AN: I didn't want to publish this without acknowledging the unfortunate early death of Matthew Perry. He was a gifted actor and comedian, and brought a life to this character that will be forever remembered. I only know him though his work, but I'm sure his friends and family will miss him dearly.
Life is precious, brief, and we are only guaranteed the present.
One of my favorite quotes: "Love doesn't die, people do, so when all that's left of me is love, give me away."
A trip to the doctor and a hard, but necessary, conversation, and the beginnings of Chandler's plan Rachel is sad but Chandler is hopeful. Love around the corner!
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Rachel bounced her knees, sitting in the waiting room. Her shoulders slumped, and she cradled her head in her hands. Her legs stopped shaking as she relaxed into a stressful stillness, sinking into the cheap polyester seat with the smell of hospital in her nostrils.
What was she thinking? She, miss irresponsible, was going to have a baby?
It was like being hit with magic. She'd been living her normal life, and suddenly her entire future was different, because there would be someone new in it. Someone she would love, and raise, and feed, and clothe. Probably. If Bloomingdale's had a toddler line.
Freud loomed like a judgmental prick in her mind. Because she didn't know what he looked like, just that he blamed mothers for everything, her mental tormenter looked like Joey in his Freud the musical costume. She groaned.
She was going to be so inadequate.
She wasn't tough like Phoebe, or a perfectionist like Monica. She was fragile. Sheltered. She hadn't known how to do laundry until she was 25 for Christ's sake!
She sighed, staring at the cheap tiles between her designer boots. 'All you want is the dinkle… but you envy the schwang~' echoed ghost Freud-Joey in her mind. One strong gust of cleaning product up her nose cleared that away.
She couldn't do this on her own…and yet… a small piece of her pushed back at the thought. The same small voice that had guided her to a career in fashion. The same one that had spoken to her in Joanna's office when The Person Who Would Remain Nameless had been trapped there, urging her into his arms, his lap.
She blinked at the uneasy realization that even if she failed, she wanted to try.
As if sensing the train of her thoughts, a kind hand on her shoulder brought her back up, out of the panic spiral.
"Don't worry so much. We're going to see tiny Rachel Junior, how cool is that?" Monica asked, and Rachel couldn't help answering with a small smile.
"Pretty cool. But Rachel junior is an awful nickname," she said.
Rachel froze, worried Monica would offer the obvious other 'junior' nickname. His name was like a live wire, she didn't want to hear it.
"Monica is available as well," she said simply, smiling and patting her hand. Rachel's shoulders unknotted with relief.
It was stupid, but she couldn't deny the feeling.
She sank back in her chair, resting one hand over her stomach, and taking Monica's hand with the other. She wasn't alone, no matter what happened between her and any boyfriend.
She didn't let herself think about anyone else. No former romantic partners. She imagined just herself, trying her best not to burn grilled cheese on the stove, a mysterious little creature on her hip. She could do this.
Maybe.
"Ms. Green?"
She sat up, squeezing the life out of Monica's hand until the brunette was gritting her teeth, and subtly trying to yank her hand back.
"Y-yes?"
"The doctor's ready for you."
When Rachel and Monica finally left the office, a galaxy of explosions were going off in her brain. She had one hand on her still-flat belly, and the other held a sonogram photo, while she stood a little bewildered and a little lost on the sidewalk in front of the office.
"Phoebe's going to be pissed if we're too late," Monica said. The pair of them set off down the sidewalk, Rachel floating, detached from herself. Bizarre. How totally bizarre.
"Birds do it, bees do it, almost every living thing and yet somehow… I didn't think I would. At least not unmarried."
Monica snorted, and just like that Rachel was on the sidewalk beside her again, firmly in her own skin.
"What? Have sex?" teased Monica, and Rachel glared at her friend.
"No~ you're confusing me with you," she said breezily, and Monica laughed, another snort surprising it's way out of her. They were both laughing when they entered the sandwich shop and Phoebe looked up from a table.
"Finally!" She waved even though they'd clearly spotted her already, and they sat down at her table. "I'm starved, but first, how did it go?"
Rachel noticed Monica eyeing her while she nonchalantly sipped a water. Phoebe was much more obvious, tilted forward on her elbows, blue eyes sparkling with curious energy.
"It went… weird. But good weird," Rachel finally said.
"I knew it! Good-weird aura is all over you," Phoebe said with a grin, and Monica seemed to exhale in relief beside her.
"Here's the peanut." Rachel passed the sonogram over, and Phoebe studied it, frowning.
"Huh…" she mused. "I do see a strong resemblance to the father."
