A/N Three chapters in a week is probably a little excessive! I will be slowing down a little after this one. Thank you so much to everyone who has read the first two, I have loved hearing your thoughts on where it's going!
I hope this chapter isn't too boring, it's pretty much all set in one room and most of it is pretty much one long scene. There is quite a lot of Mondler interaction at least!
I think we'll be taking a little hop back in time in Chapter 4.
Thank you again for reading!
Monica had heard it said that boredom was nothing to be afraid of; that allowing oneself the time and space to stare at the ceiling, devoid of focus, had the potential to encourage creativity and original thought. She had been told that some of the greatest scientific breakthroughs had apparently come to people who were not doing very much at all.
But rather than enjoying the seemingly endless, uninterrupted quiet that should have theoretically allowed her all of the time in the world for free-flowing, imaginative contemplation; Monica was finding lying still and silent in her hospital bed; in too much physical pain and too dizzied by concussion to move, or even think straight; utterly excruciating.
She had begun to wonder whether perhaps her brain's refusal to form coherent thoughts and its unwillingness to let go of this strange and hazy emptiness, was some sort of defense mechanism: Her body's way of protecting her from the depressive intrusions that teetered constantly on the edge of her mind these days, and were likely to drag her even further into her pit of melancholy.
Thoughts of babies. And of marriage. And of other associated problems.
She glanced towards Richard, who was peering solemnly through his reading glasses, absorbed in today's newspaper, her eyes narrowing in what she knew was slightly unreasonable annoyance.
It was not that she expected him to constantly entertain her, but the fact that he was able to divert himself from the tedium of the increasingly oppressive hospital room so readily, when she was physically unable to do the same galled her somewhat.
As she continued to gaze dourly at his face, a river of sadness rippled through her.
She remembered how she used to look at him: how her eyes would grow soft when she absorbed his handsome features; how she had been able to actually feel the adoration coursing through her veins as she watched him read a book, or wash the dishes, or merely enter the room. How he had made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world.
Perhaps she had been naive to believe that that feeling would never go away; she supposed that all relationships changed over time. And surely things would have evolved in a more positive direction if circumstance had been kinder to them; if they had been blessed with the family they deserved.
She swallowed down a hard lump of bitterness before sniping sarcastically, "Thanks for being such great company this morning, Richard. I don't know what I'd have done without your sparkling conversation. You know, watching you read is really making the hours fly by".
He looked up at her darkly, "I offered to get you a magazine. I can go get one for you now if you'd like?"
"I already told you: I can't read right now. I can't focus!" she snapped in exasperation, feeling a slight wobble in her chin, and she worried for a moment that she might actually break down and cry.
"Well, I'm not sure what you want me to do about that, honey? I'm sorry that you're bored and I get that you're frustrated, but taking it out on me isn't going to help".
His calm, almost patronizing tone made her want to scream blue murder, so Chandler and Ross's knock at the door could not have come at a better time.
She exhaled a sigh of relief at the sight of their tentatively smiling faces, their presence immediately breaking the tiresome monotony of the morning.
"How are you feeling?" her brother greeted, placing a sympathetic kiss against her cheek.
"Ugh. Still aching all over." she grumbled "I think my head feels a little less fuzzy though, so hopefully that means that the concussion is starting to ease off. And I can move my wrist a bit more. But my ankle, and my back, and my ribs still hurt so bad I can hardly move. I'm bored stiff."
She fired a reproachful glance towards her husband as she delivered her final complaint, before turning to look at Chandler.
"I hear you guys took Tilly for the night? I hope she was a good girl?"
Monica had not quite been able to believe that her canine-wary friend had been the one to offer to take charge of her pet and a wry smile suddenly tugged at her lips, intrigued as she was to find out how he had fared.
Chandler returned a grin of undisguised self-satisfaction as he informed her "Yes, she was a good girl! Apparently, I can add "excellent with dogs" to my already extensive list of talents."
Leaning back against the windowsill and adopting a posture that exuded swagger he told her "I didn't feel comfortable about leaving her in the car for the night, so I managed to sneak her into my motel room and she slept the whole night through, curled up at the foot of my bed. No trouble at all."
