Author's note: In this episode, when they show up at the coffeehouse and are asked if they're okay, Chandler says that Monica made him realize there are more important things, to which she replies with "yeah baby" HAHA I believe it was a conversation that used more than words, so here it is. :)

Edit: Sophie, I see what you mean, and your point made me feel a little bad about my version of Monica here tbh HAHAH I understand where you're coming from, but I believe it could have happened this way because there wasn't much to be said at that point anymore. I don't believe talking would do much. Anyway, I'm just explaining why I went for it this way, thank you for your honesty s2

It was one of those moments when he felt completely alone in the world, absolutely sure that not one single soul could understand him at all, not even his fiancée. Maybe he overreacted a little, but it was just hard knowing that what he thought of as the most romantic night of his life had been just an accident. He knew Monica wasn't in the best state of mind when she threw herself at him in London, however he always believed that there was something about him being there for her that shifted another something inside her brain. Now he knew it wasn't like that at all; she'd had a first option, a very clear idea of who she wanted to be with, and by not seeing the guy she wanted there, she had no other choice than going with what was left. That hurt really bad. Even after all those years with Monica sticking with him, and giving her best for the relationship to work, he still felt surprisingly inadequate. His mind still told him that he wasn't good enough for Monica, that he didn't match the image of the husband from her dreams, that she was just settling for him because she didn't have any other option. Knowing that she had slept with him because he was there when the one she really wanted wasn't just unleashed his deepest agonies.

Monica never said it out loud, but he knew she silently tried to improve his self-esteem, and by knowing him so well, she was aware that he would be upset if he ever knew her original plans for that London night. He could understand why she kept that secret (from him, not from the girls, apparently; which was another thing that hurt too, but better not dwell on that). He could perfectly understand the fact that she was afraid of hurting him with that little piece of information. He could also see the fact that she wanted to marry him after all, so if he looked at the situation through pragmatic lenses, who she originally wanted to hook up with didn't matter. This was the rational part of his brain talking, the one that was much too shy compared to the scarred, self-loathing part, which just screamed at him "you're nobody's first choice, of course she didn't really want to be with you from the beginning". Ugh, if he could at least manage to control that half, maybe he could be okay, stop being such a baby and just make up with that fantastic woman he loved so much and that cared so much about him.

After talking to Joey, Chandler felt a little better. It was nice hearing from someone else that they were meant to be, that they fit as well as he liked to believe (he sure wouldn't be listening anything like this from the girls or from Ross, he was sure of that). He felt better, yes, but not one hundred percent. Something inside his chest still stung, and at that moment he wished the pain was physically caused by smoking – he should have bought some cigarettes after all, that would've helped.

When he arrived at apartment 20, he stalled a little before opening the door. He knew Monica would be there, worrying about him, and he felt guilty for that. It wasn't like stopping his train of thoughts was something easy though. More than anything he didn't want to snap at her, she didn't deserve it. He sighed, preparing himself to face the woman, and opened the door.

Just like he expected, Monica came running from the big window and stopped in front of him, looking worried as hell, as if he had disappeared for days. The sting inside his chest came back at her pained expression, but he couldn't pretend he was alright.

"Look, Monica, I know that…" And he could never finish his line as his fiancée jumped at him so hard his back hit the door, kissing him passionately, in a way that reminded him of the first minutes from that night in London.

Of course he held her back, and no matter how distressed he was, when Monica's body was all over him like that and their lips touched, his body seemed to react on its own; he returned the kiss in a heartbeat. That faintly reminded him of his reaction in London too, when he was entirely surprised by her action but couldn't stop kissing her back.

She broke the kiss apart. It looked like they were about to have sex, all the signs parading in front of him. She was panting, check. Her eyes were dark, check. Open mouth, hitched breathing, hands almost clawing his shoulders, check, check, check. He wasn't sure if he was in the mood though – whoa, that's a first!, he thought.

"Listen, Monica…"

"Honey, there's no need to talk. I've told you how I feel, and I know how you feel. I'm sorry for not telling you about that but, for now..." She moved her hands from around his neck to grab his, guiding them to her breasts. "Just touch me."

Okay, maybe a little in the mood. She leaned up to kiss him again, still harboring the same passion from the second before, and as much as he was still upset, his hands were moving on their own accord, cupping her breasts, his lips pressing against hers, tongue invading her mouth. Her hands had moved to his butt cheeks and she bit his lower lip before stopping the kiss to move her mouth to his neck.

His brain was like a cramped closet with no room to spare. Too many things running around, making his head spin so much it took a minute for him to notice that Monica was undressing him, getting rid of his jacket and pulling his shirt up.

The jacket fell on the ground, and she abruptly stopped what she was doing to pull him to their bedroom. She intertwined her fingers with his and guided him to the way, as if he was a lost child or something. He let out a sigh, but still permitted her to pull him until they were inside their room, with the door locked.

She got closer to him again, her hands cradling his head, and she kissed him once more, this time more softly. His hands rested on the small of her back, a contented sigh coming out of him, which she took as a good thing. They stopped kissing again, and she looked straight into his eyes. Hers were shiny, and the gaze was so intense he felt the air being knocked out of his lungs.

"Chandler, let me make love to you."

"Monica…" The sigh this time sounded frustrated again, but she stopped him from saying anything else.

"Please, Chandler. Let me show you how I feel."

