the stomach with every cry. Behind him, his brother-in-law, Ross and their friends all shared worried looks with each other.

"It's…. never supposed to be this difficult, is it?" Joey whimpered, sounding truly frightened, and he looked to the girls for help.

Phoebe shrugged. "Every pregnancy is different. I had multiples and I was only the surrogate."

Rachel eyed Phoebe with a pointed look. "Just because you haven't raised them doesn't mean they didn't come out of you, Pheebs. I only had to deal with one, with Emma! The first labor is always the hardest. Even then…" she shrugged. "Mon's definitely had the most difficult pregnancy, of the three of us."

That was certainly true. After they had married, Chandler and Monica had tried for more than a year after the birth of their niece to get pregnant. Fertility issues had eventually been identified, with doctors saying the chances of natural conception were low. Monica apparently had an inhospitable environment, while Chandler's sperm weren't the most reliable. Essentially, few sperm would make it to fertilize an egg, and of the few who did, Monica's 'inhospitable environment' was prepared to kill all or as many as possible. Monica's dearest dream of carrying a child to term seemed vanishingly low.

But then… a miracle had occurred. A one-in-a-billion shot so miraculous that Joey and Ross had celebrated by using rather deep Star Wars symbolism to describe it: Chandler's sperm were the ion cannons, and the Death Star vent Monica's…. well, you get the idea.

Except now, the rather extended metaphor had lost the plot – or perhaps was adhering too closely to it: conception had not been the Death Star blowing up. This – Monica writhing in pain on the hospital gurney – was the Death Star blowing up.

In this triage ward where doctors were working on Monica with a feverishness that made Chandler's stomach roil with nervous terror, one of the nurses now stepped forward. "We have to operate quickly if we are to save the babies."

"Babies?" Ross picked up on the plural.

"She's carrying twins…."

Rachel gasped and drew an astonished hand to her mouth. Chandler tried to offset the weight of the moment that he was to be a father to two babies by making his usual, sarcastic joke: "Which one of you is gonna be the one to give us quadruplets?" He glanced to Rachel when she said it; in reply, she tapped her fists together twice – the Geller equivalent of flipping somebody off.

All at once, a plaintive, infantile cry pierced the air, joining the chorus of tear-choked sobs coming from Monica.

"It's a boy," one of the doctors announced through the haze.

Monica's head rolled to the side, her eyes zeroing in on the red, squalling thing. Her face collapsed with emotion and love. "Jack…" she whispered.

"…. And a girl…." Unlike her brother, this baby's eyes were wide open and she was eerily quiet as she was birthed. The infant's gaze fixed on Monica intensely, as if trying to memorize every inch of her mother's face.

"Erica….!"

Chandler bent and kissed his wife on the lips, weeping quietly with pride. "You did it, Mon! We have twins! It's over now; we'll get you better and then we get to go home!"

But something in his wife's gaze unnerved him. Chandler was taken aback when she reared up with inborn strength and kissed him deeply on the lips. Almost as if it was a kiss goodbye. When husband and wife broke apart, she was gazing at him besottedly, her gaze heartbroken. "Chandler…. I need you and our little ones to be happy."

"I am…." Chandler gawked at her, slackjawed.

"Promise me!" Monica clutched at him.

"I…. I promise…." Chandler stuttered, bewildered.

Monica smiled, the expression one of serenity. "You know I love you…." she murmured. What followed was something else spoken, except Monica was suddenly slurring her words; the most Chandler could make out was something about 'peace.'

Then, all at once, Monica had seized and was writhing on the table.

"Mon….?! – MON! MONICA!" Chandler howled, and when he lunged to gather her in his arms, several people held him back. He yelled and thrashed to break free, but it was no use.

"Everybody who is not medically credentialed, out of this room NOW!" The doctor managing the triage theatre hollered. Chandler, the Gellers, and the other friends were thus unceremoniously thrown out of the room.

Joey and Ross shared a worried glance with each other. "What do you suppose is wrong with her?"

"I don't know. But it can't be anything good, can it?"

Minutes passed like hours. Hours passed like days. The whole group sat in those plushy, not at all comfortable waiting room chairs, not talking to anybody. Joey was the only one who remained standing, pacing the floor. When baby Emma grew fussy, Rachel unobtrusively drew her daughter to her breast.

The baby drank her milk.

It had to be the wee hours of the morning by the time someone came out to talk to the group.

"Family of Monica Geller-Bing?" The doctor was surprised when more than half a dozen people rose up. "I'm very sorry to have to inform you…."

Rachel screamed before the woman could finish, legs giving out completely as she sprawled to her knees. "NO!" she wailed, inconsolable, not even by a weepy Ross who tried to cocoon her onto his lap and hold her tight against him from where she was keening. "Nooooooooo…"

Judy Geller was no better, a hand to her mouth as she tried to hold in heaving, wracking sobs, but it was useless. Joey was standing there in a daze. Phoebe was clenching and unclenching her fists in some kind of perseverative spasm, her eyes welling up with tears.

It was nothing compared to Chandler, the man now completely unmoored as he found himself a widower, wrenched away from the love of his life forever. Bending over prone, head near his knees, he groaned in protest. And then he screamed. His howls of grief echoed off the walls of this hospital waiting room, loud enough to wake the dead.