He acknowledged Monica's impressed smile with a smug nod before adding with pride "And, when I took her out this morning, I managed to bag up a turd without throwing up".
Ross rolled his eyes as he sought to puncture his best friend's puffed up display.
"Alright Dr Dolittle, tell them why you really wanted Tilly in your room last night..."
Chandler met Ross's expectantly raised eyebrows with a scathing pretense of confusion, before his friend delightedly exposed his apparent cowardice.
"Chandler wanted her in there for protection, because he was convinced that the guy in the next room was a serial killer."
Chandler gave a scoff and a flustered shake of his head before admitting defensively "Well, you should see the state of this place Ross booked us into; it's the creepiest dive you ever imagined. Dog or no dog, I was sleeping with one eye open, and I was just waiting for Norman Bates to tear down my shower curtain this morning!"
Richard and Monica both chuckled, Monica's hand flying to her consequently painful ribs with an agonized hiss that caused Chandler to wince in empathy.
"I don't think that savaging serial killers is quite Tilly's forte" It did not go unnoticed by Chandler that the Richard's scoffed laughter was laced with loftiness. "She's hardly the most dangerous of dogs."
"I don't know, she's done a pretty good number on your wife" Chandler retorted, a little more brusquely than he had intended, nodding pointedly towards Monica's damaged frame.
Richard's eyes rested on him with a strange kind of neutrality before he said placidly, "Well, I should probably go check on the terrifying little creature anyway. I'll transfer her into my car if you let me have your keys, Ross."
"I'll come with you," Ross offered, "I want to change out of this sweater and put on something a little lighter, it's like 100 degrees in this place. And I'll pick us up some coffee on the way back."
"Not for me, thanks" Monica politely declined.
Richard's eyes darted instinctively towards Chandler, subconsciously gauging the man's reaction to being left alone with his wife, searching his face for the merest hint of guilt or pleasure, but finding none.
In fact, Chandler did not react, or look at anybody at all, simply picking up Richard's discarded newspaper and wandering casually back towards the window, scanning the headlines in apparent oblivion.
Richard was not sure if this attitude of indifference made him feel more or less suspicious .
Monica's eyes were also trained upon Chandler, and as her husband and brother left the room she addressed him with reproval.
"I've been lying here all morning watching Richard read the newspaper, and now I get to watch you do it too?"
"Actually, I was just about to ask if you wanted to do the crossword with me, wise ass!" he smirked, holding up the cracked ballpoint pen he had just picked up from the window sill and waving it in front of her nose in order to evidence his claim.
"Yeah, alright" she agreed with a rueful smile.
He cleared his throat dramatically as he sat down at her bedside and read out the first clue, adopting the energetic, orotund voice of a game show host. "1 across; African wildlife tour; six letters"
His posing of the question was rendered entirely rhetorical when he declared the answer without a moment's hesitation "Safari"
Monica lips formed a pout as she watched him swiftly scribe the answer.
"Paragon of virtue; five letters... Uh.. Angel" he continued, not even looking up.
"4 across...Korean martial art" Chandler tapped the jagged end of the pen thoughtfully against the paper as he began to ponder the next clue.
"Karate!" Monica interjected quickly, determined to get at least one answer in first.
"That's Japanese" Chandler informed her a little superciliously, "And this one has nine letters... Oh, I know! Taekwando."
"How is this doing the crossword together?" she asked him fiercely, "You're not even giving me a chance!"
He raised his eyebrows in surprised amusement at her sudden cross outburst, secretly delighted to witness a glimmer of her fiery competitive streak and unable to resist tormenting her further.
"I'm sorry, I'm just really good at crosswords" he told her, his blue eyes wide and innocent "And anyway, you've had a bang to the head... that's probably why you're a little... slow."
"I am not slow" she spluttered incredulously, "You're the one reading the clues! Of course you're faster! You're basically cheating!"
A smile tugged at his lips and mischief shone in his eyes as he placed a condescending hand on her arm.
"Mon, we're on the same team remember? Listen, I'll find a nice, easy one for you.. Oh here you go... " he employed the slow and clear saccharine timbre that one might use to coax a young child, "Sewer rodent; three letters.. First letter is an R...Now, what do you think that could be, Honey?"
