Chapter 1: The First Stage of Grief

Ross Geller shook out his umbrella once he had sufficiently ducked under the awning on the front stoop. He was nevertheless still decently cold and wet; the rain had been blanketing Westchester County for much of the last several days.

He started to stick his finger out, paused, and then curled said finger into a knuckle so he could ring the doorbell. In the COVID-era, his sister had insisted to him and all their family that it was safer and more hygienic to ring doorbells in this way. Ross had been surprised she hadn't gone whole hog and insisted that said doorbells then be immediately wiped down. COVID – a germaphobe's dream, yet a nightmare for everyone else.

At least Monica and Chandler had handled the pandemic with a healthier caution than a certain, tangerine man-bitch who looked as though he had flubbed an audition, Joey-style, for the part of King Louis in The Jungle Book.

All at once, a wave of cold washed over Ross, and it wasn't due to the thunderstorm's chill. Hearing movement behind the front door, he straightened himself in that last second before it opened, revealing his pretty-much grown nephew.

Jack Bing yanked his Uncle Ross across the threshold by the older man's forearm and tugged him into a backslapping hug, all in one, fluid motion. Ross absently patted the youth's head. "Hey, kid," he rumbled. "Where's your mother?"

"Upstairs in their room." The boy's voice was soft and quiet.

Ross pursed his lips pityingly. No change in pronouns yet, from their to her, never mind that he had yet to hear a shift in tenses from present to past. If he were thinking these thoughts aloud, Rachel, his wife, would probably have whacked him. Oh, hell, he was a professor! An academic. Being a stickler for grammar wasn't a crime – yet. Though if Aspy AF Elon Musk had his way, pretty soon he and all the whack-a-doodle-doo Republicans would be passing legislation outlawing good grammar. They were already getting into maladjusted, disordered, anti-social snits about anyone who started a conversation by listing their personal pronouns. Never mind that old Dark Brandon would veto said legislation with a grandpa chuckle and a well placed, 'Come on, man!'

Ross shook his head. He was getting off topic, and he crossed through the foyer, sensing how Jack was nervously following behind. "Is she asleep?"

"I don't know. Maybe by now she is. I wouldn't wake her…." Jack sounded leery, peering around his uncle to get a look at his twin sister. Erica was furiously scrubbing down everything in sight as if it still was 2020 instinct, rather than genetics. Ross had to wrestle to fight down a smirk. And they said these kids were adopted! At the very least, it would make for an interesting academic paper debating the merits between nature and nurture; maybe one of his colleagues in the biology department had done a study on that very topic, comparing biological and adoptive families.

Ross shook his head again. While having his thoughts wander away from the one thing he didn't want to think about was tempting, it wasn't the best idea in present company. He was here to act as support.

Erica finally looked up from where she was all but hosing down the kitchen table. "Uncle Ross….." Her voice came out in a whimper and she dashed around the table to throw herself into his arms.

"Hey, sweetie…." Ross appraised her once with shattered sympathy. "I came to see your mom."

Erica's eyes darted to the staircase, wincing. "She might be asleep…."

"That's exactly what I said….!" Jack hissed in a whine.

"I won't be long. I just want to talk to her. There are some things requiring prior approval for…. for the service." He glanced between his niece and nephew. "You do know that's tomorrow, right?"

Erica went white, lifting both hands to her cheeks, as if touching the skin might bring the color back into them. "It's tomorrow already?"

Ross patted her shoulder. "I know. I know it's hard, honey…."

Jack sighed. "Well, if it really can't wait…."

Ross nodded to him gratefully. "I'll just be a minute." He ascended the steps as softly as he dared, padding down to his sister and brother-in-law's bedroom. On the landing, he paused in front of the hallway mirror once he caught sight of his reflection.

Even before this catastrophe, Ross would have been the first one to admit that he had not aged well. Now that…. this had happened, the aging was likely to only get worse. Rachel would be the first to deny that he was old, or looked anything close to it, but nonetheless, the jowls were there, and they were droopy.

Ross shook his head. He wasn't even out of his fifties yet, his life only just half over, and yet he had a feeling that his sixties or even seventies portended nothing to look forward to. His own father had even looked sexier at this age, in a salt-and-pepper, scruffy kind of way. He scoffed at his reflection and moved to the bedroom door.

