Author's notes: This was inspired by the ending to 5x08, and the fact Monica and Chandler don't honestly say they love one another for another six episodes. I found it interesting that Monica doesn't say she loves Chandler back in the thanksgiving episode, and more so that it isn't touched on again until Chandler's very sure admission to Phoebe. Plus, I think if Friends weren't a comity, Monica would have been a lot more screwed up than she was. Also, I loved the stage of their relationship when everything was undefined.
Monica has very specific coping mechanisms. She needs things in her life to be neat and meticulous, because up until her freshmen year of college, everything was so out of her control.
Now, ten years later, she thinks she went about trying to fix things the wrong way.
Monica has a place for everything in her life, emotions included. Determination is always on display, strong and gleaming like polished silver. Strength isn't far behind, because Monica is the self appointed matriarch of their group. She needs them to need her, so they won't want to leave her.
The emotions Monica sometimes wants to feel the most are shoved to the back of the metaphorical shelf of her mind. Sadness is really only allowed to come out when she's alone in the apartment, creeping over her like fog. Then she sits on the floor of their shower and cries until long after the hot water's gone.
That is all the time Monica gives herself to grief for most things. Monica needs to stick to a routine. Routines mean stability. Stability means things will eventually be okay.
Until today, Monica couldn't tell you were hope was. After Richard, she'd pushed it to the far corner of her shelf, crowding it out with more practical things, like concern for Phoebe's pregnancy and wit to deal with Rachel's changing relationships.
Until today, Monica had told herself she didn't need hope, just like she doesn't really need a family of her very own.. She'd done a damned good job of convincing herself.
But now, hope is suddenly back in full force, blocking everything else out. It's all Monica can focus on,like the chipped plate in her good china. Imperfections taunt Monica relentlessly, and this is no different.
Which is why she's alone in her bed tonight, even though Joey passed out on their couch, and it would be easier than ever to go be with Chandler.
But Monica doesn't trust herself to be around Chandler right now. Because chandler said he loved her, and she doesn't know what to do with that. She might kiss him or she might cry. She might tell him this needs to be over, or she might tell him she loves him, more than maybe she's ever loved anyone.
Monica's own unpredictability scares her more than anything else.
She hasn't had a chance to be alone with Chandler since he'd blurted out his love for her. Joey's screaming had attracted everyone else, and then everyone had wanted to point and laugh at crazy Monica with the bird on her head. Ross had wanted to take pictures, and then everyone had to contribute in removing the Turkey.
After she'd showered, they'd gone to get a Christmas tree. Monica couldn't exactly argue with that, since she'd been the one to suggest it earlier.
She knows Chandler's relieved by this turn of events. He hadn't tried to catch her eye or get her alone all evening. He hadn't actively avoided her, but he'd been almost too good at acting like there was nothing between them.
Monica supposes in her own way, she's avoiding him as well. Initially, she'd been thrilled. She'd never expected Chandler to be the first to say he loved her - hell, she'd never expected either of them to say it at all. Until today, this thing between them has gone undefined, and monica has been okay with that. Lately, especially with the stress of the impending holidays, it's just been nice to have someone to sleep next to.
Last night, Chandler had come in at some hour while Monica was still slaving over potatoes, needing them to be perfect for her brother, because ross deserves something in his life to go right.
"It's ten o'clock, do you know where your Turkey is?" Chandler had said by way of greeting. Monica doesn't like wit around her cooking.
"May I help you?"
"Well, I was coming to taste some pie, but you've effectively thwarted my plans."
"Good, so you're leaving?" Monica had wanted to flick her spoon at him for emphasis, but she wanted to not waste potatoes more.
He'd made another smart assed remark that Monica hadn't paid attention to. Until suddenly, he was pulling the bowl away from her. "Trust me, if you mash anymore… actually, I have no idea what will happen."
"Chandler, what are you doing?"
"Saving you from yourself. You'll thank me in the morning."
He'd started putting things away, ruining her system and not putting the ideal amount of plastic wrap over the potatoes. Without something to stir, Monica was losing steam and any ability to fight him. By the time he was done, she was leaning on the kitchen sink in defeat, mechanically scrubbing her hands.
Chandler had come up behind her, strangely smelling of nutmeg. He'd grabbed her by the shoulders and quietly guidedher back to her bedroom. Monica only hesitated a second before stripping off her clothes and letting them fall into a heap by the side of her bed. She wasn't sure if either of them had bothered to turn off the water.
Faintly, Monica's mind registered the Russell of Chandler getting undressed, and then the dip of the bed against her back. . Monica wasn't sure what he wanted, let alone what she herself was expecting. It certainly wasn't for him to suddenly be spooning her. He'd stroked hair off her forehead and just been so warm. A kiss was placed against her bare shoulder, and suddenly it was the next morning, and Monica still isn't sure when exactly she fell asleep.
She lies with her back to the right side of her bed now - she won't let herself call it Chandler's side. The sheets are cold and too smooth around her. Monica cradles the knowledge of Chandler's love to her chest like a doll, but it isn't the same as physically having Chandler beside her.
All of Monica's instincts are screaming to stay put. She needs to sleep, and then reevaluate further in the morning. She will be more rational in the morning. She can give Chandler the option to take this back, like he'd wanted.
But Monica's impulses are stronger, and she gets out of bed. Her heart is pounding so hard she's surprised it's still beneath her chest. Monica tries to control her breathing, but it's pretty much a lost cause.