She tried to scowl but a rogue giggle escaped from her lips as she told him with a haughty smirk, "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."
Even the smallest hint of competition was enough to ignite a flame inside Monica, and her eyes were suddenly brighter and more animated than they had been in a long time. She fidgeted restlessly before making an attempt to push herself up into a seated position; hopeful that improved physical dynamism might enhance her performance; but her effort was unsuccessful, and she let out a small yelp as a jolt of pain shot through her sprained wrist and her bruised ribs screamed back at her.
"Are you trying to sit up?" Chandler asked, his eyes suddenly serious, and brimming with genuine concern, "Let me help."
He put the newspaper down on the bed and stood up, looking her up and down with a frown; observing her various injuries and assessing how best to move her.
His look of concerned appraisal reminded her of the way a mechanic might cast an eye over a battered car engine before providing a financially devastating quote, and it caused her to smirk.
"OK, if you hook your bad arm around my neck, I'll rearrange your pillows, and then I can probably just kind of... shove you back onto them" he suggested.
Monica sniggered, "Wow. Smooth. I'll bet you say that to all the girls."
But the sarcastic smile on her face faded fast as he bent down close to her so that they were almost cheek to cheek.
She swallowed hard before looping her left arm around his neck and pulling herself even closer to him, allowing his body to support hers as he reached behind her, plumping up the pillows against the head of the bed.
When the coolness of his ear brushed against her cheekbone and the familiar fresh scent of his shampoo filled her nostrils, she felt a shamefully intense thrill of electricity rip right the way through her, from her chest to the depth of her core; an echo from the drunken incident she was still trying so desperately to forget she supposed.
She turned her face away from him guiltily for a moment, unable to breathe, her eyelids fluttering closed, as she felt his gentle fingers against her hip.
"Are you OK? Am I hurting you? Shall I move you back now?" he checked, helping her to shuffle back against the fluffed pillows when she murmured her consent.
She eased her arm slowly from his neck, her lips unintentionally glancing against the angular sweep of his jawbone as he began to draw away, her breath hitching as their eyes suddenly locked, their faces still just inches apart, both taken aback by the fleeting but still shockingly intimate contact.
He looked something close to terrified and she imagined that she probably did too.
"Uh...Are you alright?" he breathed.
"Yeah" she confirmed, dragging herself firmly from her disconcerting reverie "Yeah, that's better. I might stand at least a chance of seeing some of the damn letters now. If my eyes can focus."
Chandler seemed as relieved as she was that an air of normality had returned and they shared a smile as he retrieved the crossword.
"OK... Land that is almost an island.. 9 letters; Third letter is an N..."
"Peninsula" Monica responded with confident clarity.
Chandler gave an impressed nod as he jotted down her answer "There we go! You're not as dumb as you look, after all!"
They turned as the door swung open, both expecting to see Ross, but instead Monica's favorite nurse, Annie, bustled her way into the room ready to issue Monica's lunch, which constituted a grey plastic tray loaded with a variety of foods that were all as bland and beige as the walls of her room.
Annie's large nut-brown eyes grew round with surprise when she saw her patient sitting up in bed, straight-backed and keen-eyed.
"Look at you!" the woman remarked with a grin, "You're certainly looking a bit perkier today! Great to see you sitting up, has one of the other nurses been in?"
"Chandler helped me," Monica explained with a smile, "I had to sit up really: I needed to stop him from cheating at the crossword"
"Oh, you're Chandler..." the nurse regarded him with a look of intrigue that neither Chandler nor Monica could fathom, "Well it's great to see you so chipper, Monica. I'll leave your lunch right here," she placed the tray down on the bedside table before telling her in a conspiratorial whisper "I put an extra pudding on your tray, cause I know you like 'em"
"Thanks Annie" Monica replied with a wide grin.
As Annie pushed through the door she came face to face with Ross, who was carrying a couple of Styrofoam cups of weak coffee for himself and Chandler.
The nurse turned back towards Monica with a wide beam "It's just a never ending stream of handsome men visiting this room isn't it? You'll have to let me in on your secret, Monica!"
Monica rolled her eyes as Chandler and Ross exchanged self-congratulatory grins.