It was slightly ajar. He pushed the jamb back, peering into the darkened bedroom. All the curtains were drawn, so that a thin beam of light from this outside hallway now streaked across the double bed.

There was only lump in the bed. His sister's back was too him, and Ross was just about to conclude that his twenty-year-old nephew had more tact in his little finger than he, a middle-aged man, did in his whole body, when the lump stirred prettily, letting out a kind of hum.

"….. Chandler….?" Monica shifted, casting a bleary-eyed glance back over her shoulder as Ross cautiously padded into the room. His sister seemed still in that halfway land between wakefulness and thinking she was still dreaming. The darkness of the space, and how at least by silhouette alone, Ross resembled his brother-in-law probably didn't help.

"No. …. It's me."

"Ross…?" Monica groaned, sitting up. "What…. what are you doing here? Where are the kids?"

"Erica's downstairs cleaning. Jacky-boy let me in," Ross whispered tenderly. He kissed his sister's temple and scooted up onto the bed beside her.

Monica rubbed the sleepiness out of her eyes before moving on to rub life into the rest of her face. She had probably aged the most gracefully out of all of them. There weren't even any age lines in her porcelain cheeks, though that was likely the result of some plastic surgery she had had done once about five years ago – a mid-life crisis which she had since come to regret. Chandler had mentioned it off-hand once, baffled at how his wife could ever think she wasn't always going to be cripplingly beautiful, no matter how much Father Time would come for them all.

Ross sighed, wanting to hug himself. He could feel it, that tidal wave of despair swooping in and threatening to drown him. He steadied himself once he felt Monica unconsciously lean into him, and he slung an arm over her shoulder. It was like they were kids again, when she would come crying to him, her big brother, about how some kids at school had called her fat. With the benefit of middle age and the maturity that came with it, Ross clearly saw how he hadn't always consistently been the best big brother, in those times, but in those moments when he did show an empathetic side, Rachel had always told him, "You can be a real teddy bear."

Monica was sniffling into his shift-front, her body shaking with fresh sobs. "I…. I miss him…."

Ross clucked his tongue, tssking and he held her closer. "I know, Mon, I know you do…."

She lifted her head out of his chest. "I can still hear him sometimes, and then I'll remember it's just Jack. Can he SOUND any more like his dad?" Her laugh, which was just on the edge of crazed, quickly turned into another sob. "It's been I don't know how many days, I haven't left my bedroom, my children are keeping this house running even though I know they need me, and yet all I want is a tub of ice cream and my…. HUSBAND!"

She wailed now, weeping into Ross's suit jacket and getting the pocket square all ruined. Ross rubbed her back. Now he felt really awkward for barging in, even though Rachel and his mother had insisted this had to get done; the funeral was tomorrow. He cleared his throat. "I miss him too. God, I miss him so much, Mon. But we… we have to iron out these last little details for the service."

From how Monica's eyes narrowed, even in the dim light, she looked like she was going to lash out at him, and maybe she had every right to, after he had barged in like this. But before she could snap at him in a flash of blind grief, the Geller siblings could hear raised voices coming from downstairs.

Monica shook her head. "If those two are fighting…."

But no, to Ross's ear, it didn't sound like the twins. The shouts were now carrying up the stairs, getting closer.

"God damn him! I told him not to – Ross? ROSS!"

There was the sound of prowling feet, and then the door flew open again, backlighting an absolutely furious Joey Tribbiani, his head of hair shock-white. Right behind him, dithering, was Phoebe Buffay-Hannigan, her blonde highlights having faded into something light.

Joey's expression softened into something apologetic when it landed on Monica, like he was asking forgiveness on her brother's behalf. "Mon…." he breathed. "I told this knucklehead not to disturb you…"

"Joey – this has to be done. I know it's hard, but it has to be done! The service… Ross said we have to discuss this…." Phoebe was babbling, her characteristic serenity having, for once, abandoned her.

