Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.

I wake with a start, my eyes flying open. I hold my breath for a moment, listening for a sound, anything, that could have woken me, but everything is quiet.

I let out the breath, relaxing. Chandler's warm breath puffs against my neck. I try to move my arm, flung across the pillows, but his head is resting on it. I blink a few more times, becoming aware of my surroundings, Chandler's body pressed against me comforting and reassuring. His leg is draped over one of mine, his hand…

I sigh, shaking my head a little.

The man is kind of a pervert in his sleep. Inevitably, he winds up copping a feel during the night. Either his fingers find their way under the edge of my pajama pants—on the nights I happen to be wearing them—as he strokes me casually in his sleep, or his hand slides under my tank top, fingers spread across one breast like he's afraid it won't be there when he wakes up. There have been a few occasions where his hand just warms my stomach, and it's actually quite comforting, but I usually wake up with him, as he is now, cupping a boob.

It's usually worse when we fall asleep naked. He really is all hands then.

Not that I'm actually complaining. It's just one of his quirks, and I find it more entertaining than annoying. I love that we tend to sleep wrapped around each other. I love that I sleep better with him than I ever have in my entire life. If that comes at the cost of a little casual groping, then so be it.

I turn my head and kiss his forehead, sighing as my eyes drift shut. The baby monitor crackles and my eyes fly open again. That must be what woke me in the first place. I'm overly sensitive to the noises Katie makes at night. Chandler says I'm pretty much the way he was when she was brand new; I guess he has some sort of daddy sleep filter that lets him know when she's just making noises in her sleep or when she's actually in distress. I listen for a few more moments and she starts to make snuffling noises, whining a little, and I feel Chandler become alert beside me.

"I've got her," I whisper, sliding my arm out from under his head.

"No, no, no," he mumbles, his eyes tiny slits. "I'll do it."

I lean over and kiss his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

"I got her," he slurs, already mostly gone to the world as he grabs my pillow and hugs it close.

I sit up and listen to the monitor again—she's still fussing, but not horribly so. I probably have time to get her bottle before it gets bad. When I stand, I realize that tonight is one of the nights that I'm not wearing pants—I must have pulled them off in my sleep. Wouldn't be the first time. I pat the bottom of the bed, trying to find them, but give up after a few moments. Katie certainly won't care.

I stumble out to the kitchen and dig out a bottle, trying not to make too much noise in the process. I blearily mix the formula and shake it up, Katie's cries starting to grow more frantic. "Monica's coming," I whisper as I hurry across the apartment. "It's okay, sweetheart, Monica's coming."

When I get to her room she's already pulled herself to her feet, holding onto the edge of her crib like a tiny prisoner, her face cast in shadows from the night light in the hall. She holds her arms out to me and I pull her against my chest, swaying back and forth. She whimpers against my neck and I rub her back, trying to sooth her.

"What's the matter, honey? You have a bad dream?" She doesn't answer, though I can't say that I was expecting her to. "Dirty diaper?" I gently lay her on her changing table, which doesn't thrill her at all. She whines in protest, trying to wiggle away from me. I pop open her pajamas, relieved to find her diaper dry. It can be tough enough to change her diaper when all the odds are in my favor, but when it's the middle of the night and I'm half awake, and she's fussy and squirmy, it's almost impossible. I pull her back into my arms and she molds herself against me, her little body still hitching as she starts to calm. I hold the bottle to her lips and she grabs on, chugging greedily. "You're a little chunky monkey, aren't you?" I ask her, smiling at her adoringly. She's a good eater, most of the time. At the very least, she has things she likes and is able to keep those down.

I carefully ease myself into the rocking chair crammed into her room. She studies me as she eats, which I suppose is only fair. I stare at her all the time. I feel like I can never look at her enough. She's so perfect it hurts.

"I love you, sweet, sweet girl. You know that, right? You're the most amazing thing to ever happen to me." I kiss her forehead, not disturbing her for a moment. She keeps her hands on the bottle, though I help keep it propped up with one finger. "You're a big girl now, though, aren't you? You're a whole year old. You've got everything figured out."

