I've spent two weeks getting to know my daughter—playing with her, talking to her, listening to stories about her—and I know one thing for certain.
She's the most amazing little creature to ever walk the planet.
I don't know how I survived before she was born. I've never met anyone as perfect as this little girl.
Monica comes close, though.
My life has changed in ways I could never have imagined lately, but it's been incredible.
I'm a father. Of all the "welcome home's" I could have gotten, it was by far the most unexpected but ultimately the best one possible.
It turns out that I love being a father. I love having a child with Monica. Neither of these are shocking revelations, but it's been amazing regardless.
I get to spend hours every day with my little girl. She talks to me, telling me anything and everything that comes to mind. We play games, her favorite being either dolls or tea party. I knew it was true love the first time I squeezed myself into one of the tiny chairs at the tiny table in her bedroom, holding the smallest teacup ever just to make her happy.
It only took me about a minute to realize that there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for my daughter. She truly is amazing. The shock hasn't worn off yet, but Monica says it hasn't worn off for her, either, so I don't know—maybe it's always a surprise to realize you're a parent.
Part of me is still confused by Monica's actions, but…it doesn't really feel like it matters. Not in the long run, at least. Should she have kept the news of Abby from me? Ultimately, no; even if I'd been incredibly distracted, I still I wish I'd known about her when she was born, though I am wise enough to realize that I may not have made it long enough to meet her if that'd been the case.
I suppose it was, in a way, a no-win situation. It's not as if Monica's been a bad mother in the interim. On the contrary—Abby is the happiest, sweetest little girl possible, and her mother made sure she'd know all about me.
She called me "daddy" right away; it makes my heart shake just thinking about it. Every time she says it, I want to weep.
True; I missed out on a lot of her life up until now, but even if I'd gotten the letters Monica wrote, they don't do our daughter justice. I've been going through them in my spare moments over the last several days, and Monica wasn't joking when she said she put every detail possible into these letters, but it's not the same getting to know her.
Monica still feels horrible about it, too, and that's not what I want. Not at all. We've had too many hard years apart for us to have a tough time together, too. It's in the past. My mother was absolutely right to tell me not to hold onto this particular grudge. It doesn't change the way I feel about Monica—God help me, but I love her more every day—and I certainly couldn't love my little girl any less. I've waited too long to be with Monica to push her away now, especially when she's given me the most amazing gift possible.
The first weekend I was home, we spent it together. Mostly, we played in the backyard, chasing after each other, playing hide-and-go-seek, picking flowers. I got Abby to settle down long enough to lie on the grass next to me and watch the big, puffy clouds float by, telling each other what shapes we saw, the three of us waking up some time later, all curled together in a big pile. It was how I always imagined it would be; for those couple of days, I let myself forget about the fact that Monica never told me about our daughter and I just spent time with my family, and it was perfect. It felt like we'd always been together that way.
And watching Monica play with her…it's magical. She was born to be a mother. Our discussions of children before I left were vague, and she was still so young that I don't know that either of us felt the need to make a big issue of it. Aside from knowing that we wanted a family, it never occurred to me just how either of us would handle the roles of mother and father.
In so many ways, I couldn't be happier. The big picture is that I have Monica and my daughter and my health, and those are the really important things. This is the life I've always wanted.
Slowly, though, we've developed a bit of a routine. Monica getting up at four in the morning was a shock that first Monday, and even though she protested and told me it wasn't necessary, I put Abby back in her own bed and we walked to work together.
I can't believe she does that day in and day out all by herself. In the heat, in the rain, in the ice, it doesn't matter, she goes to work. So now, I get up and walk with her. Sometimes, I even make it there to walk home with her in the afternoons, much to the delight of her coworkers. Earlier this week, I even managed to get Abby to nap earlier in the day so that we both could make it into town to greet her mother. Monica was thrilled to see her daughter, and even happier to introduce her to anyone who was interested, but she told me quietly as we headed home that I was going to regret it.
I understood why later that day when I was faced, for the first time, with a temper tantrum.
Since then, we've stuck to Abby's schedule as best as possible.
I'm hoping to find some way to remedy Monica's work situation soon. I meant it when I told her that I wanted to take care of her, and while this factory is leaps and bounds better than the Moonlight Lounge, she still works way too hard for someone her age. I asked her why she does it, and the look she gave me spoke volumes; even though my mother has never asked for anything from her, Monica's reluctant to be completely beholden to anyone. Living with her grandmother for years instilled that in her, and she doesn't want to feel as if she owes someone. In Monica's world, family didn't mean taking care of each other—it meant being a burden, and I guess she hasn't been able to lose that mindset yet. Still, she doesn't seem to mind the work, and she insists that for now, it's good for me. I get to spend uninterrupted hours with Abby. My mother's had a tough time adjusting to it, honestly. She's been the one to take care of my daughter during the day for years, and now…well, I'm reluctant to miss even a moment of her life. It all feels so precious, like something that nearly wasn't mine.