"And I told him No!" Joey snapped, frown in a thin line and wagging a finger in Phoebe's face before he remembered she wasn't the one he was mad at. "I – I told you No!" he spluttered vehemently, glowering at Ross. The struggling actor made a furious move onto the bed towards the paleontologist, like he wanted to wrestle Ross down so he, Joey, could punch his lights out. Monica scooted off the edge of the bed, watching the display with annoyance.

"Enough." The men and Phoebe both looked at her. "I'm not falling back to sleep now, but instead of debating Ross's tact or lack thereof, we might as well get this over with." She trudged with remarkable poise, considering the circumstances, over to the door where Phoebe was waiting and glanced back with an air of slight disdain. "Unless you two want to take a nap."

Tangled up with each other, Ross and Joey shared a look and guiltily sprang apart.

The group traipsed downstairs, Phoebe whispering profuse apologies about her and Joey now invading Monica's privacy, but when Rachel had called and said Ross was on his way over…. Monica patted her friend's shoulder absently.

Bringing up the rear as they moved downstairs and into the sitting room, Ross was actually kind of glad that his wife wasn't here – not just because Rachel might have gotten swept up into Phoebe and Joey's ideas of sensitivity and tried to kill him too, but because having her, the fifth person of their group here, would be a stark reminder of just who else was missing.

Monica, Joey and Phoebe sat down heavily on the living room couch. Ross took the ottoman across from them. The adults could feel the twins sending wary looks into the backs of their heads, but didn't turn to acknowledge.

With a sympathetic wince, Joey pushed towards Monica an unfolded piece of paper, with text typed in a table format on both sides, left to right.

"First draft of the program. Now, Mon: are you sure you want Rachel to deliver the eulogy? I mean – you wrote it….."

Tears pooling, Monica nodded her head. "They'll know it's my words, Joe. Rachel will just be the one saying them." Her bottom lip trembled in a pout, and she suddenly doubled over and burst into bitter sobs again. Joey quickly stole an arm around her, Monica's breathing coming out in dry heaves and she turned her face into his side.

"You were really lucky…." Joey rumbled. As if he needed to remind her. "…. And so was he." When she lifted her head to peer at him, Joey smirked, the quirk to his lips all at once both sentimental and bitter. "I've always said you were one of the prettiest girls I've ever known." Monica smiled wetly at him.

"Hey! I thought that was me!" Phoebe whined, indignant.

Joey shrugged. "Three gorgeous women permanently dancing around in my life doesn't mean there still isn't ranking. Somebody's gotta be first, Pheebs!"

Monica blushed, smirking, and she swatted him in the chest. Some things never changed – like Joey being the permanent bachelor, and a roguish one at that. "You cad!" She snuggled against him, the embrace completely platonic, almost sibling-like, despite Joey's flirting. Then again, Joey had always had about as much subtlety as a sledgehammer. Yet, when Monica peered at him now out of the corner of her eye, studying his unreadable expression, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more meaning behind what he'd said….

She instantly shook her head. No, impossible!

Next to them, Phoebe was quiet, twiddling her fingers. "I remember how he'd walk into a room sometimes…. You never knew what you were going to get from him: awkward, cocksure…"

"Awkward. Definitely awkward more often than not," Joey pursed his lips in an amused grin, pointing at Phoebe. Monica laughed wetly, still snuggled against him.

Phoebe now had her head bowed. "You'd see him coming and it was like…. Really Spastic Superman had arrived! And then, there would be this look and…." Phoebe now made a kind of "Meow!" that all of them were far too old to be making. The masseuse finally broke down in tears, even as the others mostly let out strained chuckles. Ross reached out to pat her knee.

Watching her friend come apart, Monica recalled all the times Phoebe had flirted with Chandler over the years. At the time, it had always seemed facetious, except when she and Chandler had called her bluff and they'd gotten into that ridiculous competition of who would blink first, back when she and her husband had still been dating in secret – or what they had thought was still secret.

And yet, watching Phoebe mourn now, it made Monica almost wonder if…. No! Surely not! Chandler had given Phoebe away at her wedding, but that didn't mean….

Monica shook her head and shifted off of Joey to study the program for her late husband's funeral. She nodded heavily.

"This looks good, Joe. Just make sure when you fold them that the crease is in the exact center of the page!"

Joey smirked and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mon."

She almost thought he had said something else, but just this once, decided to let it go.