A/N This has taken me a long time to write! However I am happy with it.
One, maybe two, chapters to go. I aim to please, hope I have.
S.
x.
A familiar big yellow taxi crossed the paved Paradise, left the parking lot, and carried Monica home.
She had, it had to be admitted, been somewhat disappointed not to find a puppy dog eyed Chandler waiting for her at La Guardia, flowers in hand, anticipating more than the one kiss he had shared with her the night of the rehearsal dinner. Not that he had so much as answered the phone over the previous week. He had been curiously absent every time she called home , not a good sign ,she admitted to herself. Rachel had been similarly elusive, but after the events of the wedding Monica didn't really blame her; she must be wondering what was going on,embarrassed, scared to ask what was going through Ross' mind,maybe even wondering if Ross still wanted her.
Monica looked across to her brother, lost in his thoughts, looking tired and defeated, almost slumped in his seat. The events of the past few days had drained him emotionally and mentally and the long flight had added physical exhaustion to the mix. Monica instinctively reached over to pat his knee.
"Nearly home," she said in an attempt at reassurance. "I called ahead while you got the cases, and spoke to Rachel, they're expecting us."
He looked up with a spark in his brown eyes. "What did she say ?"
Monica shrugged. "Nothing, actually..." Literally so, she mused.
They sat in silence and both reflected morosely on the previous week.
Previously :
Saturday
"Chandler is taking care of Rachel..." Monica soothed Ross as he wondered aloud what had happened to her, aware he had embarrassed her, almost - but not quite - as much as he had humiliated Emily. Ross was glad Chandler was looking after Rachel, but also disappointed; he could have done with his oldest friend's support just then. Joey was there at least, anxious and concerned, but to be honest of little practical help, and Ross knew that he had his assignation with Emily's bridesmaid on his mind. Still in the tux he was meant to be happily married in, hungry, tired, he wanted to be anywhere but there at the Waltham's smart West End townhouse, knocking on a bathroom door, attempting to entice his bride out from the mirrors and the tiles and back into his arms.
"Emily...Emily ..." Mr Waltham's soft English voice elicited no reply.
It was just too silent in there.
Felicity, who it transpired was as old a friend of Emily's as Chandler was of Ross, murmured, "Can I try ?" and Ross ceded to her. They watched , holding their collective breath, as Felicity leaned to the door and called in her dulcet tones, "Em ? Em? Please talk to me. I know you're angry, I know you're upset, but he's sorry, Em, he's breaking his heart out here, please come out and talk to us, not just to him , to all of us, we love you ..."
She heard a rustle, a sniff, a pulling of toilet paper and a blowing of nose. Then a tearful voice.
"Fliss-?"
They all looked at each other hopefully and Ross, before they could warn him off, rushed to the door knocking and calling, "Emily - Emily - please-"
The assembled party close enough to Emily's closed door - even Chandler who, decided Monica, was certainly overly attentive to Rachel rather than concentrating on Ross in his Best Man - Oldest Friend capacity- froze and looked at one another worriedly; they all felt the tension and waited.
There was a shuffling, a scraping sound, followed by silence.
Monica saw Rachel raise her eyebrows and draw in a deep breath, knowing seemingly instinctively what had happened. Hell, she'd been there, done that, given back the engagement ring. Although in her case it had been the best decision of her life; Monica didn't want Ross to get left this way, he was no Barry.
"Get that door out of the way ! yelled Jack Geller, thinking he was contributing. "Break it down!"
"Hammer time ?" quipped Chandler in a nineties flashback moment, which Monica thought actually made Rachel snort although she tried to disguise it as a cough. Since when did Rachel find Chandler so funny ?
A minute later the door was forced open, and Emily was gone. The only sign that anyone had been there was the open window, swinging pathetically in the breeze and banging rythmically against its frame,as if it was thumping along with the heavy desperate beat of Ross' swollen heart.
Sunday
It shouldn't have been Monica who awoke with Ross in the Honeymoon Suite at the Marriott (wrong on too many levels) but somehow, it was. Ross wanted to go there, to see if Emily would appear to retrieve her going away outfit or her overnight bag, or even in case she had forgiven him, whatever, but she did no such thing.
And where, thought Monica irately, where was Chandler ?
The only knock at the door proved to be Emily's father, to collect said things; she has gone away, she has no desire to meet with you, he told Ross as he left; and crestfallen, impotent, Ross sunk into the nearest chair.
Monica however, was more tenacious than her brother and immediately took charge.
"We'll stay and find her," she said, resolutely, and produced a notebook and pencil and began to compile a list of people and numbers to call.