Monica and I have been falling back into each other, and in a lot of ways, it feels like we were never apart. Despite everything, we can still talk to each other. Time apart didn't lessen our feelings for each other or make us realize that maybe we're not as compatible as we thought. If anything, being away from each other only made us love one another more. She's my soul mate. I can't be around her enough. We're always near each other, her hand on the back of my neck, or my arm around her shoulders, or our fingers locked together. Holding her while I sleep is like a religious experience; I haven't slept this well in years. The rush I get knowing that I don't have to wake up early to head back to base is unbelievable.
Of course, we haven't exactly had a night to ourselves.
Abby usually creeps in by midnight, asking in her tiny voice if she can sleep with us, and Monica hasn't had the heart to turn her away. But holding both of my girls in my arms as I sleep is the most thrilling experience of my life.
"You know," I say in a soft voice, closing the book on my lap, "some of these fairytales are really gruesome."
Monica chuckles, taking the book from me to put it back on the shelf with the others. "No kidding. I started reading these to her when she was baby, and while I don't think she remembers it at all, I was traumatized. Cinderella's stepsisters cutting off their toes to fit into a shoe?" She shivers for effect and I slowly slide off my daughter's bed, holding out my arm; Monica gladly slips into my embrace. "I started reading them ahead of time just so I could know to leave out some of the more horrifying parts."
"It certainly doesn't seem like the sort of thing that should be read to tiny little girls," I agree. "Especially not ours."
Monica bends down and kisses Abby's forehead, pulling the blanket up to her chin. I bend over, too, giving her cheek a kiss. "Good night, sweet Abigail," I whisper, watching her eyelashes flutter in her sleep. I stand up once more, wrapping my arm around Monica again. "I can't believe we made that."
"I know," she agrees quietly, resting her head against my shoulder. "She got the best parts of both of us."
"Ain't that the truth? We'll see you in a few hours, sweetie," I finish in a whisper, and Monica hesitates as I try to lead her out of the room.
"I wanted to mention that to you, actually." She swallows nervously, and I can't help but feel confused. "We can't keep letting her sleep with us. We'll have to draw the line somewhere."
I know she's right, but I can't help but feel disappointed. "Mon…"
"I understand. I know you want to spend as much time with her has possible, and she's still trying to understand that you're not going anywhere, but there'll come a point where it just becomes a habit for her and then she won't want to sleep in her own bed."
I sigh but nod. "You're right."
"And…" she bites her lip, looking down at our sleeping daughter for a moment. "You're probably going to have to spend some time away from her." I feel panic wash over me and Monica's eyes grow wide. "No, no, I don't mean right away," she reassures me. "Take all the time with her that you want—she's your daughter and you've only been home for a week. I just mean at some point, you're going to need to spend time away from her so that she'll understand that you'll come back. Even if you just go to the library for an hour. She'll probably have hairy fits at first, but as long as she sees her daddy isn't going anywhere, she'll be all right."
"How did you learn this stuff?"
She shrugs, looking at me cautiously. "Some of it from your mother. Some from Abby. I didn't mean for it to sound like you can't be around her or that this has to happen tomorrow. I just think that sooner or later, it'll be better for her to be able to handle you coming and going."
"You have a point," I agree reluctantly. "And when she starts going to school, she won't be able to handle it if she can't be away from us for very long."
"Please, let's not talk about her going to school. She's not even three."
I run my fingers through Monica's hair, scratching her scalp a little. "Agreed. Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course. Anything."
"What's with all the pink?"
She snorts a little, immediately clamping a hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she whispers, composing herself. "I wasn't expecting that. Abby loves it. Simple as that. I don't know why. We always spent far too much money on clothes for her that we knew would only fit for a few weeks at best, but never more in one color than any other. Then we'd take her into town and she'd always reach for anything that was pink. A lot of toys already come in that color, or at least have parts that are pink, so…pink. I won't deny that both of us have overindulged her, especially over the last year when this phase started. Your mother even had Abby's linens dyed pink to make her happy."
"So, our daughter is spoiled," I say, nudging her with my hip so she'll know I'm teasing, but she just shrugs.
"Most likely. I've probably created a monster, but I just want her to have the things I never did. Yes, I buy her things she doesn't need—she doesn't need another doll or toy, but any time I see one that I think she'd like, I get it for her. We both do. It's so easy to spoil her. I want her to have everything."
"Honestly, the first thing I thought when I saw her room and how crowded it is with all of her stuff was that I couldn't wait to buy her more. I understand what you mean."
"Well, now her daddy's home, so I don't think there's anything else in the world she could possibly want."
The thought that I'm enough for our daughter fills me with so much love that I feel as if I could float away, and I lean against Monica, basking in it for a few moments. I lean down, pressing a kiss against her temple and whisper in her ear. "Think we can stop staring at our beautiful little creation long enough to go to bed?"
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, her mouth quirking up a little, and I take that as my cue; it's been more than three years since I've been with her, and I'm only human.