"Pheebs!" Rachel chided, snatching it back and sliding it into her purse, where it poked out like a little reminder. She knew Pheebs couldn't possibly know, but her cheeks flushed red anyway.
"I just want to know how you, my single friend, got pregnant without us knowing who it is!" Phoebe defended, crossing her arms over her chest and letting her blonde hair swing behind her shoulders.
"Yeah, how could it possibly have happened? We were just discussing the birds and the bees before we got here, and Rachel's waiting till marriage," Monica said, her tone innocent, a twinge sarcasm poking through.
"Not the birds and bees that you're thinking of," Rachel corrected when Phoebe wiggled her eyebrows.
"Come on, who is he?" Phoebe added a "please" but Rachel shook her head firmly.
"I want to tell him first, alright. You can't know before he does. Just don't tell anyone." Rachel ordered eggs Benedict for brunch, over Phoebe's protests, and prayed she'd be able to keep it down when it arrived.
It was after breakfast, when she parted ways with Monica in front of their apartment, that she saw him.
He was inside Central Perk, reading the paper, hair askew, circles under his eyes. He was oddly twitchy, and Rachel had the urge to cross the space between them and run her fingers through his hair. But that wasn't happening.
She squared her shoulders, hand protectively over her bag before a guilty pang twinged through her. That's when she felt it. She didn't turn fully toward the glass, but her eyes traced the path back to their usual spot.
He was staring right at her, paper, down, lips parted in an 'o' of surprise. His eyes seemed to pierce her when she met them, the aching blue setting her pulse racing in spite of herself. She clenched her hand into a fist around her purse strap, letting her nails dig into her palm. He was already standing and stumbling toward her.
Well... She took a deep breath, and quenched the fire in her belly at the sight of him. The wintery air blustered around her, filling her nose and worming its way between the seams of her coat. She pulled the garment tighter and waited.
The door to Central Perk opened with a thoughtlessly cheery jingle. She felt irrationally angry at the noise. Like her favorite coffee shop, her first place of employment, should have had the respect to doll out somber notes for her situation. Even if she'd hated working there, she'd certainly heard wails from Gunther after she'd left.
She was focused on the noise to distract herself from the man in front of her. He was still so beautiful. He pushed open the glass door and sucked in a breath, turning pink at the cool air. He was in his long grey coat, tugging on a dark pair of gloves, blue eyes on her with rapt attention.
She saw the paper abandoned on the floor inside.
"Rachel," he whispered, soft, like a prayer, or like someone calling to a beloved wild animal, not wanting to scare it off. She tightened her grip again, admitting it was a fair point because she wanted to sprint away right now.
The smell of him washed toward her on the next cold breeze, vaguely pine, something spicy, and coffee. His cheeks had immediately flushed with the cold, lips and cheeks pink, the blue of his eyes standing out brilliantly in the panes of the well-defined face she'd memorized, eyelashes like smoke rimmed around them.
For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to turn into that jacketed chest, grip those well-loved lapels, and inhale, feel him warm against her.
Then her stomach flipped and she was reminded about why they weren't together. This was why she had instituted the in-person ban. She was lost when he was in front of her.
She did take a step back, hoping the space would clear some of his scent away and have the added benefit of slowing her heart.
"Chandler, hi," she said stiffly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. His name burned her throat.
"You look-"
"Stop right there," she cut him off, she couldn't hear it. His blue eyes flashed and he bowed his head in acknowledgment.
"Well. Are you doing alright?" Chandler tried again, blue eyes studying her, gloved hand clutching the air like he wanted to touch her arm.
Maybe because she could barely think with all the emotions swirling around her, Rachel laughed. She laughed long and hard. It tasted broken by the end.
She wanted to tell him, but God she couldn't lose him again. The secret hung in the air between them. Hormones swirled in her brain and gut making it hard to think and feel.
"Thank you… but please don't ask about me right now." She would wait. She could NOT take a rejection.
"What do you mean? I still care about you," he said, voice kind and warm.
She closed her eyes, fighting back tears, and shook her head. "Of course we will. I just… I need time before I can have you in my life…platonically."
She trembled, alone, cold, and closed her eyes to fight back tears. She would be alone.
Warm arms enveloped her, and she gasped, pressing her to a familiar chest, surrounding her with his distinctive smell she'd always found mouth watering.
Well, she didn't have to tell him now, but she couldn't stop herself from clinging desperately to him, an anchor in the chaos of her life. Her breathing stopped shaking and he relaxed his grip after a long minute.
She spun on her heel, blocking out whatever else he might have to say. Fighting hope in a futile effort to protect her heart. He'd looked so like himself, beautiful.
All this brokenness inside her, even if he had told everyone, if she'd said yes when he offered desperately that Thanksgiving day, how would he feel now? Her hand clutched tightly at her purse where the photo of the little bomb tucked in soundly.