He didn't say anything, but didn't stop her either when she resumed undressing him. She took off his shirt and kissed every bit of skin on his chest, moving her lips down his front, passing through his nipples to softly teeth them a little, following the hair line that led to his groin. She pulled him again, guiding him to the bed, and pushing him softly so that he would lie down. As he waited there, she took off her own clothes, never leaving his eyes. It was a reverse image of something that'd happened a lot before – Monica lying down, waiting for him, Chandler taking his clothes off while staring at her. Being at the end of that gaze made him shiver a little in expectation. She was naked now, and her smile showed up when she noticed him swallowing hard at the image. Then she crawled on the bed, stopping between his legs, rubbing his penis through the jeans, smiling again when she noticed he was hard.

Chandler felt like an idiot. He was obviously turned on by this point, but he was still dominated by bad feelings. He even thought about charity, somehow, the way she was willing to sex him up to make him feel better. While she unbuckled his jeans and tugged the pants down, suspecting what she was about to do, he supported his weight on his elbows to look at her. They've done this a million times before, of course, but the situation made him feel weird about it.

"Monica, you really don't need to do this."

"Shh. I don't need to, I want to. You know I love doing this." And she licked his erect member painfully slowly, going down until the base and leaving a glistening trail when she moved up, then putting all of it inside her mouth. In spite of himself, he moaned. Ah, that always feels amazing. Her head moved up and down, sucking on the head very hard whenever up, and she grabbed his hand, encouraging him to tug on her hair. He almost never did this when she was sucking him off, but he allowed himself to tangle his fingers into her hair, not really moving, just clenching it a little because it felt so good. She had straddled one of his legs, and as she continued working her mouth on him, she started grinding herself on it. He could feel the wetness and the warmth coming from her entrance – she always turned herself on when she sucked him like this. She did the whole thing, working on his dick, licking his balls, pumping his member with her hands; it wouldn't take long for him to come, but she stopped before that. There was a condom resting on the pillow – he didn't even notice it when he lied down. So that was a plan, huh. That's so much like her. She decided to do the work of tearing the package and rolling the condom on him, then she moved to straddle his legs, her hand firmly holding his penis as she positioned herself on it, moaning as it entered her. He watched his member disappear into her, and no matter how many times they'd done it before, this moment always gave him goose bumps.

He was inside her, but she still wasn't moving. Her hair was cascading over the left side of her head; her eyes were shut, her expression exuding pleasure, her skin shining, her hands on his shoulders, her legs wide open on top of him. Once more, everything reminded him of their first night in London. She was so stunning back then, just like she was now. He still couldn't believe this woman wanted him inside her so bad, and he was almost giving in to enjoy the sex when that particular thought made him think of all the discussion they had that day, and with the most familiar, bitterest mindset ever he concluded "she wanted another guy, I'm just a runner-up." As if she could hear his thoughts, she opened her mouth and folded her body on top of him – her breasts rubbing on his chest, her hands caressing his face, her lips on his again.

"Chandler, I'm not doing this because I want to make you forget everything with sex." She moved her hips just once, making him groan, and moaning too herself. "I just want to make you feel what I felt that night." She kissed him and moved again, his penis almost out of her completely then getting back in. She got up again, her hands supporting her weight on his chest as she moved her hips up and down a few more times, eyes still locked on his. "I may have… thought… of someone else… ah… first." She said among gasps, stopping the movements a little to bend over again, kissing him. "But no man…" Her lips were still almost glued to his, her hands cupping his face, eyes just inches apart. "No man would ever make me feel what you made me feel that night."

Chandler suddenly felt a rush of energy running all over his body. His hands traveled on her back, resting on each side of her hips.

"Do you believe me, Chandler?" The words leaving her mouth in that moment carried a huge amount of deep emotions, and with her whole body shaking like that and her inner walls clenching on his penis, everything composed a scene that was both heartwarming and very sensual at the same time. He felt like the luckiest guy in the world. All of a sudden, everything that happened that day didn't matter anymore. He could feel all his despair and self-doubt dissolving. This woman loved him. And that first night might not have originated the way he had idealized, but the real part of everything was what they had. They had made love that night. He had satisfied her thoroughly. She had craved for him as much as he had craved for her. They had fallen in love. They were getting married. All things concerned, no matter what, that was the most romantic night of his life, and he was nothing like a runner-up. He was the main character of it, sharing his spotlight with Monica. They were perfect together, they had been since day one, and that's all that mattered.

His hands lifted her hips a little, and this was his turn to do something. He moved his own hips very hard, pounding into her with all his might, listening to the loud noises that sounded like music to his ears, said noises leaving her mouth while she rested her face on his neck.

He shifted his body, bending a little so that he could lick her breasts and suck on her nipples while he thrust into her. Then, one hand moved to cup her face, another one to rub on her clit and he stared at her.

"Monica" She seemed to struggle to look at him. "I love you."

People say women's reaction to sex is both physical and emotional. Well, that would explain how she almost burst into flames at his words, inner walls closing so tight around him he felt like he was being drained, noises getting louder as she came. He used that as a cue to thrust harder, and soon after he came too.

After their orgasm, they were still joined; neither really moving at all, just enjoying the feeling of being connected that way – she loved having him inside her just as much as he loved being inside her. Monica lied down on top of him, her face on the crook of his neck. "I love you so much", came the late reply in a whisper. He wrapped his arms around her tiny body, feeling heavenly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." He answered truthfully. "Never felt better."