And I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues Chapter 1: Cry In the Night, If It Helps, a friends fanfic

Chapter 1: Cry in the Night, If It Helps

Unless she was working a shift at Javu at this time of night, Monica had developed an unfortunate habit on most weeknights: delaying going to bed as late as possible.

It was hard, to be a married woman and sleep in an empty bed for however many nights of the week. When her husband Chandler had almost inadvertently landed himself with a posting in Tulsa, Monica had braced herself by knowing the separation, the long distance, would be hard.

She just had not been able to appreciate how hard until that separation happened.

Monica and Chandler had always prided themselves on being a solid couple – certainly more solid than most couples their age, whether they be married or exclusively dating. Where many couples fought to an extent that might risk the relationship entirely (Ross and Rachel), Monica and Chandler talked things through after a disagreement. Where separation, either real or implied or ambiguous (again, Ross and Rachel), might invite temptation, Monica and Chandler trusted each other to remain faithful. The most this had ever been tested was the night of their engagement, when Richard had appeared almost out of the blue; in the years since then, Monica had acknowledged that some of her actions that night had been a mistake, at best unwise, causing unnecessary insecurity and panic in the man she loved. Even as her husband was now working more than a thousand miles away, with female colleagues, Monica had no reason to think that Chandler would stray. Not her Chandler. The commitment-shy man he had once been was gone, cured of his nomadic tendencies with woman by her, the woman to whom he had pledged his life and his love.

Being safe in the knowledge of their devotion to each other, however, was sometimes not enough to make the separation seem any more bearable. Monica had to wonder how she and Chandler would have handled a long-distance relationship if they were still only dating and were not married. It disconcerted her to wonder if this sort of thing might have been the stressor that could have truly threatened their ability to stay together.

She poured herself a glass of wine, and flicked on the radio – an antique piece that Joey and Chandler had stumbled upon during, of all things, a bit of dumpster diving. It was a wireless, one Monica knew her late grandmother would have enjoyed, and even more astonishing, was in near-mint condition. Monica now turned the dial to the nearest station with a New York frequency:

"And now, to give you Gen-Xers a bit of 80s nostalgia with a dash of '50s doo-wop, here's an earworm from that fabulous sequined-crooner, Elton John!"

The melodious chords of the piano came wafting over the airwaves and Monica smiled softly, if also sadly. She and her brother had grown up listening to Elton – well, she had; she'd even owned some of his records.

"Don't wish it away; don't look at it like it's forever… Between you and me, I can honestly say that things can only get better…."

Monica sighed, feeling the words hitting closer to home than she would have liked. Rounding the couch and plopping down on the cushions, she felt homesick, even as the ache in her chest didn't come from missing a place, but rather a person. A person who was home, to her, even more than the four walls of this apartment.

"And while I'm away, dust out the demons inside, and it won't be long before you and me run to the place in our hearts where we hide…."

"…. And I guess that's why they call it the blues – time on my hands could be time spent with you! Laughing like children…. living like lovers…. Rolling like thunder…. Under the covers….. And I guess that's why they call it the blues!"

Monica focused less on the assurances within the lyrics and more on how true indeed she identified with Elton's described 'blues' in that moment. Her blue eyes shifted with longing over to the mobile phone sitting in its cradle. Her husband hadn't yet called this evening, as he did every night. This in itself wasn't unusual – there were nights when Chandler worked almost as late as she did while pulling shifts at the restaurant. Still, the fact that she hadn't heard his voice today, plus Sir Elton hitting her right in the feels, was damn near too much to bear. Almost as if to put physical distance between herself and the phone, and the music, Monica moved into their bedroom, however reluctantly, and began her pre-bedtime routine. It was almost a form of self-punishment that she nevertheless left the bedroom door open, allowing the crooning ballad to follow in her wake, as she sifted through the closest.

Most of Chandler's dress shirts – at least the ones not with him in Tulsa where he was living out of a suitcase and put up in a hotel room – stared back at her. Of these, she selected one to wear to bed every night. To feel and smell his scent, which lingered in the fabric.

"Just stare into space. Picture my face in your hands….. Live for second, without hesitation, and never forget I'm your man!..."

Oh, she didn't. She couldn't. How could she forget that handsome, attentive lover of hers, with his boyish, bashful smile and awkward yet endearing turns of phrase? Selecting a sky-blue shirt, Monica pulled it over her head, bringing the fabric to her nose to inhale her Chandler's sweet and musky scent – so uniquely him, it felt just for a moment as though he was in the room with her.

"Wait on me, girl – cry in the night if it helps! But more than ever, I simply love you – more than I love….. life itself….."

Without warning, and quite unexpectedly, the dam broke and Monica buried her face in her palms and wept. Sniffling, she pulled back the down comforter and clambered into her half-empty bed, scooting to Chandler's side so she could clutch at his pillow.

It was cold – far too cold. He was only gone for, at most, four days out of the week, and yet the lack of heat from his side of the bed made it seem as though he had been gone years.

Monica cried herself to sleep, not even having the energy to climb out of bed, however briefly, and turn the damn radio off.