Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
- "The Second Coming", W.B. Yeats
PROLOGUE
"Do I look good?"
It was a typical Saturday night for Monica, or so she would've liked to believe even as she rushed about in the living room, hyperventilating, tripped twice against the carpet and continued to flap her dress and nose into the mirror. Rachel sighed.
"For the hundredth time, Monica, yes. You look totally hot."
"I'm-getting-engaged-today hot?"
Rachel flinched. "Look, you have got to stop saying that. You have to pretend you don't know. If he gets to know I spilled the beans about the proposal you're gonna end up with a dead bridesmaid."
Monica mumbled in compliance, pressing her lips together to mellow down the excitement, "I know, I know. I know!" And ended it with a big wide grin.
This time, Rachel gave in and grinned back in hysterics. She climbed onto the centre table; her arms were stretched up in the air as if high-fiving a ghost. "My God, are you gonna get engaged!"
"Yes!"
"I just thought of the perfect wedding gift for you! And the centerpieces? Roses, no –lilies, no, no –periwinkle, they'll go with the sapphire of the ring!"
Monica's jaw dropped to the ground. "He showed you the ring?!"
Rachel half-sighed and half shook her head, "I told you, he had to tell me coz I butted in while he was going through ring brochures. You're losing your mind, Mon."
She pretty much looked like she was, as she clutched her head and thumped on the sofa. It was a sudden surge of adrenaline; her heart was practically pounding like a funeral drum, only faster. "Oh, oh yeah. God, this is real. How – how was the ring?"
Rachel squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. Her voice slightly cracked from emotion, "It was beautiful."
Monica smiled, chills running down her spine. She looked down at her fingers; they looked so naked without it. Hell, she hadn't even seen it. Rachel was right; she couldn't hyperventilate out of excitement just yet, she had to pretend being oblivious, and give her man the chance to confess his love. To make this night, the most tearful and romantic and the cheesiest of her life. Furthermore, she had an even bigger surprise to throw him off his one knee.
"Okay," she stood up again, dusted her dress and brushed her hair off the shoulders, "I'm ready. Wish me luck."
Chandler waited at the restaurant, already having been checked his watch a thousand times. He sipped at the glass of water and fervently rubbed his hands together, staring at the entrance. The velvet box felt like digging a hole in his pocket. He rehearsed in his mind for the hundredth time how he was going to do it – he was to order her favorite wine (and hence she'd know how expensive it was, he smirked to himself), and then he would propose a toast – he was quite on the fence about getting down on one knee – usually such things brought nothing but disaster to his clumsy self.
The point was, he couldn't have been more excited and terrified for this evening.
"Can I help you with anything, sir?" The waiter gave him a jump-scare.
"Uh, yeah, I'd like a bottle of Cheval Blanc 1947, and could you set the music to more 1980s? I've got a special thing to do tonight," he grinned and patted at his bulged ring pocket. The waiter gave a knowing smile. That went well, he thought. At least he wasn't on a lame joke rampage tonight. He would take it for a divine sign.
The waiter left and he slipped another look into the velvet box. It was a diamond ring, sapphire on both sides. He sensed the sudden goosebumps on his arms. He thought it looked incredible. Joey had agreed.
Another fifteen minutes and she was there.
Chandler sprang up to his feet. She looked so beautiful in that pink dress, her hair fluttering at the sides, and smiling ear to ear.
"Hey," she giggled with a small head bob, and took her seat.
"You look – you look amazing," he stuttered, before retreating to his own chair. More than a year now, and it was still so hard not to gape like an idiot at her eyes.
"Sorry I'm a little late," she said, blushing a light shade of pink as she pursed her lips, "Should we order?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure," he cleared his throat, "Wine?" He'd rather have the waiter pour it out; by this time his hands were trembling enough for her to figure something was up.
"Sure," she looked a little longer at him than he would've wished, "Chandler, you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Totally. I'm just so, so ...over the moon!"
She laughed, "Er, what?"
And he had already begun being Chandler. He shook his head disapprovingly. How he loathed himself. "I don't know," he garbled, "I'm clumsy."
"I still love you, though."
"And stupid."
"And now I love you even more."
He let out a slow breath, and delicately took her hand in his. "Look," he began, as his voice left off its jokey trace and gained a certain sincerity, "I just gave you a crappy prologue to what I'm gonna say."
