The One With Unrequited Love

By: Jana~

Chapter Three

XXX

--The knowledge of it had her on edge. He was over there, at that exact moment, mending his mistake, asking for forgiveness. She would of course accept his apology, because, bottom line, she was a nice person, and truly in love with him. Then they would probably get intimate, and…

Monica shuddered, immediately putting more effort into scrubbing the plate she had half submerged in the sink filled with soapy water. She was aware of Rachel exiting her room, but paid it little mind, her attention on the unnecessary task in front of her.

Initially only glancing in Monica's direction as she headed for the bathroom, Rachel stopped her trek when she noticed the tension in her friend's body and actions. Padding over slowly, when finally near enough to peer over her shoulder, she asked, "What did that plate ever do to you?"

Monica jumped at the question, and volume of it, though it was posed quietly, because of how close she was, which she was not expecting. "Shit, Rache! Little warning next time, before you go sneaking up on me, please!"

Laughing, Rachel muttered, "Sorry," then asked, "Why so tense?"

Back to the ever-diligent scrubbing, Monica asked, trying for casual, "Who says I'm tense?"

"Please," Rachel scoffed, gingerly pinching the edge of the plate that was visible above the suds, pulling it into full view as she announced, "The food particles are gone now! You have moved on to removing the pattern!"

"Just being thorough," Monica muttered, almost defensively, but then she quickly rinsed the plate she had been abusing and set it into the dish drainer. When she said nothing further, and essentially ignored Rachel's presence, Rachel huffed in slight exasperation.

"Mon!" she snipped, though kindly enough, "Spill it! What's up?"

Sighing, Monica answered, "Chandler is at Kathy's."

The lack of details beyond that simple statement brought Rachel back to irritated. "And…?" She drawled the one word question, hoping to encourage a response.

"He's apologizing, for being a guy last night," Monica offered, though somewhat reluctantly.

Laughing, Rachel asked, "Isn't he a guy every night? Was she just then figuring that out?"

Monica rolled her eyes. "Not for physically being a guy! For being an idiot!"

Surprisingly, Rachel grabbed a hand towel and started drying the buildup of dishes being stacked, asking as she moved to hang a mug on its correct-numbered hook, "Isn't that one and the same? Idiot and guy?" She laughed at her own joke, which just caused Monica to scoff and again roll her eyes.

"Pretty much, but, Chandler is different," she defended him. "He just… made a mistake," she added. Rachel shot her a knowing look, putting Monica on the defensive again. "What was that look for?"

"You have it for him bad!" Rachel announced, smirking as she shook her head, then, knowing an argument was possible, changed the subject, asking, "What idiot thing did he do?"

"He accused her of cheating," Monica answered, and Rachel got serious instantly.

"Pretty steep accusation," she mentioned. "Did he have any kind of proof?"

"Just lame guy shit Joey came up with," Monica answered, to which Rachel scoffed, and then chuckled softly.

"The blind leading the blind," she muttered, setting a plate up in the cupboard before grabbing a bowl, drying it as she wondered, "Why do guys have to panic, every time things get serious?"

"Well, with Chandler, it's because he's the product of a broken and… well, weird home," Monica assumed, shrugging, then added, carefully, "He's just insecure."

"You're just making excuses because you're crushing on him!" Rachel goaded her, unintentionally upsetting Monica with the ill-timed jab.

"Why don't you just post that on a billboard while you're at it?" Monica hissed, glancing towards the door. "Or maybe rent time on the big screen in Time's Square!" she added fairly hostilely; Rachel immediately turned apologetic.

"Sorry," she whispered, then changed the subject again, though slightly, by asking, "So, he went to Kathy's, and you're tense… why?"

"He was just so nervous, right before he left," Monica explained. "I'm just… wondering how it's going, is all," she added, causing Rachel to eye her for a moment before responding.

"And," she asked cautiously, "What outcome are we hoping for?"

"What do you mean?" Monica asked. Finishing the last of the dishes, she pulled the drain plug, then leaned against the counter and stared back at Rachel pointedly.

"Are we hoping for reconciliation, or… not?" Rachel asked, avoiding direct eye contact, instead pretending the drying of the bowl in her hands needed her undivided attention.

Sighing, dropping her gaze to the floor, Monica muttered, almost sheepishly, "Whichever Chandler is hoping for."

Rachel dropped her hands to her sides, the bowl in one, the towel in the other, a sympathetic expression finding its way onto her face. "God, Mon, you just must be in hell right now."