She forced herself not to care as the winter wind urged her onward, buffeting against her back, the memory of warm arms following after her.
~0~0~0~
Earlier that day…
"You look better in handcuffs," Rachel's voice was warm. He could tell she was smiling. Her arms hugged him from behind.
Chandler turned to look at her, but she was walking away, honeyed hair tucked behind her ears. He saw a glimpse of the soft curve of her cheek when she turned her head.
"Chandler?" she asked, warmth in her voice.
He smiled, opening his mouth to call her, but no sound came out. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. She was getting further and further away.
"Chandler?" now her tone was confused, the her head stilled as her gaze settled on someone. "Ross!"
She took his best-friend's hand in hers, and Ross smiled. The smug bastard was facing him. Chandler still hadn't seen Rachel's face.
Why was he stuck looking at Ross? He'd been aching to see Rachel's face, her sky blue eyes, smokey with long lashes, fixed on him, smiling.
He blinked, and Rachel was walking away again, honey-blonde hair swinging, the tips of her ears the only piece of her face that he could see. Ross was blocking his view while wearing a giant red lobster costume. He reached for Chandler with a claw, and Chandler was helplessly crushed between the pinchers, hoisted into the air.
"Rachel," he tried to say as the air left his lungs, squeezed out by the giant crustacean.
Rachel laughed somewhere ahead of them. She was disappearing. Chandler grabbed a pincher and snapped the end in two. Ross dropped him, and Chandler chased after her.
He woke with a yelp, tangled sheets wet with sweat. Papers lay scattered across the comforter, and he cursed when he saw an open pen had marked the sheets. He'd fallen asleep writing. He carefully folded the various letters, tucking them into envelopes. He winced at older drafts with clumsy handwriting. Those he would toss. He felt…off.
Damn lobsters.
It was 8 am on a Saturday, and there was no way he was going back to sleep, despite the headache. He needed coffee, and they were out. Changing was a bit of a battle, but by the time he left his room he was presentable enough, and all his letters were in order on his beside table.
First, he sat down on the couch beside a sleeping lump, and Joey rolled over at the sudden weight.
"Hey man, you want help getting to bed?"
"Ngh…" Joey grunted.
"Come on."
Chandler lifted his friend, helping him sit him up, and handed him the glass of water and two Advil he'd left out on their coffee table. Joey took them obediently, this a familiar ritual of theirs from many nights out in New York. Joey tried to slump back down, but Chandler swung his shoulder under Joey's and helped him stand.
"Thnks'man," he slurred.
"No problem." He managed to get Joey's bedroom door open while holding him mostly upright.
The two of them had been on a bar-tour of New York while Joey got over his breakup. When he was ready, Chandler would sit down with Joey and have a conversation about relationships. His best friend had made it clear after the last couple that he was ready to date more seriously, and Chandler wanted to help with that if he could.
Without much ceremony, he dumped Joey onto the bed and tossed a comforter over him before leaving.
He had a meeting to get to.
Ross was already waiting at Central Perk when he arrived, which surprised Chandler.
"Hey man, thought we were meeting at 9:30?" asked Chandler as he collapsed into one of their usual chairs. Ross shrugged.
"It seemed important, and I like reading the paper," Ross set the paper he'd been holding across his knees, looking curious. "So what's up?" It made Chandler's stomach lurch.
"Um…" Chandler smoothed his sweater, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "…it's about Rachel."
Ross straightened at that, blinking at him.
"Rachel…?" He looked truly engaged now, and if anything that was more unnerving.
"Yeah."
"What about Rachel?" Ross tried to sound nonchalant, but Chandler knew him too well. Ross's eyes were his signature 'wide.' He cared.
Chandler would now have the wonderfully uncomfortable experience of telling Ross that Rachel, who was one of the most important people in Ross's life, was potentially the great love of Chandler's life. And all while the man stared at him so intensely his eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head and onto the table, despite the "nonchalant" tone and tilt of his lips.
Maybe, under normal circumstances he was a non-confrontational coward, but this was for Rachel. He fixed the image of her in his mind, and took a steadying breath.
"I'm in love with her. Rachel, I mean." He resisted the urge to drop his eyes, even as Ross's gaze morphed and moved with his words, darkening. "It snuck up on me, and I didn't know how to tell you about it…"-
Chandler swore Ross wasn't doing enough blinking, and when he did, it was in short little spasms that were too much and too hard. He waited for some verbal indication that he'd heard him.
"If you're planning to kill me, now would be the perfect time to announce-"
Ross gave him a look, and Chandler cut off his babbling, letting them stew in the silence.