She only seems interested in eating. Sometimes, conversation fascinates her, the bottle falling away from her lips as she listens. But this is one of those nights where all she wants is sustenance, and with the way she's putting the bottle away, I can't believe she held out this long before crying.

She makes a couple of sucking noises before she turns her head, actually pushing at the bottle. I offer it to her a couple more times but she refuses, full enough for the moment.

I stretch out and put it on her changing table, maneuvering her to my shoulder. I rub her back gently, cringing as I realize I didn't bother to grab a rag to cover myself. Fortunately, she's been better about keeping food in her belly, so she only lets out a delicate little burp . I settle her back into my arms, somehow not surprised to see that she looks wide awake. I'm hoping it's just a temporary thing—she has the amazing ability to go from hell on wheels to fast asleep in about two seconds.

I use my foot to push us in the chair for a while, humming to her a little, but she just isn't interested in sleep at the moment. "C'mon, Katie," I whisper. "It's night-night time. Aren't you sleepy? We aren't going to let you nap all day tomorrow, you know." Not that it would bother her, really. Some days she's like clockwork with her nap schedule, and other days, it's a struggle to get her into her crib.

I pull a throw blanket off the arm of the chair and drape it over us, hoping the warmth will make her sleepy. She cuddles into me a little more, twisting her body so that her front is pressed against my chest. That's a good sign—even though her eyes are still wide open, this is usually a "go to sleep" position for her. I run my hand over her fine, sandy brown hair, and her little hand comes up, grabbing onto my boob.

Like father, like daughter, apparently.

Though, I think that's a little kid thing. I've seen other babies reach their hands down their mother's shirts, groping away. Katie does it to me all the time, even more so when she's fussy, though I have no idea why. I get why kids who have been around a mother their entire lives would do it, but I haven't been part of Katie's world for very long. Maybe the baby-boob connection is just something inherent. Maybe it's just comforting.

I try rocking some more, my eyes drifting shut as my mind starts to wander. I try to remember if she had this much trouble going to sleep earlier tonight, but I can't remember anything. Am I really that tired? I don't think I've ever forgotten performing our bedtime routine before.

My eyes open and I sigh. I can't remember because I wasn't the one to put her to bed tonight. Chandler and his mom did that.

And just like that, the entire evening comes flooding back to me.

Every horrific moment of it.

Though to her credit, Mrs. Bing did try a little with me after Katie went to sleep. The three of us sat in the living room for a while, chatting. I was content to listen for the most part, mainly because I was terrified of saying anything to earn another death glare from his mother. We got to hear a lot about her latest world tour—all the places she saw and the people she met—and Chandler filled her in on all of Katie's accomplishments, showing her the video of Katie's first word as often as possible.

Neither one of them mentioned their conversation in Katie's room. I have no idea if Chandler's words had any real, lasting effect on her. We could get up in the morning and everything could be fine, or it could feel like the Arctic out there.

I don't know that I blame her for the way she feels, though. Chandler is her son, after all, and she saw him go through probably one of the worst things a person could experience. She has no reason to trust me—she doesn't know me from Adam. She has no way of knowing that I'm just ridiculously in love her son and granddaughter and I want to be with them forever. She doesn't know that I would die for them, gladly, if I had to.

I just hope she gives me a chance to prove that I'm not going anywhere, and that I'm nothing like Corinne. I may not be Katie's mother, but I couldn't love her more if she were mine.

I let out a sigh and look down at Katie, her eyes still wide open. I brush a finger against her cheek and she tightens her grip on my flesh in response. That one simple movement causes tears to flood my eyes.

"Your grandma hates me," I whisper, feeling tears trickle out of the corner of my eyes, landing on Katie's arm before I can stop them. "I suppose it's only fitting, though. My own mommy has never been very fond of me, and now your daddy's mommy hates me. She just wants what's best for you, though, Katie-did, and I don't blame her. That's all I want, too. I want to make sure you're safe forever and that no one will ever hurt you. You're so special and everyone can see it. Everybody loves you, even my stinky big brother. After everything that happened before you came into the world, who can blame your grandma for assuming the worst about me? Who am I to her? Just someone who's pushing her way into your life, I guess." My breath hitches and I try to fight my tears. I hate crying in front of Katie; she shouldn't have to deal with anything heavy yet.