Pushing away from the counter, grabbing a towel of her own so that she could help Rachel in her task, Monica answered in a rather despondent tone, "That's pretty much the deal, yeah."

Sensing her depression deepening, Rachel cleared her throat, then stated in a semi-cheerful way, "Ya'know, when I first moved in, I thought Chandler had a thing for you."

Monica perked up at the revelation. "You did?" she asked, rhetorically, then added, acting as if she wasn't all that interested in the answer, "What made you think that?"

Rachel shrugged, playing along with the disinterested air Monica had initiated. "You guys just seemed to have some kind of, I don't know… special bond? He's definitely closer to you than he is the rest of us," she added, then quickly amended, "Well, with maybe the exception of Joey. But, that's different. That's a guy thing. Someone to go to sports games with, and ogle women on Baywatch with. With you," she theorized, "It's more… real. It's not superficial, ya'know?"

Agreeing, Monica gave the hint of a nod, then added, "I've told him stuff I've never told another human being, and I know he's told me stuff, too, that he's never shared before."

"You've told him things that you've never even told me?" Rachel asked, almost sounding hurt, but instead of offering assurances, Monica threw her an incredulous sideways glance.

"You're a gossip, Rache," Monica explained, "And there are some things I just don't want advertised!"

"Ok," Rachel conceded, though she didn't seem pleased about doing so, then pointed out, "I haven't said anything about your feelings for him, have I?"

"And I appreciate that," Monica sighed, wanting to avoid an argument, muttering a moment later, "There are just some things, I know I can tell him, and not be judged for it."

"You think I'd judge you on stuff?" This time, Rachel did sound hurt.

"It's not an insult," Monica insisted, but that did little to ease the scowl on Rachel's face. She hated that expression. Wanting to make nice, she assured her, "If it makes you feel any better, I've told you stuff I haven't told him." It did make her feel better, and the slight smile that tugged at her mouth confirmed it. "You're my best girl friend," Monica continued, "Chandler just happens to be my best guy friend."

"Fair enough," Rachel replied, moving past the moment by asking, "So, what happens if she forgives him? You're just gonna… say nothing?"

Monica nodded absolutely. "If I tell him, it'll just mess with his head, and possibly mess up our friendship."

"Fair enough," Rachel said again, then, after what seemed like a necessary pause, asked, "What if she doesn't?"

"I still say nothing," Monica answered sternly, as if confident of her decision, but Rachel could see through the façade.

"Really?" she asked, gaining her full attention by grabbing her wrist, stopping her from reaching for another dish. Monica became uneasy with the intense and questioning look on Rachel's face.

"It's for the best," Monica told her, shifting her eyes away, to anything else she could find to focus on.

"Says who?" Rachel questioned her, and Monica pulled her gaze up to meet hers, a somewhat shocked expression being returned, her tone matching and following.

"Says you!" she near snapped. "You used you and Ross as an example of how it's so not a good idea to cross that line with friends!"

Rachel scoffed. "Don't go by me and Ross!" she shot back, almost chuckling. "I know he's your brother and all, but, Ross is an idiot, ok? I mean, Chandler kinda is too, cause, well, he's a guy, and they all seem to have that same 'Guy's Guide To Being An Idiot' handbook, but still! Chandler isn't Ross and you are not me! We made mistakes," she added. "You could avoid them."

"Or we could crash and burn worse than you guys did!" Monica countered, then added after an exasperated sigh, "But it's not like it matters anyway, cause I'm not telling him! Ever! Rejection sucks," she added, calmer, "And I refuse to set myself up for that kind of pain."

Sighing, moving to grab another dish to dry from the drainer, Rachel said with all the seriousness in the world, "You're just assuming he's going to reject you."

Copying her actions, Monica snatched up a glass to dry, replying with a sort of angry despair, "My love life would read like a bad soap opera script. If that's any indication…" She trailed off, pushing past Rachel to situate the glass on the shelf; she was visibly shaking.

"God, I'm sorry," Rachel apologized, remorsefully quiet, "I didn't mean to upset you."

Monica pulled back abruptly, hiding the trembling of her hands by holding them close to her body. "You didn't upset me," she insisted, but Rachel wasn't buying it.

Her hands on her hips, her tone accusatory, she countered, "Then why are you shaking like a leaf?"