"Hey! You're sitting up!" Ross observed, delighted to see his sister looking a little less fragile. "Ooh, are you guys doing the crossword?"
"No!" Monica barked an immediate objection as she saw her brother's eager eyes land on the newspaper in Chandler's hand. There was no way she wanted Ross's overbearing pomposity anywhere near her puzzle.
"Chandler and I are doing it" she told him firmly, "And we don't need help".
"Oh come on, Monica!" Ross complained "Don't be such a douche! Scooch up, Chandler."
She scowled back at her brother with a loud tut, but when Chandler vacated his chair so that Ross could sit down, and came to perch next to her on the bed instead, his tanned forearm lightly skimming hers, her protestations ceased immediately.
As irritated as she was that Ross was muscling in on the activity she had been enjoying with Chandler, she had to admit, she had always liked this dynamic.
Chandler had known the Geller siblings for such a long time that the three of them were able to slip easily into a laughter-heavy, almost adolescent kind of interaction when they were together; Monica and Ross engaged in a constant invisible and unspoken competition, as they each sought to entice Chandler onto their team; the remaining sibling inevitably left to fend off the lion's share of the non-stop banter and jokes.
It was a battle that Monica almost always won: A born entertainer, Chandler loved to show-off in front of her; loved to make her laugh; and she reveled in his attention; rewarding him with the conspiratorial grins and giggles that fueled his soul.
Now, as she enjoyed the sensation of his warm body pressed lightly against hers on the bed, she knew that she had won again.
She took a surreptitious glance at his profile as he read the next clue, inwardly scolding herself for pausing to admire the clarity of his azure eyes.
"OK... Highly fragranced flower; 7 letters."
"Petunia?" proposed Ross, counting out letters on his fingers.
"No..." said Chandler, narrowing his eyes in concentration, "Third letter is an E. Oh! How about Anemone?"
"They're not really known for their fragrance though are they?..." Ross mused with a pensive frown.
Monica let out a burst of laughter. "Guys? I really think you two should try to tone down the whole macho thing, you know? This kind of aggressive masculinity is quite a lot to take..."
Chandler shot her a sarcastic grimace and without thinking, gave her shoulder a soft nudge of rebuke with his own. His face contorted with horror when she flinched and gave a pained whimper.
"Oh my God! Shit! I'm so sorry, Mon! I just forgot for a moment -"
His mortified apology trailed to nothing when he saw that her momentary look of agony had been replaced with a devilish grin. "Just messin' with ya!"
"Oh my God!" he shook his head in utter disbelief that she would tease him in such a way, as she giggled back at him in delight "Hell is filled with people like you, Monica Geller!"
"She's been a Burke for a year and a half now, Chandler" Richard reminded him breezily as he swept into the room and surveyed the jovial trio.
The way three sets of eyes swiveled towards him; and the way his arrival had called time on their companionable sniggers; took Richard disconcertingly back in time, to the days of walking in on Tim or Michelle as they socialized with their high-school friends; finding himself an unwanted, sobering presence, and putting an unintentional dampener on their fun.
He had thought those days were long behind him.
"Burke / Geller; either way, she's a devil woman" Chandler muttered, shooting Monica a brazen smirk, determined not to be spooked by her husband's cool gaze.
There was always that one smart-assed kid back in the day too, Richard thought grimly, as his eyes moved to scrutinize his wife. And that kid was usually the one he would see his daughter grinning back at flirtatiously; impressed and doe-eyed.
However, Richard remained as outwardly composed as ever, exuding an air of self-satisfaction as he addressed Monica.
"I have great news, honey: I just spoke to the nurse and Doctor Fletcher, and they said that since you're doing so much better, it should be OK for me to take you back to the hotel so that you can recover there for a few days before we head home! You'll be much more comfortable, and you'll have a TV and a nice view from the window, so hopefully you'll feel a little less bored?
I've managed to extend our stay as I don't think you're ready for a long car journey just yet; but the staff here agreed that now you're sitting up and feeling a little livelier there's no real reason for you to be in the hospital. They might even be able to discharge you later today!"
Monica simply stared back at him blankly, the idea of being bedridden in a hotel not sounding tremendously more appealing than lying in the bed she was in right now.