Monday
Having checked out of the bridal suite Ross secured two new rooms. He tore up the honeymoon tickets - good to no-one,now, he sighed inwardly, having seen the words non-transferable clearly in front of him. He took Monica's not inconsiderable case to her room and then collapsed on an attractive, comfortable, but ultimately, horribly, mockingly, single bed. Giving him a small feeling of consolation, however, were the toiletries he had removed from the suite. Oh, and the complimentary fruit basket, and the half bottle of Moet. And the toilet paper.
And the sachets of coffee, sugar, and Sweet and Low.
And the light bulb.
Which probably wouldnt fit at home if it even made it back intact.
Still.
Restlessly he paced around and then went for a long walk.
Monica was, naturally, on the phone, her shrill voice successful only in annoying Emily's intolerant stepmother, who hung up on her after possibly as little as just one minute of waspish monosyllabic replies. This , of course, did not deter her. Felicity had given her her number, to pass to Joey (who would never ever call but Monica did not have the heart to tell her that) and she tried her next; no reply, but Monica left a message.
She knocked on Ross' door to see if he had returned, and he called her in without moving, having failed to lock it. He was looking out of the window and down to the busy street below; everywhere had there seemed to be couples and he could still see them all, and he wondered what this primal urge to hook up with someone and be exclusive was. It wasn't the kind of answer that paleontology offered.
"I went to the florist," he said without looking at her. "It was a real nice store. I sent seventy two long stemmed red roses, one for each day I have known and loved her."
"That's nice," she replied quietly, unsure whether that was quite a grand enough gesture. "So we'll play a waiting game for now. I left messages where I could but the Walthams seem to be screening my calls..."
"Keep trying..."
She placed a hand on his shoulder. " I will."
He let out a mocking laugh. " I never got to actually say that.." He paused. " I want her to be my wife, I want Rachel to be my wi-" he stopped, corrected himself, "I mean, Emily, I want Emily ...Why do I keep doing that?"
Monica bit her tongue.
Tuesday
The day began badly when after a light and largely uneaten breakfast, Monica was startled by a distressed Ross at her door. Gently she ushered him in. He was carrying a large box which he placed on the tiny table where it wobbled as he lifted the lid.
"Seventy two long stemmed red roses. One for every day that I have known and loved Emily. Cut up into mulch."
She didnt know what to say as she watched him run his hands through the petals, poor victims of a woman's scorn. Eventually she said rather too brightly, "I can make pot pourri!"
If looks could kill the glance he shot had her marked down as dead and she thought she best leave him to his grief, headed back to her room, to annoy more people by phone. At least she mused, Emily definitely knew where they were, Ross having evidently left his room number on the message card.
It was only eleven am but a swift survey of the minibar proved interesting. It was just a tiny bottle so it wouldn't even count. Merry Monica would be so much more effective at being sparky and forceful when she called Emily, which she had decided it was time to do when she had steeled herself, and Dutch courage seemed to be way forward, so she settled down with a trashy talk show and a toothglass full of Merlot.
The unexpected ringing of the phone which broke the silence made her jump almost out of her skin and she spilled a precious drop of the red liquid ( which she had worked out as being around a dollar a sip). She wasn't sure what perturbed her more, the loss of the wine or the stain on her pants.
"Hello?"
"Miss Geller...there's a call for you."
The next thing she heard was Emily's clipped Home Counties accent. She was glad of the warm red wine feeling.
"Monica. I am ringing you to ask you to stop harassing my relatives."
"Emily .. please ... speak to Ross, not me, he's just next door, his heart is breaking ..."
"I didn't want to speak to him which is why I asked for you." Her teeth sounded gritted.
"He loves you, Emily, he made a mistake - please -"
She heard Emily sigh heavily. "He did make a mistake. A bloody big one. But. All right. He can ring me back. Write down my number."
Monica wasn't used to not having the phone pen right where it ought to be and she panicked while she went to the hotel drawer to find notepaper and pen (thankfully as yet unpurloined by her brother). Though she was thrilled that Emily had been so easily broken, she still rang off with the parting words, " Please, forgive him, Emily."
Excitedly she barged straight in to Ross's room, waving the paper triumphantly, peace in their time declared.
"Here's Emily's new cell number - she says she'll talk!"
He was still fingering the shredded roses and to her surprise he didn't look up.
"Maybe - maybe I shouldn't call. I have clearly hurt her enough."
"Listen to me, Ross, you will call and you will call now - unless-" and she felt it needed to be said -"Are you still in love with Rachel?"
"What ? No! "
Monica was unconvinced. "Is that no as in, No, or no as in, Yes?"