"I see," was finally the response.
"I didn't say anything because our friendship…you mean a lot to me," Chandler said. He licked his lips. He'd decided not to tell Ross about their secret relationship without Rachel's permission first, but he did owe this much to his best friend. "I wanted to keep it to myself because I didn't want the friend group to suffer. But I can't hold it in any more. I don't know what she'll say, but I wanted to let you know I'm going to ask her out. I should have been honest from the beginning, especially with you, even if it hurt. I'm sorry."
Silence.
"You're not together now, though?" Ross asked slowly. Chandler felt the pang of the words pierce his heart.
"Not now, but maybe soon. I'm planning to talk to her. I just wanted you to know."
More silence. Chandler rubbed his sweaty palms down his pants and sat back in the chair. He studied his hands, periodically glancing at his friend. If Ross's gaze could cut, Chandler would have holes in his face.
"Rachel?" he finally barked. Chandler yelped, jumping a bit in his seat. He looked around, before he realized Ross wasn't calling her, he was thrusting her name at Chandler like a question.
"Yeah… I know it's unexpected…"
"Unexpected! Rachel?" Ross stood, looking lost. He circled the floor a couple times, gaze unfocused, steps clumsy. "I gotta get outta here."
He tripped on the way out, looking around red-faced, and Chandler had the decency to pretend he hadn't seen.
Once Ross was gone, Chandler got a coffee and sipped while he read the paper. The words were jumbling in his mind. He tried to tease out the tangled web of emotions from that conversation while he stared blankly at the black and white pages, but he kept coming back to the fact that Ross had to know. It was undoubtedly the right thing to do, especially for his plan to work. There was no getting around it, and the chips had to fall where they may.
He was continually glancing at the door, and it took him a few times to notice he was, a few more times to realize he was waiting for a friend to walk in and distract or help him. Who of his friends would be down at mid-morning on a Saturday?
Rachel.
His breath flew out of his lungs at the sight of her. She was parting ways with Monica, a bag slung over her arm while she walked past the glass. She looked angelic, small soft hands clutching her purse, blue coat blocking her slender frame from the blustering wind that had turned her nose and ears an adorable pink. She paused in front of the glass and their eyes locked. He dropped his paper.
Before he realized it, he was standing in front of her without remembering how he'd gotten there. His breath fogged the air between them while her eyes traveled up and down his body, taking him in. She didn't seem happy, per se, but she didn't run.
"Rachel?" he breathed. A piece of him broke when she closed her eyes and took a step back.
Even distant, she was radiant. She clutched her pea coat closer as blistering wind swirled around them, steeling herself as if it were armor. Against him or the wind, he wasn't sure. Still, the winter set off the flush over her cheeks, pulling at the golden locks of her hair. Sadness and something he couldn't place mingled in her expression.
The conversation…well. It didn't go well. But that was alright. He had a plan.
He was almost happy to hear her golden laugh until it turned sad. Her golden freckles and sparkling blue eyes were full of a fire burning because of him. Not because of a desire he'd stoked, but something else. He would set it right. She'd let him hold her…
In fact, he was almost ashamed to admit how much hope that sad laughter had given him.
He watched her walk away in a scenario that felt oddly similar to his dream. Again, he wanted to chase after her, but not until she wanted him to. Right now she didn't. Not yet. But she would.
Against all odds, he smiled.
Just when he decided he couldn't watch any longer, a particularly strong gust of wind swirled past him and caught her, causing something to slip out of her purse and onto the street.
He looked around, but no one walking around the New York streets bothered to grab it for her. He sighed. He could always leave it with Monica.
He picked up the paper, frowning down at it. Slowly, the world tilted under him, and he felt like he was cut loose, floating away into the blue sky.
That explained…a lot. Actually. He would need to adjust his plan.
~0~0~0~
It was almost Christmas and Rachel had a million things to do. If she was going to see her family, she had to decide if she wanted to tell them now, and if she told them, how to do it. Her father loomed in her mind and she shuddered.
Later. Later might be best.
She looked up at her apartment door, almost too distracted to notice it. It hadn't been there when she'd left for the nail salon with Phoebe an hour earlier.
Rachel looked both ways down the hall, curious who could have left the taped envelope. Her name was scrawled across the front, tiny Santas in the corners. One of them had a speech bubble beside his head that said "Open right away!"
It was only December 7th, a little early for a Christmas card, much less a bossy one.
Rachel unlocked the door and entered her apartment, ripping the envelope open as she did. The front of the card said "From your Secret Santa".
"Secret Santa?" she asked the empty apartment. But everyone was planning on doing that the weekend before Christmas.
She opened the letter.