Scoffing, as if dismissing the allegation, Monica answered, "I'm not! I'm just--"

"You'll be happy to know, Kathy wasn't sleeping with her costar," Chandler announced, unknowingly interrupting Monica as he stepped through the door without knocking first, startling both her and Rachel as he did. His tone did not support the seemingly good news, and neither did his sluggish demeanor.

Monica instantly realized something was wrong, though so did Rachel. It was pretty obvious.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Rachel asked, sharing glances with Monica as Chandler dragged himself towards the couch.

"Sure," he muttered, adding after dropping his body onto the cushions, "Except, she is now."

"Oh, God," Monica whispered, moving quickly to join him, Rachel following, but more hesitantly.

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked, sitting across from him on the coffee table just after Monica sat beside him. "Did she admit to it?"

"She didn't have to," he said, heaving a heavy sigh, but offered nothing further, which just made Rachel impatient, and curious.

"What are you saying?" she asked, glancing at Monica, noticing how her brow furrowed and her eyes misted with unshed tears.

"I'm saying," he answered, almost shortly, "He was there! I'm telling you, she's a devil woman! I mean you think you know someone, and then they turn around and they sleep with Nick! Nick, with his rock hard pecs, and his giant man-nipples! I hate him! And I hate her! Well, I don't hate her, I love her. This is all my fault really," he added, turning the anger he felt towards his now-ex-girlfriend onto himself, his face crashing into his hands.

"This isn't your fault," Monica insisted, her hand slipping tentatively onto his knee, then asked, rhetorically, "How could this possibly be your fault?"

Even though Monica wasn't really expecting him to answer, he did all the same. "Because, I should've called! If I had just called her after our big, stupid fight, she never would've gone out with Nick, and they wouldn't've ended up in bed together. I threw her at his man nipples!"

Rachel added her hand to Chandler's other knee, and offered sagely, "Honey, this isn't your fault. Just because you guys had a fight, it doesn't justify her sleeping with someone."

That was obviously of little comfort. The idea was cemented. He'd messed everything up with his accusations and insecurities. Yesterday, he had an amazing girlfriend, now, he was miserable and alone. Suddenly, the thought hitting him hard, he turned and pulled Monica into his arms, seeking and desperate for comfort.

Initially, the abrupt action startled her, but quickly, as she realized what he was doing, and what he needed from her, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. Without having to look to confirm it, she knew Rachel was watching them. Monica shut her roommate out of her mind, focusing solely on Chandler, consoling him despite her own pain. They were so close, not even a sliver of space between them, and it made her heart ache, not only because that would forever be the extent of their physical relationship, but because of the emotional anguish he was in. Anguish she couldn't fix, no matter how firmly she held him in her arms, or how lovingly she stroked his hair.

The phone ringing unexpectedly caused Rachel to jump, but the sound of it didn't seem to reach Chandler and Monica at all. There was no way Monica was going to answer it, she knew; her friend was too wrapped up in the pain her and Chandler were both immersed in to care in the slightest.

"I got it," she informed, though she knew her words hadn't found either of them at all. She wasn't sure who she felt sorrier for. Sighing, she snagged the phone off the side table next to the couch and clicked it on. "Hello? – Speaking. – Sophie? – Ok, wait, calm down… – No, I sent it yesterday! – Well, Joanna is wrong! – Fine, I'll come back in then! But I know I sent them! – Yeah, ok, give me twenty minutes. – Bye."

She disconnected the call with a huff, then explained to Chandler and Monica, who were still wrapped in each other's arms, "I have to go back into the office. The nitwits in California are saying I never sent…" She trailed off when she realized, they weren't listening to her at all. "And… you don't care," she muttered sarcastically, heading then for her purse hanging on one of the hooks by the front door. "You'll see me when you see me, I guess," she added, sounding exasperated, but only because she was being accused of incompetence, and because she had to go back in to work after her long day, to defend her honor.

Leaving without another word, the room fell to hear-a-pin-drop silent. The shaky quality to his breathing told her he was fighting back tears, and her heart broke further. Without consciously making the decision to, Monica dropped her head slightly, then kissed his shoulder, very near the edge of his collar where his bare neck was visible. Her adrenalin raced at the slight intimacy of the contact, and in fear of his reaction, but he didn't seem to notice. At first.

It was so light a touch, he wasn't certain at first, but then he realized her hands were on his back, and deduced the rest. "Did you just kiss me?" he asked, sounding more curious than anything else, his voice quiet, pain very much present in it. Monica stiffened. Noticeably.

