Chapter 2: Just Lie Here Next to Me

The wake had officially broken up hours before, yet Monica's main group of friends, along with her brother and parents were still in the Burke mansion cleaning up well after darkness fell.

Judy was fighting off exhaustion, so Jack decided to take her home. Ross offered to go with them, even drive his parents himself, but Jack waved him off.

From where she was putting away the last of the wineglasses, Rachel smirked. "He just wants an excuse to drive his Dad's Porsche," she whispered to Chandler and Joey, both of whom struggled to hold in laughter. Even though the funeral had ended hours ago, laughter just didn't seem appropriate on this day, even at Ross's expense.

Chandler found himself wandering from room to room, desperate to find some other task there was yet to do. He passed through the living area multiple times, surreptitiously eyeing where Monica was seated on the couch, head bowed. She was either staring at nothing, or whatever was on the immaculate hardwood floor that was so interesting.

She hadn't once moved to help clean up the remnants of the wake. Though it was understandable, given her emotional state, a Monica Geller who did not leap at the chance to clean was very concerning indeed, even disturbing.

Were they eventually supposed to just leave, and leave her here? To fall asleep in an empty house? Chandler wanted to ask, even casually, but then he remembered Rachel's warning and feared that his asking would come across as so nakedly transparent, even dense Joey would pick up on it.

Passing into the foyer, he spotted Phoebe in the open front door, her figure bathed in headlights as she waved goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Geller. She turned back while closing the door behind her, caught Chandler's eye and grinned heavily. Sadly.

"I'm just warming up the cab now," she reported. "We'll be leaving soon."

Chandler nodded, while inside, he panicked. He let Phoebe sashay past him and followed her into the kitchen. Ross and Rachel were speaking in low tones; Joey was finishing scrubbing down the countertop.

Chandler stepped in. "Long, smooth strokes, Joe, smooth strokes…" It's how Monica had always taught them, when she'd found the time to come across the hall to Apartment 19 and clean for them. Before she had moved out. Before she was married…

"What are we going to do?" Rachel hissed.

"I'm her brother; I'll stay behind…" Ross rumbled.

"No. I'm her best girl friend; she needs me. I'll stay."

Phoebe started to pipe up. Chandler cut her off. "You can't stay, Pheebs. We need someone to drive the cab." The masseuse curled into herself, deflated.

Joey wandered over to the conversation. "We can't all stay!" he pointed out, grousing.

"I mean, we could," Chandler floated. It was the most he dared volunteer. If he merely tried to put forward himself, he didn't trust Rachel to not see right through it or wonder about his motives, their conversation on the front lawn notwithstanding. Then he got it. "Here's an idea: why don't we let the Widow Burke decide for herself who she wants to stay with her?"

Everyone else flinched upon hearing Monica referred to as a 'widow;' for his part, letting Monica decide went against Chandler's every instinct to plop himself down on her couch and refuse to move for the night.

Rachel patted his arm and nodded in agreement. Good. Perhaps he was learning.

The five traipsed into the sitting room. Glancing back at the others, Chandler took it upon himself to take the lead, kneeling at Monica's feet so he was eye-level with her hunched form.

"Mon? Honey….?" She lifted her head, tear tracks blazing and clearly visible in the light of the lamp.

"…. We've been talking. And… none of us really want to leave you in this big mansion all alone, so…. well, you can choose: who do you want to stay, if anyone? You can pick as many or as few people as you want."

Monica studied him blankly for a long moment. Chandler waited patiently. At last, he felt her soft palms glide from where they had clutched his hands to slightly up his forearm.

"You."

Chandler fought not to grin, the love-struck monster in him roaring with triumph. "OK. Who else?"

Monica glanced once to the others, and then shook her head. Chandler blinked in surprise. The widow turned back to him, eyes beseeching. "Just you. I need you…"

"OK," he murmured, crooning. It was hard not to feel smug. He turned back to the others. "That OK with you?"

Though he looked a little hurt, Ross nodded. After a long moment, Rachel nodded too, and only Chandler saw in her eyes how her expression was wary. The rest of the group began to file towards the foyer and out to Grandma Buffay's idling cab.

On the front stoop, in the glow of the red headlights, Rachel wrapped Chandler in a thankful hug. But when she drew back, her face was a warning.

"Remember what we…."

"I get it," Chandler clipped, a little too coolly. "Thank you." Honestly, who did she think he was? Rachel flinched, stung, but then nodded.

"I know. I trust you." She patted his shoulder, then flitted down the front steps and leapt into the backseat of the cab. The car jerked sharply in recoil as Phoebe put it in drive.

Chandler watched Phoebe pull away until the cab was but a speck in the darkness. He turned to head inside the large mansion.

He found Monica at the base of the stairs, about to climb, one hand cradling the slightly distended curve to her stomach. Without bothering to ask, Chandler came up behind her, tucked his arms under her knees and lifted her off her feet. He carried her bridal-style up the steps, ignoring her yelp of surprise.

