Disclaimer: I own nothing and will make no money.
A/N: This one is a little shorter and sweeter than most of my recent updates: I thought it would be nice to have a little light relief from all of the tension and angst!
Thank you to those of you who continue to read and leave comments - I love reading your kind words and thoughts and it definitely encourages me to write more!
It was a crisp clear evening and the air, even inside the apartment, carried a distinctly autumnal chill. Monica shivered slightly, drawing her well-worn blanket up around her chin and pulling her knees up to her chest, as she nestled herself tightly into the corner of the couch. The quiet of the apartment was deafening: The drip of a faucet; the creak of the floorboards upstairs; a distant door being closed somewhere in the building; a dog barking out on the street; she flinched at every sound.
Rachel, at Monica's absolute insistence, was spending the night in Long Island following her cousin's baby shower, and this was the first night Monica had spent alone in the apartment since the attack. Ross had offered, or more accurately, he had practically begged, to stay over with her and keep her company, but Monica had flatly refused: She was so tired of feeling like a burden and was keen to prove to herself and everybody else that she was recovering from her ordeal and was still the independent woman she always was.
She was beginning to regret that show of bravery now.
The truth was, she had been finding it hard enough to relax, even with the comfort of Rachel's presence in the next room, so she should have known that an entire night of solitude would not serve her well.
She eyed the clock anxiously. 11.46pm. That meant she still had hours of fretful insomnia ahead of her before she could finally get showered and dressed ready to face another day. Sleep was proving to be illusive feat for Monica: A full night of slumber felt like a distant memory to her now. She had never know exhaustion like this, she felt completely drained, and yet her tortured mind refused to allow her more than a few minutes of snatched rest at time. Every time her eyelids began to droop and her breathing started to slow, the smallest of sounds would cause her to jump wide awake, or worse, her memory would taunt her with a sudden, uninvited vision of Pete, which would inevitably make her sit bolt upright, air burning her lungs, her heart hammering in chest.
Another unpleasant side effect of not being able to sleep was that it made her days feel intolerably long. She was still on extended leave from the restaurant and being stuck at home, unable to work was absolutely mind-numbing for Monica. She was desperate to get out of the apartment: She had always been an energetic and busy individual, and ordinarily she would have had no problem finding ways to entertain herself, but right now it was difficult to come up with activities that she felt confident enough to head out to do alone. She was still so jittery and on edge that even the most mundane of tasks, such as doing laundry or grocery shopping, had the potential to send her into a fit of anxiety. The knowledge that Pete was free to roam the streets was always on her mind and although she had remained staunchly impassive about his being out on bail in front of all of her friends, the idea that she could accidentally run in to him, or even just catch a fleeting glimpse of him, was enough to make her reluctant to venture too far from home.
Above all, it was the loneliness that was really getting to her. Her friends and family were doing everything within their power to ensure that she wasn't left alone for too long at a time, but they all had jobs to go to and lives to lead, and besides, she hated it when she discovered that they had changed their plans or scheduled their day around her, and had crossly informed them on more than one occasion that it made her feel like a pet dog. She was desperate to be the same friend to them that she always had been; capable, vivacious and nurturing; not a millstone around their necks. It felt wrong for her to even think it, given the horrific circumstances of her break-up, but she missed being a woman in a long-term relationship with a challenging business to run. She just missed feeling like herself.
She glanced again towards the clock and was considering the idea of turning on the television in the hope that the inane drone of the shopping channel or the repetitive canned laughter of an old comedy rerun might lull her into a more relaxed state, when came the softest of knocks on the apartment door and she heard Chandler call quietly "Mon? Are you awake?"
"Yeah" she called back sounding dejected, and she ambled towards the door, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
"I didn't wake you did I?" Chandler looked worried, "I saw there were still lights on under the door, so I just wanted to check you were OK, I know Rachel is away..."
"I wasn't asleep" she confirmed, flopping back into her spot on the sofa "I haven't been sleeping at all really" she looked down miserably.
"Would it help if I sit in here while you go to bed?" He offered, "Maybe if you knew somebody was in the next room..."
"Thanks but I think I would prefer to be in here." She told him with shake of her head, "It's closer to the door and there are more escape routes" she glanced around at the balcony.
Chandler felt his heart contract at this candid and unabashed admission of fear, but did not allow his face to react, knowing only too well how much she despised perceived pity. "Well then, do you mind if I hang out here for a bit?" He asked "I can't sleep tonight either. I promise I won't keep you awake, I don't mind being quiet."