:"Katie, how long will it be before your daddy starts to think the same of me?" That thought kills me. "She's his mommy, and what she thinks has to have some influence on him, too. I don't want him to hate me, too. I love you both so much. I don't know what I'd do without you." I cover my face with my hand as I try to hold back my tears, the other holding Katie tight against me.

This is the part I was really afraid of when I got involved with the two of them. I knew it then, too. I didn't want to love them and lose them. I didn't want to risk being part of their lives for such a short amount of time only to be torn apart when it all goes to hell.

I just never expected to love them the way that I do.

Katie makes a noise and I look down at her. Her brow is furrowed, almost as if she understands what I'm telling her. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I shouldn't put this on you. All you want to do is be a baby, right? That's all you should worry about." I lean down to give her a kiss and she sighs. "What do you need, honey?" I ask softly. "Do you need a lullaby?" One thing I've definitely learned the last couple of months is that sometimes the only thing that works for her is a song.

"I've heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the lord, but you don't really care for music, do you? It goes like this—the fourth, the fifth, the major fall, the minor lift—the baffled king composing hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah."

I wonder why I picked this song. I don't even know all the words that well. I only know it because it's in Shrek—a movie that Chandler claims, depending on the day, is for either Katie or Joey, but I've found him watching it on his own more than once. I suppose it does have a lullaby type quality, especially considering Katie's eyes just drooped for a few seconds before she made sure they were wide open again.

"Maybe I have been here before. I know this room, I've walked this floor. I used to live alone before I knew you. I've seen your flag on the marble arch—love is not a victory march. It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."

Well, I guess that's why my brain went this particular song; one of those moments when lyrics perfectly matches what you're feeling.

Stupid subconscious. I feel like some ridiculous emo-kid.

Katie's eyes are shut, though, so it doesn't really matter what I'm doing to myself.

"Maybe there's a god above, and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you. And it's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah."

Her mouth is hanging open as she breathes deeply, her hand finally going slack against me. She is a sucker for music.

"Hallelujah, hallelujah," I whisper to her. She doesn't stir. I start to hum the song quietly, hoping it'll keep her asleep. Light from a street lamp streams in through the curtain, hitting her face perfectly, and I'm reminded of the first picture of her Chandler sent me all those months ago. That was the first time I met her. In retrospect, I think I was so scared because I'd already gone past the point of no return. I only had to meet Katie that once and I knew that I loved her with ever fiber of my being, and I was scared that I wouldn't be enough. I still don't know that I am, but I'm going to do my damndest every day to make sure I try to be.

I see a shadow shift in the doorway out of the corner of my eye and I cringe. Chandler probably heard me through the monitor at some point and got worried. I don't blame him, but I certainly don't want to put this on him, at least not in the middle of the night. I look over my shoulder, my entire body jerking a little when I realize it's Chandler's mother. My heart starts to race and my humming falters for a moment. I swallow heavily, waiting.

"Is she asleep?" she finally asks in a whisper, taking a step into the room.

I look down at the baby, confirming that she's still out. "Yeah," I answer softly.

"Do you need any help?"

I shake my head, pushing myself out of the rocking chair. I ease Katie into her crib, running a finger over her cheek one more time as she settles. I don't want to be away from her, but I'm suddenly very eager to get out of the room.

Mrs. Bing comes and stands beside me, an awkward, tense silence filling the room. I turn on Katie's mobile, soft music issuing forth. I don't know what the protocol is for a moment like this. Should I stand here until she leaves? Does she want some time with her granddaughter? Will she think I'm being hostile if I'm the one to leave first?

There's not exactly a how-to manual for these sorts of situations.