"I'm sorry," Chandler flushed. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

Monica turned pink herself. "It wasn't that…" she murmured. "I can still walk under my own power, you know." She smirked, teasing. "I'm not that pregnant yet…."

Chandler turned redder anyway.

He allowed Monica to direct him to the master bedroom. He deposited her grandly on the queen-sized bed.

"Can I use your restroom?"

She nodded. Chandler slipped into the immaculate bathroom. It was so exquisitely kept, that he actually sat down to pee, whereas in the apartment, he and Joey would have had no qualms about standing up and spraying everywhere.

From his squat, he had a clear view of the bathroom sink. There were still two toothbrushes on the pristine marble. He tried to guess which one was Richard's.

Washing his hands, Chandler moved back into the bedroom. Monica had one half of the down comforter pulled up nearly to her chin. The other half was flapped back, left open, as if she was still expecting her deceased husband to join her.

"You all set?" Monica nodded woodenly. "…. OK. I'll be down on the couch if you need me…" Chandler dared to lean in and kiss her head. He was just turning away when Monica blurted out:

"Will you do something for me?"

Chandler turned back. "Anything."

She gestured shyly to the open side of the bed. "Will you just…. lie here next to me?"

Chandler softened. He should have known she wouldn't want to sleep alone. It was a wonder how she had managed to in these past few nights since the car accident.

"No… no need to go…." Her voice trailed off in a whisper. He wasn't sure what she meant, and didn't ask as he climbed into bed with her.

The pair of best friends lay there in the darkness for a time. Staring at the ceiling, Chandler was almost about to wonder if she had managed to drift off when he suddenly heard quiet sobbing.

He tensed. "I'll…. I'll go…"

"No…..!" Monica moaned, rolling onto her side and curling into him. Her head ended up resting on his chest. "I don't want you to…."

She clutched at him, like she was afraid he would disappear, the same as her husband. One moment, a person she loved had been here, and the next, he was just… gone….

Chandler held her. He didn't remember falling asleep.

When he woke up the next morning, Chandler felt as though he had landed in some sort of dream.

He and Monica were spooning each other, snug and warm under the down comforter. It was a struggle of wills just to extricate himself from her arms. Monica squirmed and hummed at the loss of warmth, but she didn't appear to awaken.

"I'm just gonna make a pot of coffee," Chandler whispered, kissing her temple. He added, though unspoken: I love you…..

He had fallen asleep in his funeral best, not wanting to make Monica uncomfortable by stripping down to even his boxer shorts. The dress shirt and slacks were now hopelessly rumpled.

Chandler was halfway across the room when he saw the door to the master bedroom start to move as it opened, and he froze.

"Monica…?" A young woman about his age was turning her head into the room, peeking in. "Sweetie, are you still asleep….?" She froze when she saw Chandler, her eyes narrowing with distrust and suspicion. "I'm sorry but who the fuck are you? What is this?!" Her voice jumped several decibels.

"Nothing!" Chandler yelped, turning a bizarre combination of both red and white. He glanced back in a panic to where Monica was stirring, and he wanted to glare at this bitch for waking her up. "This is nothing!"

The young woman sported an expression of pure stone. "You stay right there!" she barked. "I'm calling the cops!"

"Michelle?" A man's voice now wafted from the second floor landing, preceding the rest of him.

Chandler sensed Monica leaping out of bed behind him. "Tim…."

The man – this Tim – narrowed his eyes at Chandler. "What the hell are you doing in here with my stepmother?" he demanded, his tone dangerous.

"I – I, er…." Chandler's mouth chose this moment to refuse to work.

"You stay away from her – that is my stepmother! I will kick your ass! I will kick your ass, you preying little weasel!" Michelle held him back.

"Tim!" Monica snapped, chiding and firm.

"Who's this guy, Monica?"

"Chandler. He stayed with me last night after the service. I asked him to. He's my best friend."

Tim snorted. "Best friend. Sure."

Chandler didn't like what this guy was insinuating with his tone. "Hey! Watch your mouth, mister!"

Tim glowered hatefully. "You're not my father…"

"With how much of a smart-ass you're being? I should hope not!" At Chandler's side, Monica was biting her lip.

"These are my stepchildren," she introduced lamely, embarrassed on their behalf. "Richard's kids."

Chandler set aside for the moment how bizarre it was for Monica to be stepmother to two of her peers in favor of doing damage control, however unfair. He held out his hand to shake. Michelle took it almost unconsciously, though she still was studying him with mistrust; Tim glared at Chandler's open palm like it was diseased.

Chandler glanced to Monica. "I was gonna make some coffee…"

"Please," Monica exhaled. Swaying onto her tiptoes, she pecked him gratefully on the cheek, and for once, Chandler dearly wished she wouldn't have, for how it might be construed by her stepdaughter and stepson. He danced past Tim and Michelle and headed downstairs two steps at a time.