I barely get her out into the hall before I push her against the wall, kissing her fiercely, wrapping my arms around her. Her hands grab the back of my shirt, bunching it up as she makes soft noises into my mouth. I slide a hand down her side roughly, grabbing her leg and wrapping it around my waist, the soft material of her dress sliding up to her thigh. She finally tugs my shirt free of my pants, her hands disappearing under it, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on my skin. I make a low noise in the back of my throat, dragging my fingers up the smooth skin of her thigh until I reach the edge of her underpants. I only hesitate for a moment before I slide my fingers underneath them, moaning loudly when I come into contact with her amazing heat.
She gasps, pushing her hips against me for a few moments before she unwinds from me swiftly, stepping out of my arms. I pant, staring at her, and she giggles a little, stepping closer to me. She puts her hands on my shoulders, leaning up to press her lips against mine. "We're right outside our daughter's room," she reminds me, and I groan. She starts walking backward and I chase after her lips, following her down the hall to our bedroom.
I push the door closed; Monica's already tugging at the zipper of her dress, grabbing the bottom of it to pull it over her head. I whimper for a moment at the sight of her in her undergarments, seeing that she didn't bother with a slip while it was just us at home. I rip my shirt off, tugging at my belt before I shove my trousers down my legs, kicking them off to one side. Her eyes grow wide and she grins as I advance on her, taking her in my arms as I throw us both down on the bed.
"Are you sure?" she mumbles against my lips. "Has it been long enough—"
"It's been plenty long enough, love. I need you so much."
She groans, wrapping her legs around my waist, and I have to press my forehead into the bed beside her for a moment, the feeling of our bodies nearly connecting after all this time overwhelming. With strength I didn't know she possessed, she pushes us over, perching on top of me. I stare up at her, flabbergasted but incredibly aroused. "Wow," I breathe. I reach up, sliding my hands to the back of her neck, pulling her head down to mine.
She kisses me for a few minutes before she puts her hands on my chest, pushing back from me. "Chandler, wait."
"I don't know that I can," I answer, my hips already thrusting against hers.
"Seriously." I grab her thighs, trying to steady myself for a few moments. "I know we were apart for a really long time."
"A very long time," I answer, sliding my hand up her stomach, strumming her ribcage gently.
"And…I know that you were very lonely."
"So lonely," I agree, tracing a finger over the top of one of her breasts.
"I know that…you have…needs."
"Mmhmm," I say distractedly, my other hand moving up her back, fumbling with the clasp of her brassiere.
"What I'm trying to say is if there were any other women, I understand."
I freeze, staring at her in shock. "What?"
"I won't hold it against you," she says, looking anywhere but at me.
"Monica…"
"It was a long time," she says softly, and I sit up, taking her face in my hands.
"There has not been another woman since the moment I met you."
That gets her attention. "What?"
"I met you, and not another person in this world would ever do."
Her mouth drops open a little, her expression disbelieving. "But…all those girls at the Lounge…"
"I never did anything with them."
"What about Marie?"
"She tried like hell, but I wasn't interested. I only wanted you."
Tears spill down her cheeks as she looks at me in wonder. "You mean during all the years apart, all those ports in all those countries…"
"No one. It was hard sometimes. It was harder than you could ever believe." She lifts an eyebrow at me, shifting her hips, and I smirk in response. "Yes; that way, too. I had a lot of…dreams about you. I woke up humping my mattress and calling your name more often than I care to admit. But I didn't want anyone else."
She droops for a moment before wrapping her arms around me, holding me tight. "Oh, thank God. The thought of another woman touching you…" She shudders from head to toe.
"You really would have forgiven me for that?" I ask, rubbing large, soft circles on her back.
"Yes. Because I love you. The only thing that matters is having you home."
"Did you…" I start to ask, but she cuts me off immediately.
"Never. You're my one and only."
I kiss her shoulder, dragging my lips up her neck. "Good. I don't ever want to hear about some other man putting his hands on you."
"You won't." She slides her fingers through my hair, her nails pleasantly scratching my scalp. "I promise."
"You know what that does to me," I remind her, and she hums in agreement.
"I remember you beating the hell out of someone for me, yes."
"I'd do it again in a heartbeat. You're mine," I remind her, kissing the hollow of her throat.
"I'm yours. And you're mine."
"Forever," I promise. I take her face in my hands again, our eyes searching each other for a long time. This is the first time since I got home I've really taken the time to look at her, to look into her eyes. There's still a lot of sadness there, and fear. But most of all, there's love—stronger than the love we forged years ago—and I'm lost. I'm completely hers, no matter what. She smiles at me softly, pressing her lips to mine, and we move slower this time, our arms and legs tangling together as we roll on the bed. Her soft sighs and happy noises fill the room. The feel of her body beneath my hands is even more exquisite than I remember.
"I love you so much," she whispers as I kiss her neck, pinning her to the bed beneath me. Her hand slides down my back, her fingers playing with the waistband of my shorts, gently dipping beneath the fabric to stroke my skin.
I feel like I'm on fire.
I push myself against her gently, her grip tightening around me in response. God, I've needed this. I've needed her. I've needed her for such a long time. "I love you, too."