In the living room, she can see by the faint light coming in through the window that Joey's position hasn't changed, but now he has an afghan thrown over him. Monica isn't sure which one of their roommates put it there, but judging by the ragged corners, she'd be willing to guess Chandler. He was here and he hadn't come to see her?
Monica doesn't let herself dwell on that as she steps passed their freshly decorated, lopsided Christmas tree. She goes to the fridge and rummages as quietly as is possible. It's hard to open her front door quietly while carrying a dish, but waitressing has made her good at juggling.
Joey and chandler's door is unlocked. Monica isn't sure when it's ever locked, but she takes it as a good sign, because damn it, she needs more of those.
She pauses in the kitchen to grab forks. She doesn't need to worry about being quiet as much here, because if Chandler is asleep she might lose her nerve. She closes the drawer louder than is strictly necessary.
"Jo, what're - Monica?" She hasn't heard his door open, but suddenly Chandler's sleep husky voice is behind her. Monica swallows hard.
She turns around. Neither of them have turned on a light, and Monica wonders if this would be easier in the dark.
"You wanted pie last night. I'm bringing you pie tonight," she blurts in a rasp. The words sound jumbled, even to her.
Chandler turns on the kitchen light. Monica wants to tell him not to, but her throat is closing up. She doesn't want him to see how scared she is. She's supposed to be the sure one about relationships. If Chandler sees she's scared, he might not love her anymore.
"Naked," Chandler remarks.
"What?" It's the first word Monica's not tried to mentally rehearse.
"You brought me pie naked.
"Oh. I guess I did."
Chandler laughs. "This is the best pie ever!"
Monica could leave it at that. They could eat pie - hell, they would probably do other things with the pie, and maybe whipped cream. It would be fun and she would definitely relax.
But if she doesn't say this now, Monica's not sure she ever will. And then, what would happen? hope twinkles manically at her from somewhere behind the terror and the possibility of rejection.
"chandler,"she says, almost as an exhale. "I have - "
"No," Chandler says. He'd ben about to start eating pie straight out of the pan, but he stops, filling on his fingertip. "I will not accept pity pie. Or bribery pie."
"This is just pumpkin," Monica says bewilderedly. Why is he making this more difficult? She sniffs.
"Then why do you have that face?" Chandler's voice and posture are defensive. Monica feels vaguely like she's been slapped.
"I just… I wanted to say…" but the word stick in her throat. Traitorous tears spring up in Monica's eyes. She wants to duck her head, but that will mean crying all over her pie. She thinks she might choke on the weight of all of this indecision.
"Here," Chandler says uncertainly. He reaches out and takes the dish from her. Monica unsuccessfully swallows back a sob. Chandler's eyes dart around, from the pie to her face to her breasts. Monica thinks belatedly that he's probably not comfortable with emotional women, an emotional Monica in particular.
"I wanted to say," she says again. The words are wispy, and Monica wills them to take more shape, to become more sure. She is sure about this. Under the fear, she does know that.
"I wanted to say I love you too." She sobs out loud then, once, half out or relief and half because Chandler's expression hasn't changed. Maybe he really hadn't meant to say it. Maybe he really doesn't love her. A thousand doubts prick Monica like needles, deflating the ball of her courage and leaving her drained and cold.
The ensuing silence stretches like a chasm between them, and Monica just doesn't have the strength to bridge it. The floor is cold under her bare feet, feeding her insecurities.
"Then why are you crying?" Chandler's tone is guarded, and he holds the pie like a shield, maybe as an excuse not to touch her. Monica feels very, very exposed.
"I…" she shakes her head. "I wanted you to know."
Chandler slowly puts the dessert on the counter. His expression shifts, melting into something a little less rough. "I'm pretty sure these sorts of declarations are supposed to be a little more happy," he murmurs wryly. Monica nods, too miserable to speak.
Chandler raises his hand to her face, awkwardly trying to brush her tears. Monica's cheek gets smeared with pumpkin instead. She laughs, but it comes out as a squeak.
Somehow, this is the cue they've both needed. Monica steps forward and Chandler hugs her. He runs a hand through her hair, coating strands with pumpkin, and now they're both laughing for real.
"We suck at this," he says. "Glad to know it's not jus me."
Monica raises her head, a new kind of lump in her throat. She just looks at him, too overcome to speak. "This is okay," she finally says. She doesn't phrase it as a question, but she hopes chandler answers anyway.
"Yeah, it's okay." He kisses the corner of her mouth and squeezes her a little tighter. Monica drops her head against his chest, trembling with relief. He smells like promise..
they stay still for some undetermined length of time. Monica wonders if all of this could have been avoided if she'd held him in the first place. Perspective is different when she's pressed up against him like this, in the best way possible.
"today's been kinda crazy," she finally ventures, when she can trust her voice to no longer crack. She gives Chandler her first real smile of the evening, something so much easier than she'd thought possible.
"There should really be a disclaimer about that with the directions to prepare turkeys."
There are things hanging unsaid between them, questions and expectations that Monica just doesn't have the ability to answer or energy to think about right now. Even though she'd brought up the subject again, she doesn't think she can face the change it will undoubtedly bring just yet.
"You want to eat that pie now?" Chandler asks, his expression gentle in a way Monica's not sure she's ever quite seen. There's an unasked question here as well, will Monica stay here for the rest of the night?
Monica raises her head and kisses him. It's slow and soft, and Chandler's lips are dry. She doesn't let it end until the clenching in her stomach is gone, until she's certain the possibility of leaving won't cross either of their minds.
"Yes," she says then, to both. The word is propelled by certainty, and beneath that, a soft cushion of hope.