"No," she lied, falling silent when no other excuse seemed plausible. She just hoped and prayed he wouldn't press further. God doesn't always answer prayers.

"Felt like it," he mentioned, almost casually, making no attempt to break away.

Heart pounding, so loudly she could've sworn he'd be able to hear it, Monica hunted frantically for an explanation. Nothing was coming to mind, damnit! Verging panic, she blurted out the first thing that made sense.

"I had an itch! I was using your shirt to scratch it."

There was the slightest chuckle that came from him, before he quipped, "At least you weren't wiping your nose on me!"

The joke eased her tension. He seemed to buy her excuse, lame as it was, and she let out a soft sigh of relief before pushing out of his arms. They locked eyes for a moment, and she could see the tears that had threatened to fall, but never had.

"It's gonna be alright, ya'know," she assured him, and he nodded solemnly in return.

"It's gonna hurt like hell for a while," he replied, "But, yeah," he agreed, "I know."

Nodding slight, she asked, "Anything I can do to help?"

"Turn back time?" he half-joked, "And stop me from being stupid?"

"Honey, how far back did you want me to go?" she quipped, smirking at him, and he laughed in response, before the situation at hand came back to him. She noticed his smile drop, and dropped hers as well. "Ya'know," she offered seriously, "You shouldn't blame yourself for this. This might have happened eventually, anyway." The hurt expression he returned made her wish she hadn't just said that. Back-pedaling out of her poorly timed statement, she offered quickly, "Look, I'm not saying anything bad, ok? I liked Kathy! I really did, but, it's like Rachel said! You don't go cheating on your boyfriend, just because he said something…!" She halted abruptly, then added in a calmer, almost timid tone, "Insensitive."

"I guess," he said with a shrug, looking away as he sighed, then added, disheartened, "I just suck at this, which is what it all comes down to. I should stop trying."

"You shouldn't," she insisted gently, "You just need to find the right woman. One who gets that you have commitment issues, and get weird from time to time." She stopped herself from adding, 'someone like me.'

At this, Chandler scoffed, then returned almost bitterly, "Good luck to me, then! Women are picky!"

It was Monica's turn to scoff. "And men aren't?"

They stared back at each other for several moments, until they both started laughing.

"Guess one isn't any better than the other, really," he offered, "Huh?"

"Guess not," she agreed, joining him as he settled back against the cushions. Wanting to avoid spilling her feelings, somewhat desperate to move him past the sadness he was exhibiting once again in the wake of their brief laughter, she asked, "You know what you need?"

"To get drunk," he answered immediately, cocking an eyebrow when she glared over at him. "No?" he asked off her mock-scolding expression.

"No," she repeated in answer, then suggested, "You need ice cream."

"None of that soy crap," he returned in acceptance, then quipped as he moved to follow her into the kitchen, "You're trying to turn me into a woman."

"How so?" she asked, and he chuckled slightly.

"The eating ice cream thing, while we lament over our failed love lives," he explained. "It's such a girly thing to do!"

"Ok, well, what do guys do, when in this situation?" she questioned him as she showed off the ice cream choices; he poked the container of Rocky Road.

"Go to strip clubs and get drunk!" he answered, his tone implying that she should have already known that.

"Yeah," she replied with a touch of sarcasm, "We won't be doing that."

"Pity," he said with a well hidden smirk. "Seeing you slip dollar bills into some scantily clad woman's G-string would definitely do me some good." He laughed when she thrust the pint container of ice cream and spoon at him with an indignant scowl on her face.

"I'm willing to help any way I can," she said, turning sharply away from him and stepping back towards the couch, "But I am not adding to your sick male fantasies," she added, grinning when he laughed again, though he couldn't see her do so from his position of behind her.

"Not so sick," he defended with a good-natured lilt, then plopped down next to her, back on the couch, before asking, "You got any?"

"Any what?" she asked, feigning ignorance. She knew very well what he was asking.

Rolling his eyes, he answered, "Fantasies."

It was the perfect opening, but she knew she couldn't take it. His mood was light at the moment, but depression over Kathy was looming just beneath the surface. "Of course," she replied vaguely instead.

When she offered nothing further, he laughed, then tugged the lid off his pint container, tossed it to the coffee table, and dug his spoon into the ice cream, all before asking, "And… they are?"

"Wouldn't you like to know!" she shot back jokingly, starting in on her own pint of ice cream.

He laughed again, but then his demeanor took on a sort of kind seriousness. "I would, actually," he admitted, gaining her full attention.