He sat next to her on the couch, his leg just overlapping her toes, warming them pleasantly.
"Sure" she replied "And you don't have to be quiet, I like listening to you talk." She shot a fleeting glance in his direction, worrying briefly that he might think that was a strange thing for her to say, but if he did, he did not show it.
"When is Kathy next home?" she asked him.
"She got back to the city this afternoon actually, " He told her, "Her best friend is here visiting from Chicago so I thought I'd give them some time together tonight. I'm meeting them for lunch tomorrow"
This was almost true. Kathy's friend was indeed in town, but he had actually turned down an evening out with them when he had heard Ross fretting about Monica being left alone after refusing his offer of company in Rachel's absence. Chandler had immediately reassured Ross that he would make sure he was home all night, just in case Monica should need him. Needless to say, Kathy had been less than thrilled by his ducking out of a night out with her.
"Do you need another blanket?" he suddenly asked as he noticed her give a slight shiver, "You look cold, I'll grab that throw of your bed."
Monica felt a small smile pull at the corner of her lips at his attentiveness. She had taken to chiding her friends for their constant fussing around her, assuring them, sometimes quite vociferously, that she did not require a nanny, but truthfully, the concern and love they had collectively shown her had been what had kept her going of late.
Chandler reappeared swiftly with the throw and draped it over her, returning her smile of gratitude before taking his place on the couch.
Monica leaned into the sofa cushion and allowed her eyes to drift close as Chandler chattered softly, "Man, I can't believe how cold it is tonight. I'm so tired of feeling cold all the time, I could really use a vacation. Maybe Barbados? Or Mexico? You know, I haven't even been to a beach since we all went to Montauk" he cast his mind back to their group visit to a beach house owned by one of Phoebe's massage clients.
"That beach was pretty beautiful" he mused, smiling at the memory of lying in the soft sand, Monica at his side, Joey a few feet away from them completely absorbed in digging in the sand, like a gigantic toddler.
"We should try to imagine we are there right now, that might help us sleep. Picture it: You're lying there in your red bikini, the sun beating down, just the noise of the waves crashing... and of course, the occasional yell from Joey, when the water reaches his hole.."
Monica chuckled at his turn of phrase before asking "How on Earth do you remember what I was wearing?"
Chandler smirked "Hey! I have a great memory when it comes to hot girls in bikinis" he teased, momentarily querying the appropriateness of referring to her as such, but she did not appear to mind.
"And by the way? Wearing Baywatch Red Swimwear on a trip to the beach with Joey and I? Pure attention-seeking if you ask me. We were waiting for you to start running up and down the foreshore" he joked.
"Yeah well, I wasn't running anywhere that day thanks to that damn jellyfish" she countered, grimly recalling the searing pain of that sting and the uncomfortable scenes that had followed.
"No! No! Shhhh! Why'd you ruin it?" Chandler scolded, giving her knee an admonishing nudge.
Being pressured by Joey into directly applying urine to said sting in order to alleviate Monica's suffering remained an excruciatingly embarrassing memory for Chandler, but he could not help but smile when he glanced over at her now to see a large grin spread across her face, her eyes still closed and her nose crinkling adorably in amusement at his discomfort.
"Right. No more Montauk," he declared "I'm gonna have to imagine a different beach now."
He got the sense that his talking was distracting Monica sufficiently to have a sedative effect; her breathing had definitely slowed to a more sleepy, rhythmic pace, so he was determined to continue. He casually flicked the switch on the lamp by the sofa, thinking that the extra darkness might help her to drop off.
"I'm going to imagine that beach in Mexico." He told her "No Joey and no jellyfish. Just white powdery sand, shallow warm water, maybe a little bar, selling those cocktails served in coconuts, with tiny umbrellas sticking out of 'em..."
Chandler's words had lost all coherence for Monica now, his voice nothing more than a soothing and soporific hum. Her mind was drifting pleasantly, flitting through various seaside imaginings and memories: Splashing in the ocean with her Dad as a small child, the taste of salt on her lips, laughing raucously and feeling weightless as he launched her into the relentless waves... The feeling of soft sand between her toes as she reclined on a blanket in Montauk, chatting and giggling with Chandler, watching the frown of concentration on Joey's face as he focused on his excavation ... The glorious warmth of the Mediterranean sun scorching her skin in Barcelona... Barcelona... with Pete.