"I don't hate you," she says suddenly, her voice quiet. My head whips up to her, but she keeps her eyes trained on Katie. "I'm sorry if I gave that impression. That whole situation with Corinne…it was bad. It was messy and it was horrible, and I'd be willing to bet you anything that Chandler has glossed over a lot of it. He doesn't like to think of it much."

"Oh." Really? That's all I can say right now? I suppose I'm not surprised that the thing with Chandler's ex was worse than he told me—it was months ago that I first heard the story, and it's never occurred to me ask about it again. What he did tell me seemed pretty awful.

"I just don't ever want to see him hurt like that again." She finally looks up at me, her expression sad and haunted.

"I won't," I answer immediately. "At least not on purpose. I wish I could promise you something better than that, but know that I would never hurt either of them willingly." I pause, taking a deep breath. "They mean everything to me."

She's quiet for a while and I take a step away, hoping to leave quietly, while we have this tentative peace.

"I didn't mean to make you feel bad," she whispers. "I'm sorry."

"No—I'm sorry. I didn't…no one was supposed to hear all that. I was just rambling."

She shakes head at me, disbelieving. "I've been horrible to you for no reason—I can admit that. You don't have to worry about easing my conscience. I may not trust you yet, but Chandler does. Katie does. That's all that really matters, right?" I shrug and nod, hoping that really is what counts. "And…you do love my son, don't you?"

"So much it hurts," I answer, feeling my chest tighten.

She studies me for a few moments before giving me a slight nod and a hint of a smile. "Go to bed. I'll see you in the morning." I take a couple of tentative steps backward, watching her, and she smiles at me a little more broadly. "I won't attack you the moment you turn your back, at least not a second time."

The corner of my mouth quirks up in a smile. "Good night, Mrs. Bing."

"Good night." I turn and take a few steps before she calls out to me again. "Monica."

I pause, turning back to her, my stomach reflexively dropping as I try to get myself under control. "Yes?"

"Cute panties."

I look down at myself, having forgotten I was only in my tank top and underwear. "Shit," I hiss, tugging down the hem of my shirt as I hunch over. It's completely ineffective. I groan a little—I would be wearing a thong right now. Yes, it actually is a cute one, and God knows it does things to Chandler that get him naked faster than I ever expected, but I don't think his mother wants to see me parading around in it. "Sorry," I mumble.

"Good night," she repeats with a quiet laugh, turning back to Katie, and I dart out into the hall and back into Chandler's room.

…Our room? After all, that's what he called it earlier. Try as I might, I can't remember him saying it, but his mother sure as hell picked up on it.

Hell, half of my clothes are in his closet and bureau—all of my work and summer stuff, plus the bulk of my undergarments—my shoes are lined up with his, I have a jewelry box on his dresser, and it's been months since I last slept in my apartment.

I suppose calling it "our room" isn't that much of a stretch.

I slide into bed, picking up one of Chandler's arms to drape it over me. He breathes in sharply, waking up part way as he pulls me against his body.

"Everything okay?" he mumbles. "You were gone for a while."

"Katie didn't want to go back to sleep," I whisper. "I sang to her, she's fine."

"Mmmm."

I stroke his cheek for a moment before pressing my lips to his. He responds sleepily but enthusiastically, his arm tightening around me for a moment before I pull back, settling my head in the crook of his arm.

"I love you," I tell him, and even though he's almost completely asleep, he smiles.

"I love you, too."

*A/N…I'm always so reluctant to put singing of any sort into a fic. I'm so leery of getting into "songfic" territory. Granted, not all songfics are bad, but most are…lacking. Still, it's hard for me to not add musical elements to my stories because so much of my life and inspiration revolves around music. They're just really hard to work into stories without sounding really trite. But good god, the image of Monica singing that song to Katie at that moment wouldn't leave me alone. I'm very hopeful that it didn't come across as too goofy.

I must say, I loved your responses to the previous chapter. I love that no one seemed upset by Nora's behavior; I truly felt that would be the way someone in her situation would feel, and it's nice to know that I managed to write her sympathetically enough so that came across. So definitely, thank you for that feedback. It's extraordinarily helpful.