She first seemed a tad confused, but as he stared deeper into her eyes, she gave in. Her mouth fell open, and she gasped for air. Chandler squeezed her hand to steady her. "God, is this what I'm thinking this is?"
He chuckled. "Yes, but let me say it, or it might get me constipated for the rest of my life."
She gave off a laugh, a small pensive one, her eyes almost watering. He started from the scratch, "As I was saying, I'm clumsy and stupid and couldn't have been luckier I'm with someone like you. Before I met you, I had a real little life, and – and – well, I had a whole big damn speech prepared but I'm so nervous I've forgotten most of it. So," and with it he pulled out the ring out of the box, while she clasped her face, almost stunned out of her wits. He stumbled forth and fell on one knee – almost accidentally, but maybe it looked it was part of the act – then held out the ring, his heart pounding hard against his ribs.
"So, Kathy, will you marry me?"
She mumbled through her tears. "Oh God, yes."
He did it. Even thinking about the past few seconds made him giddy. And there they were, a sobbing mess in the middle of a packed restaurant, the diamond glowing on her finger. Without further ado, he kissed her. Things couldn't have gone better.
It was pretty late at night when Chandler finally helped himself in through the Apartment 20 door. He had expected to surprise the whole gang with the news, but it was just Monica slumped on the couch, watching TV. She lazily turned at the noise, but then jumped to her feet as soon as she saw him, squealing.
"Where the hell have you been, Chandler Bing?!" She almost yelled, her expression a lovechild of ecstasy ... and some more ecstasy. It was frankly frightening, he thought.
"What's going on?" he asked, momentarily forgetting the piece of information he intended to give in the first place, "Where's everyone else?"
"Everyone else's off to sleep, which you'd have known if you had a track of time," she patted on his arm. He glanced down at his watch; it was 2 o' clock.
"Mon, I'm so sorry, I'll get my ass out of here and not let – why are you giving me that creepy smile?"
"I have news!" She let out a happy, high-pitched cry.
"... Okay, and?"
"I'm engaged!"
"Holy Mother of God," he reached out for a bear hug, then stepped back for a dramatic quip, "Wait a minute, wait a minute. It's a conspiracy. I'm pretty sure I proposed to Kathy. You sure Kathy and Richard don't belong to the Illuminati?"
She hit him on the arm again, "You idiot," before the realisation struck her, "Oh, damn, that's what you were off doing? You proposed to Kathy?!"
"I did. And she said yes." He gushed shyly.
"I'm so happy for you, Chandler."
"Can you believe it? You and I will be married soon, and not to each other," he laughed at his own lame joke.
"I know. It's a punishment," she joined in, "Isn't it?"
"You know what, we should have our weddings together."
"Chandler, we'd be getting 'married' married, not 'sixth-grade' married."
"Think about it, you two could share your wedding dress and Richard would buy the dinner."
"I pity Kathy. Do you ever get serious?"
"Okay, okay. I'll shut up. I'll be a married man. If you say, I'll put a sign saying 'Make love, not jokes' in front of our house."
"Suits," she chuckled, "Don't you have work tomorrow?"
"Nah, I'm calling in sick. And you know what, the news cries out loud for some past-midnight beer."
"I guess we still have some," she hopped towards the fridge while he briskly made his way to the couch, flinging onto it. "Late night saucy rom-com, huh? I'm not judging," he smirked.
"You, sir, get pedicures," Monica shot back, although she sounded too happy to be actually snappy. She settled five or so cans on the centre table and snuggled beside him. "Here you go. Let's get wasted."
"Ah, our very own bachelor-bachelorette party."
Half past three in the morning, and they were ogling at the TV with barely-opened eyes, doubled up in a single blanket. The corny rom-com was still running, interspersed with commercials that went weirder and weirder as the night grew in. Monica could tell they were pretty drunk by then; they had already discussed the political situation of the state and had a cat versus dog argument, and now had closed in on a moment of not-so-subtle introspection. Their drunken giggles dulled out the TV sound, somewhat.
"You know," Monica let out a hiccup, and pointed at the screen, "that's Drew Barrymore. Rachel, she told Rachel, Rachel – she told Jean Claude Van Damme that I wanted to have a threesome with him and Drew Barrymore!"