Chandler was startled as Monica unexpectedly convulsed into a seated position with a loud gasp, as a vision of Pete's leering face infected her mind. Her eyes were suddenly wide and her breathing rapid. She scanned the room and brought herself quickly back to the present, apologizing to Chandler when she saw the shock on his face. "Sorry... I saw... I thought" she began to explain, not wanting to speak Pete's name out loud.
She didn't have to.
Chandler regarded her gently, hoping she could not see how much his heart was breaking for her. "Come here" he said quietly, encouraging her into a hug, before leaning back against the armrest, enabling her to lie almost horizontally across the couch with her head resting comfortably against his chest.
"I'm so tired, Chandler.." she told him weakly.
He was silent for a moment stroking her hair in a pacifying, repetitive motion before starting to talk again.
"You know one of my favorite trips we took? That time we all went skiing. That was so much fun. We should definitely arrange to do that again, I feel bad that Ross missed out on the last one."
"He's a terrible skier" Monica murmured sleepily.
"All the more reason to take him! We could all use a good laugh! I think that's why I enjoy ski trips so much, there are so many opportunities for slapstick humor... Remember Pheebs on the ski-lifts?" Chandler sniggered.
He was both surprised and delighted when Monica too dissolved into a throaty giggle as she recalled Phoebe's terrified attempts to embark and disembark from the lifts before each ski run. More often than not, her dismount wound up in a tangle of skis, poles, and bright blonde hair as she would crash land in panic, usually taking down at least one other person with her, shouting obscenities as she did so, earning her multiple looks of disapproval from other skiers.
This was the first time he had heard Monica laugh out loud in a long time and it gave Chandler a glow of warmth. It was no secret that Chandler loved, actually lived, to make people laugh, but eliciting a laugh from Monica was his favorite of all: It wasn't just because he loved to see that beautiful smile, it was more that her constant appreciation of his humor provided confirmation for Chandler that in Monica, he had managed to find that rare gift of a friend who clearly understood, accepted and actually enjoyed how his mind worked. His quips and antics were seldom met with bafflement or irritation from Monica, as they often were by his workmates, his parents, and even by his other best friends. She would unfaltering meet even his most random or inappropriate attempts at humor with a wry smile at the very least, which he always cherished, even if it was accompanied by a roll of her intelligent blue eyes.
"Poor Phoebe!" Monica sympathized as they giggled quietly together.
As their laughter subsided he could feel her breathing beginning to get slower and calmer again. He gave her a gentle, affectionate squeeze which was immediately returned, as she slid the arm that had previously rested on his chest around his torso.
"I love waking in the mountains, when there has been a fresh dump of snow, and everything sounds all quiet and still." Chandler continued his verbal distraction.
"That's a real thing you know? The way sound changes when it has snowed. It's because the ice crystals are still packed quite loosely, so there's a load of air trapped in between them, and that muffles the sounds that would normally echo of the ground." He explained, peering curiously down her face, hopeful that regaling her with snow facts might tip her over the edge into slumber.
She did indeed appear peaceful again now, her eyelids relaxed, lashes serenely grazing her cheeks. Her lips had parted slightly, indicating that her jaw was no longer tense.
"I really liked the cabin we stayed in. Maybe Rachel's sister would let us use that again? Remember sitting by that log fire in the evening? Drinking buttered rum.."
Chandler's words had once again lost all meaning for Monica, morphing into an indistinct murmur as they reached her ears. But burrowed as she was against his chest, she could feel his voice as a gentle vibration against her cheek, which accompanied by the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat, was having a pleasurably soothing effect on her. She was breathing in his familiar and comforting scent; her flesh was being warmed by the heat exuding from his body; he was engulfing every one of her senses, and she felt entirely cocooned and comforted by his presence. Her mind was drifting over the precipice into slumber once more, and this time, for once, her demons seemed unable to battle their way into her dreams.
Chandler eventually realized he had stopped talking. His own eyelids had long since become heavy and he knew it would not be long before he too was fast asleep. He was vaguely aware that his neck was resting in a slightly awkward position against the armrest and he briefly considered attempting to adjust their entwined position ever so slightly in order to increase his comfort, but there was no way he could risk disturbing her now. Instead he carefully brought his lips to her hair to plant the most feather-light of goodnight kisses before allowing his drowsiness to overcome him completely.