"So guys", Richard turned his attention to Ross and Chandler "I guess that means you two are free to head back to the city? I'm sure you both need to get back to work, and no doubt Ben is missing his dad. And I'm sure you'll be keen to check-out of Bates Motel, Chandler?"
"Well, I guess? If you're sure you guys don't need any help?" Ross checked, his eyes seeking to connect with those of his suddenly downcast sister.
"Yeah, I mean, I don't mind dodging serial killers for a few more days if you guys need a hand?" Chandler offered, turning to look at Monica, but she was staring with focused resolution at the puzzle on Chandler's lap.
Her heart had plummeted deep into the pit of her stomach. The company of her friend and her brother had provided a much-needed tonic: Despite her significant physical discomfort, she had derived strength from their presence these past couple of days. With them she had felt different to how she generally felt of late, even before the accident: She had felt bright; witty; light of heart. She had felt like herself.
She could not quite believe it, but she did not think she had even thought about her fertility struggle since Ross and Chandler had arrived at the hospital for today's visit. Not even once.
"You guys should get back to the city" she agreed hoarsely, "I've taken up enough of your time already. I'll be fine..."
"Don't worry, Ross, I promise I'll take great care of her." Richard promised with an ebullient smile.
Monica's heart gave a small skip when she felt Chandler's pinky trail the tenderest shred of comfort against her arm, and she could feel his questioning gaze against the side of her face.
She felt ridiculously and astonishingly close to tears, for reasons she could not entirely understand; or perhaps it was more that she did not dare to try; but she did know that if her eyes met his she would instantly dissolve.
She swallowed hard, before looking up at her brother instead.
"Freesia" she said with only the smallest hint of a quiver in her voice.
Ross's brown eyes looked back at her, briefly confused, until she reaffirmed more steadily, her eyes large and somber, "9 down: The answer is Freesia".
Chandler's offer to take the wheel for their drive home to the city had been far from altruistic.
He had taken enough road trips with Ross over the years to know that it would not take long for the purr of the car's engine to lull his best friend into a deep slumber; thus offering Chandler the quiet, mind-numbing meditation that he knew navigating the dark and empty roads would provide.
Seeing her again had stirred things up, there could be no denying that.
Over the past couple of months he had to admit that he had felt a little hurt when it had become increasingly obvious that she was avoiding him: Not seeing Monica was certainly not an outcome that he would ever choose.
But he also had to concede that being kept physically away from that beautiful face had made it vastly easier to keep his mind at a safe distance from that most confusing of evenings.
After all, he still knew now, what he had known then: No good could come from dwelling on that night or attempting to dissect its true meaning.
If indeed it had a meaning at all.
Unbeknownst to Chandler, as his glazed eyes stared unseeing into the red glow of taillights ahead, his mind was not alone in working hard to resist the urge to revisit.
As Monica lay in the nauseating fluorescent light of her room, still waiting on the early hospital release Richard had promised, her gaze rested obsessively on the half-finished crossword puzzle that lay discarded on her bed.
If her husband had even noticed that she was staring at the folded newspaper that lay at her side, she supposed he might assume she was trying to figure out those last remaining answers.
But the sad truth was, Monica's remote eyes were studying at length those letters, scribed with carefree haste and gentle pressure; examining the looping "O"s that were left slightly ajar; the sweeping, surprisingly flourished "S"; the curiously slanted "A's and "T"s; and an "M" carved with such deep aesthetic precision, the ink might have been pressed to the paper by the key of a typewriter.
Allowing her fingertips to lightly trace this most trivial of penmanship brought back the teasing laughter; the sweetly boyish concentration; the sensation of his skin brushing against hers; the aching softness in his smile.
She felt pathetic. And ashamed. And confused.
When she glanced guiltily towards Richard she realized that he was more likely to assume that her thought would be firmly where they usually were: Hopelessly fixated on babies and fertility and biological clocks; and she still could not really believe that she had been foolish enough to add a whole new world of bewilderment to her already tumultuous mind.
But she was beginning to accept that was exactly what she had done.
Because even now; two months after she had unwisely dipped the tip of her toe into that forbidden pool; Monica was struggling to push down a very real urge to dive back in.