Chandler guffawed aloud, the beer can shaking in his hand, "I know, ha, she told me."
"She told you too!"
"Yeah, she told me."
"I – I can't remember what I was gonna say, Chandler."
"Me neither, me neither, Mon."
That shut them up for a few while – just for a little while – until a car chase began on the screen and both of them toppled with peals of laughter again.
"I don't even know why I found it funny!" cried Monica as she wiped her leaking tears.
"Shh, Mon, you'll wake up your sleeping big tree in the room."
"My what?"
"Your Richard."
The ringing noises in her head resisted all the thinking as she tried to rack her brains. She laughed a little, never bothered with why, and concentrated upon Chandler's question again. Chandler. He was getting married! Now, how the hell did that happen? She chuckled. Wait, what Chandler question. He never asked a question. Man, she was so drunk.
"What's so funny?" He asked while joining the party, his eyes reddened and glazed under the dim light.
"Are you crying, Chandler?"
"What, no, I'm just drrrunk."
"Ohhh. Me too." She suddenly remembered the answer to Chandler's question was that her big sleeping tree decided to sleep in his office since he got an emergency call after their dinner at the Plaza. Too bad nobody ever needed fine dining at 3 pm in the night. She somewhy found that string of random thought hilarious. Also, Chandler was getting married.
"You know," he broke into her trance, his voice all serious, "I'm getting cold feet."
"I told you to not hang your feet down the couch –"
"No, no. Not cold feet. Cold feet."
"Ohh," Monica tried on a drunken pensive face to go with his state of mind, "Oh, no, no. You can handle it. My boy's all grown up now."
"Ya think?"
"Yeah, handle is your middle name – middle – middle part of our first, first name. Isn't it?"
"I guess. Aw, Mon, I love you."
She giggled awkwardly. "Aww, snap."
"What?"
"Nah... nothing." She gave him a goofy smile instead.
He nudged her curiously. "Oh, c'mon. Tell me! I can handle it, handle's my middle name!"
"Um, okay," she muttered, as she smacked her lips and shook the empty beer can into her mouth for the last few drops, "I just remembered I ... I had a smally small crush on you in high school, you know when you had that ridiculous hair and played that clarinet... ha, before I began to hate you."
"You hated me? Wow, figures how I got my freshly laundered pants soaked in marinara sauce when I left them with Ross's."
She burst out laughing again. "That was yours?! I thought that was Ross's!"
"Hmm, interesting." He rolled his eyes so hard it might've had turned inside out.
"It's truuuue!" She elbowed him in the ribs.
"Ow, my heart aches anyway, but ow ow," he groaned, inducing another fit of laughter, "The only consolation, however, will beee the – the fact that I might be the first you ever considered giving your – your fruit to –"
"Fruit?!"
" –Flower, flower was it? Flower it was."
"How d'you know about the flower?!"
"Rachel talks, milady." Monica gasped dramatically. Rachel. She first spilled the ring beans, brought the engagement cat out of the bag. And now this. Monica drawled on, struggling to copy the mafia tone she just watched on the screen. Mafias and car chases. They had never realized they possibly switched the channels. "That one bridesmaid is dead. And no, eww!"
"Okay, okay, no Chan Chan Man for you, this couch is mine and why don't you run to your room to your Giving Tree!"
"Whaaaaat?"
He yawned and slumped into her lap. "I don't know. You neverrr ask a drunk man." Monica was sure he drifted to sleep within a minute. She looked at him, calmly breathing, curled up in the blanket, his head snuggling for space on her lap. He looked so adorable. She still couldn't believe this moron was going to get married. But then, so was she. Lives were about to change. Chandler was right; maybe this was the one thing they could do together. Maybe this was the last thing they could do together.
A happy tear rolled down the bridge of her nose. "You and I are gonna get married. And yes," she grinned, "not to each other. Maybe we should put that on the chapel."
Okay guys I know I have this other story hanging but I'm not really getting a good vibe about that so basically I'm incorporating the theme of that story into this one. If you review, I promise I'll continue. So please! :)))))
Note: This story takes place during season 4. The only deviations from canon is that Richard comes back to Monica's life in the beginning of season 4 and Kathy and Chandler never break up. No worries though, it's a Mondler!