"It's a no as in No, Mon."
She chose to believe him.
"Then call Emily." She lifted the receiver and held it out to him. He nodded and gestured for her to leave the room, which she did, kind of begrudgingly, but after all, this was his mess to untangle, she couldn't control life all the time. At that thought she shivered involuntarily, and went back to the minibar and the daytime TV.
XXXXXX
Ross was gone so long she finished the little red bottle, and the cashews, and was eyeing the miniatures, when he knocked and she let him in , searching for clues in his face.
"I'm having dinner with her tomorrow night," he said. "We have a lot - a lot! - of ground to cover."
Monica was pleased and hugged her approval.
"Mon," he said, as he hugged in return , and caught a look at her trashcan and her tongue, now purple, "Do you know how high the minibar prices are here?"
Wednesday
"Ross? "
"Yes... yes ...?"
"Is that Monica at the bar pretending not to be here ?"
Ross snuck a peek.
"Oh for - "
He glanced at Emily and to his surprise and pleasure she was actually giggling. "Ssshhh..." she said. " Let her carry on. She seems to be having fun." They looked at one another and laughed, and both suddenly remembered why they had fallen in love in the first place, but then, equally, the seriousness of the situation. Emily nervously sipped her wine and setting down the glass her body language told Ross that she was ready to talk.
"You humiliated me, Ross. You humilated me in front of all my friends and family. We wasted thousands of pounds on a wedding that didn't happen, money we'll never see again. You said - you said - her name." The words seemed to leave a nasty taste in her mouth and she took another gulp of Chablis. "And then, on Sunday, I went to Heathrow, to the check-in, and I waited, and you didn't come, and I think I hated you even more then than I had at the altar." A big fat tear fell down her left cheek, swiftly followed by more from both eyes. She kept it together, dabbed them away, straightened her posture. "I am willing to try again, Ross, but there have to be conditions."
He leaned forward. "Anything: anything."
"I want you to come to live in London."
He sat back and spread his fingers, conscious of Monica by the bar sinking Scotches and straining to hear their conversation. He shook his head.
"I can't. Ben. What about Ben? I can't live on a different continent to my son, I can't."
She sighed; it was a point she had to concede. However, she had more to say, and she was blunt; he wondered if this was her real plan all along.
"Then you have to stop having contact with Rachel.I'll come to New York; there is an opening there in my company. But you have to move away from the Village. We don't have to leave New York altogether, just, start again, away from that unhealthy, co-dependent group of yours."
"So I can never see my sister ? Shop at Bloomingdales ? Hang out at my favourite coffee shop?"
"It's your decision. What are you going to give up - them, or me? And where are the starters!" she added, cross now, wanting to win this battle, losing it would mean complete loss of face,something she couldn't bear in her social circle.
It was a huge decision and one he wasn't prepared to make there and then. Cut himself off ? From what was essentially, his whole life? What would he be left with? A woman he had known less than two months, and a collection of dinosaur bones.
He could tell she was impatient for a decision by the way she stabbed at her rocket salad; but he couldn't make a decision; could barely look at her. Meanwhile Monica, at the bar, was becoming very loud, and Ross, his own patience pushed to the limit, stood, strode over to her, and demanded that she went upstairs to her room.
"Keep your pants on, Dad! " she slurred; then nodding towards Emily she snorted, "Though I guess that's pretty likely! Ha!"
Laughing at her own joke she wobbled away and crashed out fully clothed on her bed.
The main course was a silent one. Emily, waiting; Ross, thinking.
She waved away the dessert menu and looked at him, eyes cold, expectant.
"I suppose," she sighed, "I'll feel better when I get to New York , and I can know where you are all the time."
Ross' eyes registered his doubt. "Emily, you can't know where I am all the time..." He waited for this thought to permeate. "You need to trust me. We can't be together if you won 't trust me. Can you do that, Emily? Can you trust me?"
She thought a moment; her perfect mouth twitched and for a nanosecond he thought she was about to smile...
Thursday
Monica woke slowly. Heavily. Regretfully. She also felt a little sick. And embarrassed.
She showered and once clean and fresh she was ready to face Ross, to see how his evening had turned out. Knocking at his door she saw immediately that he had packed his cases.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
"I don't wanna talk about it ...Going somewhere ?"
He let her in. "Mon...it's all over. Don't ask. Just get packed and I will try and get a flight home as soon as possible."
She nodded and hugged him. "Maybe now, you can talk things through with Rachel. You obviously both still have feelings for one another."
This thought sat well with him. "Yeah," he said, "Maybe I will."
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