A wail pierces the air and Monica nearly throws me off the bed as she sits up, panicked. A moment later, the bedroom door bangs open and Abby runs in, her little face wet with tears as she sobs. "Mommy!"
Monica bolts out of bed and grabs our daughter, pulling her into her arms. "Shhh. Shhhh. Mommy's here." She rocks back and forth gently as Abby cries into her shoulder. "What happened?" Her only answer is a loud sob, and Monica rubs her back soothingly.
I scoot over in bed as she comes over to me, my heart hammering as I watch my little girl weep. Monica sits down with astonishing ease despite the precious burden in her arms, and it occurs to me that, in a way, they're sending the wrong gender off to war. They should be sending mothers hell-bent on protecting their children. I never saw anyone move as fast as Monica did as she rushed to our daughter's aid, and I get the impression that she would gladly kill anyone who tried to harm her in any way.
Nothing is more beautiful than a mother with her child, but there's nothing more frightening, either.
"Abby, honey, what's the matter?" she whispers, propping herself up against the headboard, and Abby takes a bunch of shallow, gasping breaths as she curls her body into Monica's.
"Da…da...Daddy…wasn't…Daddy…"
Monica looks up at me, her own eyes wet with tears, and my heart goes out to our daughter. "Did you have a bad dream?" she asks softy, still gently swaying back and forth.
Abby buries her face in Monica's neck, nodding. "He—he—he…"
"Daddy's here, sweetie. See?"
Her little body shakes as she cries and she clings to her mother. "Daddy," she whimpers. "Daddy…"
"I'm right here, baby," I say gently, running my hand over her soft hair. "I'm not going anywhere."
She sniffles and turns her head to me, her big blue eyes so scared, so upset, filled with tears, and my heart shatters into a million pieces as I realize this is the worst kind of pain; not being shot, not having my leg broken, but seeing my child this distraught.
"Promise?" she whispers, my heart cracking even more.
"I promise. I will never leave you."
She sniffles again before her face crumples, more sobs escaping her, and she holds out a hand to me. I pull her against my chest, her tears soaking into my skin, and I whisper to her nonsensically, trying to allay her fears.
"Daddy," she whimpers, clinging to me, and I give Monica a horrified look; I have no idea how to handle this. For the most part, Abby's a happy, giggling little girl; knowing that she has these sorts of fears inside of her kills me. Monica leans over, kissing the back of Abby's head as she strokes my hand.
"Just love her," she whispers. "She just needs you." She slides off the bed, gathering our clothes from the floor and tossing them into the hamper in the closet. She takes her nightgown off the back of the door, pulling it over her slight frame, and I watch in fascination as she unhooks her bra and pulls it out from under the gown, adding it to the rest of the laundry, but the moment is definitely gone. Abby lets out a shuddery breath, her little body starting to relax, and I realize that this is my life. Moments with my fiancée interrupted for the needs of our child. Our daughter comes first and always will.
As much as I crave Monica, Abby needs reassurance right now, and that's all that matters.
Monica crawls into bed next to me, pulling the blanket over us, and I whisper, "I guess she's sleeping with us for the night."
She snorts just a little, wrapping her arm over the two of us. "Bad dreams don't count." She sighs as our daughter drifts off to sleep. "Just give her some time," she says softly. "She's so happy you're home, but it's a big adjustment for her little world."
"I'll give her anything she needs," I whisper, wrapping my arms around her a little tighter. "Anything."
"Mommy's home, Mommy's home, Mommy's home!" Abby announces excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch as she stares out the front window. I turn and follow her gaze, smiling as I see Monica coming into view, and the bounce in her step can only mean one thing.
It's Friday, and we have the whole weekend ahead of us.
"Thank you, sweetie," I say, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Don't jump on the furniture."
"Daddy," she whines, pouting, but I refuse to let myself be suckered in. She's learning very quickly that it doesn't take much effort on her part to get her way with me, and I'm doing my best to not give in to her every whim. So far, Abby's been much more successful at getting what she wants without ever trying than I've been with denying her anything. Lucky for me, most of the things she wants run along the lines of another story or one more tea party.
"Nope. Your grandma wouldn't let me jump on the couch when I was little, and you can't either."
She drops to a squatting position on the cushion, looking at me with wide eyes. "You were little?"
"Hard to believe, I know." I grab her around her middle and stand up, tucking her under my arm. She kicks her feet as she laughs and I bring her outside, setting her down on the porch.
"Mommy!" she exclaims, bouncing down the steps like a bunny before running full speed at her mother. Monica grins and drops to her knees, holding out her arms to catch Abby. I flinch when it looks like they're about to topple over, but Monica just wraps her arms around her, picking her up and swinging her in a big circle.
I love watching them together; Abby's like a tiny version of Monica most days, with the same voice inflection and animated gestures, the same bright smile and head tilt, even the same little sparkle in their eyes when one of them has a scheme up her sleeve.
I can't wait to have more of these with her, and I hope every last one of them is just like their mother.