He was avoiding eye contact, but she continued to stare over at him anyway, watching as he diligently fished a marshmallow out of the chocolate.

"Why?" she finally asked, and he shrugged in answer.

"Just curious," he said, then almost triumphantly gobbled his prize off his spoon.

"Not so sure my fantasies would be of interest to you," she said carefully, still attempting to dodge the subject. "I think men and woman fantasize about very different things," she added, and he smirked over at her.

"Undoubtedly," he agreed. "I can't imagine you would fantasize about most of the things I fantasize about."

"Let me guess," she offered jokingly, "You, Drew Barrymore, and Chloe from the Xerox place."

"Chloe is a spazz," he answered, shaking his head, "And after the whole fiasco with her and Ross… Rachel would castrate me. That is the absolute opposite of a fantasy," he quipped in a serious, almost pained tone. "And… Drew Barrymore…" He shrugged as he trailed off, implying she wasn't someone he had strong opinions about, one way or another.

"I'm curious now," she admitted reluctantly, "But," she added, "I'm worried it might traumatize me."

Laughing, he asked, "How much of a perv do you take me for?"

"I don't," she assured him, giving her ice cream newfound attention. "Just, you hear things, ya'know? About how typical men fantasize."

"Well, maybe I'm not typical then," he suggested, then told her honestly, "I don't think my fantasies are all that bizarre, but, maybe a woman would see it differently."

There was something in the way he had said that. To be sure she understood things correctly, she asked, "You want a woman's opinion?"

"Kinda," he answered, "But not if you don't want to hear it. Wouldn't want to traumatize you," he teased, smirking as he took another bite of his frozen solace.

Considering this for a moment, she then asked, "Would I have to share, if you told me yours?"

"Not if you don't want to," he said with a shake of his head. "Are yours perverted?" he asked, slight excitement in his voice; she threw him a joking glare in response.

"No!" she insisted, "They're just…" Trailing off, looking away, she gave thought to how she should finish that sentence. It wasn't like she could say '…of you'. The silence had dragged on for too long. She could feel his eyes boring into her, questioning her. Flustered, she blurted out, "Embarrassing."

"Oh, please," he countered, "We've shared intimate stuff before! You can tell me!" he needled, though kindly, then gently nudged her with his shoulder.

Relenting, she told him, "You first."

"Well," he began, dropping his spoon into the container and setting it aside, on the coffee table next to its lid, "Basically, it's a sex in a public place, kind of thing." When she looked back at him incredulously, he hastily continued, before he lost his nerve to. "I imagine me and some hot woman – Kathy, more recently – doing it on the couch in Central Perk."

Even with the mention of Kathy's name, her heart sped up at the personal disclosure. "Yeah?" Her tone denoted an encouragement for him to share further, more so than she had intended, which he obviously picked up on, judging by his return expression.

Emboldened by her interest, he sat a little taller, crossed his legs, and turned slightly to face her. "The place is closed," he went on, "Or at least, deader than disco music," he added humorously, "And we're making out… you know, kissing, hands everywhere, kind of thing. Anyway, we just decide to go for it, since, you know, no one is around or whatever. But, still, adrenalin is flying, cause we know we could easily get caught…" He stopped there, trailing off, then shrugged as he added, "I don't think I'd ever be brave enough to do that, but, it's a great image."

She whole-heartedly agreed, taking in a shaky breath to settle herself before responding. "I think a lot of people have fantasies like that," she said, then quickly amended it by adding, "That they would never actually do, I mean."

"Probably," he agreed, asking after a brief pause, "Is it weird? From a female point of view?"

"No," she assured him. "It's actually fairly tame, in comparison to some of the ones I've heard that men have."

"Then, I didn't traumatize you," he teased, to which she shook her head and laughed. "Good," he said, then announced rather excitedly, "Your turn!"

A feeling of dread bombarded her. This was very dangerous territory. Deciding that vague and to the point was the best way to go, she stated simply, "Sex in the shower."

His interest piqued. "Yeah?" he asked, his smile widening. "Ever done it?"

"No," she answered, her cheeks reddening, "Which is why it's a fantasy."

Nodding, he then asked, "With anyone in particular?"

It was like the temperature shot up in the room by at least ten degrees. Willing her voice to normalcy, she answered in a near-whisper, "Not really." When he arched an eyebrow back at her, she knew she was in trouble.