I walk up to the both of them, wrapping my arm around Monica, and lean in to give her a gentle kiss. "Hi," I say softly.
"Hi," she answers, a dreamy look on her face.
"I'm squished!" Abby yelps, wiggling dramatically, and Monica tightens her grip on her; I wrap both arms around them, trapping our daughter in between us.
"Now you're really squished," Monica teases, kissing Abby's head.
"Daddy, help," she giggles, trying to look up at me, but I just shake my head.
"No can do, doll. You're trapped."
"What're you doing to my granddaughter?"
I look over my shoulder at the sound of my mother's voice, grinning at her broadly.
"Help, Grandma! I'm squished!"
My mother pulls Abby out from between us, smoothing the hair back from her pink, smiling face. "Did you tell Mommy what we're doing today?"
"What're we doing today?" Monica asks, wrapping her arm around my waist.
"Going to the store!" Abby exclaims, looking thrilled at the prospect of an excursion.
Confused, Monica says, "I just came from town; why didn't you leave me a list last night? I could have done that on the way home."
"No, no," my mother corrects, pointing at the two of us. "You're not going into town. We are going into to town. Right, Abigail?"
"Yep!" she answers brightly, grinning at us. "Going to the store!"
"I'm taking my granddaughter into town," my mother explains. "I'm going to buy her some clothes and take her to the ice cream parlor and feed her things that are probably no good for her but every little girl should have them anyway, and we'll be home in a few hours. You two can do…anything you want."
"Mother," I exclaim, embarrassed; Monica's face slowly turns red as she looks at the ground.
My mother puts Abby on the ground, patting her little backside. "Go get your coat." As soon as Abby scampers into the house, my mother turns back to us, her voice soft. "You have not had any real time together since you got home. All I'm offering you is the chance to be alone for a few hours. You can do whatever you like. It doesn't matter. Just take some time for yourselves, all right? You two weren't even together that long before you were shipped off, Chandler, and now that Abby's in the picture…well, I think you need it. And…" She looks to the house, lowering her voice a little more. "Let's not pretend this is something new for you. That child was not immaculately conceived."
I rub Monica's back; even the tips of her ears have turned red. It's one thing for my mother to covertly plan a night for us when our paths never have to cross. It's another to know that she's leaving the house specifically for that purpose.
Abby bursts out of the front door and skips down the walkway to us. "Ready!"
Monica gives my mother another look before bending down to our daughter, taking the tiny coat from Abby's hands and helping her into it. "Have fun with Grandma. Don't eat too much."
"I won't," she promises as Monica kisses her cheek, though she shoots her grandmother a look that probably tells me more than I need to know. I just bend down and give her a hug.
"Love you. Be good."
"Love you, Daddy. Love you, Mommy."
"I love you, too, honey," Monica answers, smiling at our daughter.
"Have fun, you two," my mother tells us as she takes Abby's hand and leads her down to the road. I wrap my arms around Monica, sighing into her hair. She puts her hands over mine, leaning against my chest.
"Well that was..."
"About as subtle as a sledgehammer?" I ask, finishing the thought for her, and I feel her nod against me. "That's my mother. 'Tact' is her middle name."
We watch them disappear around a bend in the road and Monica gives my arms a squeeze. "I miss her already."
"That's one great kid we've got," I answer, kissing her cheek.
"We should…start working on the next one."
I feel a smile spread over my face and I lean down, angling my head to look at her. "Yeah?"
"Well, yeah. I want more of them. I know you do, too. So we shouldn't waste any more time."
"Truer words have never been spoken," I tell her, gently turning her in my arms, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. I really haven't been truly alone with her in years, and I'm surprised to find that I'm quite nervous.
Her hands slide up my arms, draping over my shoulders. "Let's make a baby," she whispers. "Or have a hell of a time trying."
I smile, leaning down to kiss her. She steps closer to me, going up on tiptoe. "Maybe," I mumble against her lips, "we should take this inside."
She grabs the back of my head, pulling me closer for a moment before stepping back just a fraction, taking my hand in hers. Without hesitation, she turns and walks us back to the house. I look over my shoulder; her coat and lunchbox are still in the grass. Before I can give it another thought, she's pulling me through the front door, and I kick it shut behind us. Still without a word, she leads me upstairs and into our bedroom.
Finally, she turns to me, gently pulling the bandana from her hair, and I feel a shiver run through me as I watch her hair spill down her shoulders. "You gonna come in here, or are you gonna stand in the doorway and gawk?" she asks, mirth twinkling in her eyes.
I shake my head at her and take a few steps into the room, pushing the door closed behind me. I move to stand in front of her, feeling as if I tower over her right now, and she looks up at me expectantly. I lean in, coming a hair's breadth away from her mouth before I drop to my knees in front of her, untying her work boots. She puts her hands on my shoulders as I help her step out of them, then I reach up her pant legs to grab her socks, pulling those off, too.
Her fingers move to her belt buckle, opening it quickly, but I move her hands out of the way, gently tugging down the zipper of her pants. I swallow heavily as the pants fall away, her soft skin coming into view. I lean forward and press a gentle kiss to her leg. She pulls at my shoulders and I stand up, my breathing already becoming labored.