"You're lying," he said as a matter of fact, his intense stare remaining on her, as if trying to determine something. "Who is it?" he finally asked. "Someone I know?"

Attempting to throw him off course, she answered, "Rachel." He nearly choked to death on his own spit.

"Are you serious?!" he asked, in complete shock; his reaction caused her façade to break near instantly.

"No," she answered, "I'm yanking you."

He almost seemed disappointed. "Ok, so, then, who?" he asked again.

"It doesn't matter," she answered, her smile dropping, looking away and into her pint container as she picked at the caramel swirl within it.

"Why doesn't it matter?" he pressed, showing slight concern, which just served to set her further on edge.

"Because," she replied, "It's never going to happen." The inner struggle not to just tell him was rapidly becoming a losing battle. No good would come from telling him. She had to stay firm on that.

"Doesn't know you're alive, huh?" he ventured, but she shook her head in answer.

"He knows I'm alive," she explained, "He just only sees me as… there."

Out of her peripheral vision, she could see his expression change, and fear choked her as she was sure he had somehow figured out her feelings. But his next question, and the tone used in asking it, indicated otherwise.

"Is this why you've been so bummed out lately?"

Desperate to move away from the subject, she physically moved to pluck his neglected ice cream off the coffee table where he had before set it. "Sorta," she answered, then quickly asked, "You done with this?" Without waiting for his reply, she snatched it up and headed for the refrigerator with it. He followed.

"Guess so," he semi-quipped, since she was putting it away, asking as he inched up behind her, "Did I upset you or something? Cause I didn't mean to, if I did."

"I'm fine," she insisted, somewhat defensively, effectively proving she wasn't. "I was just putting the ice cream away," she added, evening her tone, but Chandler clearly didn't believe her.

"Oh, c'mon!" he scoffed, "You nearly bolted off the couch and ran in here!"

She spun around after closing the freezer door, nearly falling into him before correcting her balance, saving herself from embarrassingly doing so. Flustered, she shot back, "I didn't bolt and run!"

Tension soared, but it was Monica alone who was so. Chandler just seemed taken aback. "What's with you lately? Seems like every time I've tried to talk to you lately, you end up pissed at me."

Sighing, looking guiltily to the floor, she said softly, "I'm not pissed. I'm sorry I snapped at you," she then apologized, adding, "I'm just… I've got a lot on my mind."

"So, talk to me about it," he requested, exhaling sharply when she shook her head. "Fine," he muttered shortly, dropping his gaze to the floor as well, tucking his hands in his pockets as he did. "I'll leave you to your thoughts then," he offered, then informed the hardwood beneath their feet, "I'm just gonna get into some comfy sweatpants, climb into bed, and wallow over my failed relationship."

Almost as soon as he'd said it, he headed for the door, but stopped short of leaving when she called out his name. He didn't turn to face her, but she continued anyway.

"I really am sorry about Kathy."

"Yeah," he sighed, nodding, then mumbled a quick 'thanks', before disappearing out the door.

Alone in her apartment once again, Monica stared at the door he had just left through for several moments, tears pooling then falling, causing her surroundings to blur and distort. She was making a mess of things with Chandler, with her unpredictable mood swings, all because she didn't trust herself to confide in him, even in generalities. Knowing she would likely slip up and say too much caused her to panic whenever he would simply ask her to share, that fear coming out as anger. If she wasn't careful, she was going to ruin everything. Their friendship would likely continue, but it would lose something, and never quite be the same again.

The decision was made, as she padded towards her room. She would need to fool them all, or the others would talk, and he would know she was just pretending to be ok. As exhausting as it would undoubtedly be, she had no other choice, if she didn't want to lose him. Starting tomorrow, she would put on the face. To all who knew her, 'happy Monica' was about to reappear.

To be continued

Author's note:

Ok, this chapter just… got away from me. It's almost double in size of the first two chapters, and I still didn't cover everything I had planned to. So, because of that, this story will likely be five chapters, instead of four.

Thanks to everyone who sent well wishes, in reviews and by email. I'm doing a bit better now.

As always, thanks to Kristy, my beta reader, and Oliver, my reality checker, for making me look good! Love you guys! (huggles)

If anyone is interested… I created a new video for YouTube. It's a video of my family at various Christmases throughout the years, set to music from the movie 'Polar Express', song: "When Christmas Comes To Town". If you wanna check that out, do a search for username: Janaonwheels.

Please review!

Happy holidays, and MTLBYAKY