"You know, it's been a really long time," she says softly, playing with the buttons of my shirt. "You don't have to seduce me."
"I don't want to completely ravage you," I answer, running my lips gently over her forehead.
"Ravage me. Please. We have time for romance and all that later."
"Are you sure?" I ask, my libido already begging for mercy.
She tilts her head to one side for a moment, considering me. She grabs the middle of my shirt in both hands. "Am I sure?" A moment later, she yanks, sending buttons flying every which way. "I'm sure."
I stare at her in wonder for a moment, a smile spreading across my face. "All right then. But when Anita asks why she's sewing buttons back on my shirt, you get to tell her why," I tease, pulling my shirt off the rest of the way.
"I would never asks Anita to do my sewing for me," Monica answers as she grabs at my belt buckle, fumbling for a few moments before she gets it undone, pushing my pants down my legs. "And if your mother happens to get to it first, I don't think she'd need any sort of clarification." She presses a kiss to my chest and a shudder works its way down my spine. I step away from her to kick off my shoes, feeling wildly uncoordinated as I try to pull off all of my clothes at one time. She leans against the edge of the bed, her fingers slowly unbuttoning her work shirt, and my entire body starts to quake.
"What're you doing to me?" I ask, gaping at her, and a grin lights up her face.
"Just waiting for you." Her shirt falls open, just barely covering her breasts, and I close my eyes for a few seconds, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control. Breathing deeply, I look at her again, taking the few steps to her. I grab the bottom of her shirt, bunching it in my hands as I pull it over her head, tossing it away from us. I skim my fingers down her sides, and even though she says we have time for romance and seduction later, I can't help but take a few moments to worship her.
I drag my lips down her chest, kissing every bit of skin I can find. I grab her bra straps and tug them down as she reaches behind her back to open the clasp. Her breasts spill out and I'm nearly done in. I fall to my knees in front of her, nipping at her stomach before I stretch up to wrap my lips around her breast. I grab the sides of her underpants and pull them down, holding onto her hip as she steps out of them, and I lean back for a moment; I haven't seen her completely naked in such a long time, and certainly never in the middle of the afternoon; the soft light streaming in through the window painting her body in a wonderful glow.
She's more beautiful than I remembered.
I stand slowly, kissing my way back up her body, pushing my own shorts down as I pull her to me, both of us moaning at the contact. I grab the backs of her legs and lift, her ankles crossing at the small of my back. She runs her fingers down the side of my face, looking at me lovingly. "What about your leg? And your arm?" she asks softly, and I stretch up to kiss her.
"They're fine. They're better than fine." I tighten my grip around her waist, crawling onto the mattress. Slowly, I lower us down to the bed, keeping her as close as I possibly can.
I rub against her gently, her hips coming up to meet mine enthusiastically. "This is where you first defiled me," she says with a mischievous look on her face. "Remember?"
"Mmm, 'defiled.' I am a romantic sort of guy, aren't I?" I lean down, kissing her deeply, pushing her further into the bed. "I will never forget that night. It was one of the greatest nights of my life."
"Mine, too. Even if you did strip me of my innocence forever."
I laugh a little, pressing my face into her neck. "You're gonna get it."
I feel her fingers tracing over my shoulder and I lean back to watch her; she's studying my bullet wound carefully, sadly, and I remain silent, letting her take the time she needs. I don't know that she's really seen it before. At night, I usually fall asleep in my undershirt, which actually hides the scaring and it never really occurred to me that she'd want to see it.
"Does it hurt?" she whispers, and I give my head a little shake.
"Not really, not anymore. It twinges once in a while, and the doctors said that it could be some time before everything's really back in working order, but as long as I keep moving it, that's what's really best for it."
"Did it do a lot of damage?"
I sigh a little; I don't want her to listen to this sort of horror. "Not nearly as much as it could have. It went straight through. Some of the bone shattered and I might not ever have the full range of motion, but it moves all right. Like I said, as long as I keep working it, it'll keep getting better."
She switches arms, her fingers moving across the tattoo, and I can tell she likes it even if she thinks she's not supposed to. "I can't believe you let someone draw all over you."
"I missed you," I answer softly. "I wanted to have you with me everywhere I went. I wanted everyone to know that I belonged to someone and that I would love her until the end of time."
She swallows heavily as her eyes grow a little misty. "Well, when you put it that way…"
I chuckle a little, tightening my grip on her. "It was lonely out there, Monica, and it'd been over a year since I'd seen you. I know it was a little dumb, but it helped me feel close to you. I almost felt like you were nearby all the time and that got me through a lot of long, lonely nights."
"I think you're the only person who could make permanently scarring your body sound romantic."
"Well, I'm thinking about getting another one," I tell her, watching her eyes grow wide with amusement.
"Oh, really? Do tell."
"I want to get Abby's name, too. Maybe on the other shoulder, though. What do you think?"
She grins even as she rolls her eyes and I lean down to kiss her. A few moments later she pulls back just a fraction, her fingers pressing against my lips. "One more thing."
I kiss her fingertips, pulling them gently between my teeth for a moment. "What?"
"Tell me you forgive me."
I sigh, looking into her eyes that are suddenly filled with remorse. "Monica…"
"Please. I need…need to hear it."
"Honey…" I push the hair back from her face, kissing her cheek. "There's nothing to forgive."
She bites her lip, looking away from me. "I kept your daughter from you for almost three years—"
I put my hand on her cheek, bringing her face back to mine. "The War kept me from her. Simple as that. You did what you thought was best at the time. We can't change it; all we can do is keep moving forward. As long as I'm moving forward with you…the rest is incidental."
"Are you sure?" she asks in a whisper.
"You and Abby…you're all that matter. We're together now. We're a family. Nothing will change that. I spent three years going all over the world, praying that the day would come that I could go home and be with you. Well, I'm home. You're here, we're both whole, and we have the most perfect child anyone could ever hope to have. Life is too short to waste time being angry with the ones you love. There are too many variables, too many chances that you can miss by staying mad. It's not worth it. We have our whole lives ahead of us, years and years that I want to spend with you. We're going to grow old together, remember?
"So, if you need me to tell you that I forgive you, I'll say the words. I'll do it; I'll do whatever I need to if it makes you happy. But believe me when I say that there really is nothing to forgive."
She blinks, tears spilling down the sides of her face, and she smiles at me happily. "Love me," she whispers.
"With pleasure," I answer, capturing her lips with my own.
Her hand slides down my back, her nails scratching at me, and I shiver with anticipation. It's been too long.
I bend down and capture her nipple between my teeth, tugging gently.
"Yesssssssss," she moans, arching her back, and I tug a little harder. "Chandler…"
I lift my eyes to her; she's staring at me such an intense look of love that it stops me in my tracks.
This is the life I dreamed about. This is the life I wanted.
Reality is so much better than fantasy.
I slide up her body, kissing her neck. "I love you," I breathe. I run my hand down her side, tracing patterns on her hip. "I know you said we have time for all this later, but I need to worship you a little."
She makes a little noise at that, one of her hands scratching at my scalp. My eyes roll back in my head at the feel of it.
"I haven't touched you—really touched you—in so long," I whisper into her shoulder. Her foot slides up the back of my leg, pulling me closer, and I groan at the feeling of her body so close to mine.
"I missed you so much," she says softly, pulling my mouth to hers, kissing me hungrily. "Promise you'll never leave again."
"Never," I mumble in between kisses.
"Say we'll be together always."
"Always," I confirm, shifting off her just a little. She watches my hand as it trails down her chest, moving teasingly across her breasts. I move down her stomach, tickling her naval for a moment, watching her squirm. She bites her lip as my hand disappears between her thighs, both of us moaning loudly at the sensation. She thrusts against my hand eagerly, though I try to move as slowly as possible, drawing out the experience for as long as I can.
Her hips lift off the bed, her eyes shutting tightly. "Ohhhhh." She grabs my arm, her nails digging into me, though she doesn't push me away. I kiss her neck and keep going.
Her skin glows with a fine layer of sweat, a flush spreading up to her face from her chest. I hold my hand still, letting her push against me, and her knees shut, trapping me.
"This is just like our first time," she gasps, and I draw her closer with my free arm, kissing her cheek.
"I remember."
She opens her eyes a little, smiling at me, and she grabs my neck, tugging me to her. Our lips meet and I resume my ministrations, her body reacting almost violently to every single touch. I can feel her shuddering, her body quaking; her breathing grows more labored by the moment, tiny moans working their way out of the back of her throat.
I can't help myself anymore. I slide my fingers out of her, crawling onto her once again. Her knees bend, bracing on the bed next to my hips. I lean up a little so that we're not completely pressed together and position myself. I look to her; she's already looking at me, breathing heavily, her eyes heavy lidded and full of so much love. She reaches up, taking my face in her hands. "Yes," she breathes, and I push into her.
I feel like I'm finally—finally—home. I grit my teeth at the sensation, screwing my eyes shut as I tremble from head to toe.
One of her feet moves up my back and I grip the sheets beneath us, fighting for control.
"Look at me," she says.
"I can't," I grunt, my breathing shallow.
"Please."
I pry my eyes open; her eyes are full of tears and my concern is immediate.
"Are you all right?" I ask, reaching out a shaking hand to stroke her face.
"I'm happy." Her hands slide to my upper arms, squeezing gently. "So happy."
Slowly, so slowly, I pull out of her before I thrust back in. Her nails dig into my flesh; I feel her muscles clench around me. I pause again, trying to control the tremors racing through my body. I take a deep breath and start to move, setting a gentle rhythm. One of her hands releases me, reaching out across the bed, the blanket bunching in her clenched fist.
"Oh, God," she moans, pushing into me. "More."
So I give her more. I can deny her nothing. I can deny us nothing.
I prop myself up on my elbows as I move against her faster. Her mouth drops open and her eyes roll back, and my ego swells to ridiculous proportions. Being with her like this now makes me infinitely grateful that I never succumbed to my urges. No one else could ever compare to this.
Her eyes fly open, meeting mine; I watch her throat move as she swallows heavily, and I'm entranced by every little bit of her. I lean down, kissing her for a few moments before we both gasp for air. I trail my lips down her neck, to her collarbone, to her breasts, where I lavish them with as much attention as possible. Making this as good as possible for her is important. Distracting myself from the way she makes me feel is equally as important.
Dear God, it's been so long.
Her body shakes beneath me as I run my tongue over her nipple, her hands grabbing my head, holding it in place. "Ohhhh. Ohhhhh God." Her leg wraps around my lower back, pulling me closer and I grimace at the sensation, pausing my thrusts to get myself under control.
"You're killing me, Monica," I mumble around her breast.
"Don't stop," she answers, her leg tightening around me. "Don't stop."
I come up for air, staring at her beautiful face. I push the hair tenderly off her forehead, and tears of my own spring to my eyes. "I love you so much. So much."
She puts her hands on my cheeks, her thumbs brushing away my tears. "I know you do. I love you, too." She draws my face to hers, kissing me gently. "I missed you."
"Missed you," I answer, my voice strangled as I start to thrust again, slowly, gently, drawing out it out for as long as I can. This moment is more than three years in the making, and I don't ever want it to end.
"I'm not going anywhere," she says softly. "We have all afternoon. We have the rest of our lives."
"Monica," I whisper. "I don't…"
"I told you—ravage me. I want you to." She leans up, kissing my lips tenderly. "Please."
I grab her hands, kissing her palms before I link our fingers together. I push her arms over her head and start moving, hard and fast. She wants it like this, I want it like this, so why fight it?
Her fingers squeeze my hands and I can feel her arms straining against me; her eyes go wide as I drive into her, her own hips pushing up against me wildly. "Oh, God, yes yes yes yes!"
I stare down at her, sweat rolling down my back and the sides of my face as I, somehow, manage to keep myself propped up. She watches me, too, wonder on her face, and I'm sure the same look is on mine.
We're here.
After all this time, we're here.
Tears fill my eyes again, but I smile down at her, so happy to be where we are.
She clamps her other leg around me suddenly, pulling me close, gasping for air for a few moments. She starts to undulate, moving her body in tiny waves. I close my eyes; trying to shut out the image of her beneath me. She's too much.
Her body goes rigid for a moment and I open my eyes; her mouth is hanging open as her chest moves rapidly. We stare at each other; I push myself into her as much as I can and watch her bite her lip as her back arches into me. "Chandler," she moans suddenly. "Oh, God, Chandler."
I can't hold back anymore. I release her hands and drop down to her, pressing our bodies together once more. I wrap my arms around her and grunt as I pound my hips to hers. My orgasm is building swiftly; I'm sure it won't be much longer.
I press my lips to hers and we kiss each other obscenely, both thrusting frantically. She moans into my mouth, our bodies shaking.
"Oh, my God," she whispers. "Ohh, ohh, ohh. Oh, God. Yes." Her nails dig into my shoulder blades and I thrust into her faster. She tears her lips from mine suddenly as she lets out a wail, her body spasming out of control, and that's all I need.
I let go, pleasure tearing through my body as I pound into her sloppily. I grit my teeth as I yell into her ear. "Ahhhhhh."
She pulls me closer, our bodies somehow moving both with each other and against each other. I grip her tightly, probably hard enough to leave bruises, but I can't control myself.
The feeling keeps going, so strong, so extraordinary that I don't ever want it to stop, but I don't know if I'll survive it.
My vision starts to go black at the edges and my body gives out, collapsing on top hers, both of us panting heavily, still holding each other tightly. She sobs into my neck, laughing at the same time. I gasp for air, trembling violently, aftershocks racing through me. I kiss her neck, pulling her even closer. "Oh, my God," I whisper.
"I know," she answers, her hand stroking the sweaty hair at the back of my neck. "I know."
"That…that was…"
"Yeah."
Reluctantly, I push myself off her, flopping onto my back as I try to come down to earth. Immediately, she curls into my side, draping her arm over my chest. I wrap my arms around her, resting my cheek on her forehead. "Amazing," I whisper.
"Better," she answers, kissing my shoulder. "So much better than amazing."
Over three years of longing and pent-up sexual frustration all unleashed at one time. I don't know how I'm still conscious.
"Thank you," she whispers suddenly, and I don't have to ask for what—it's for everything and it's for nothing. It's simply because.
"Thank you," I answer as my body gradually stops shaking. I turn into her a little, holding her close, taking deep breaths. The scent that is just Monica fills all of my senses, and in this moment, it's the most comforting thing in the world. I reach down to our feet, grabbing for the blanket that we've managed to crumple into a heap. It takes a few tries, but I manage to pull it over our spent forms.
She pinches my side gently. "Don't go to sleep yet."
I blink at her slowly, my eyes not cooperating. "Huh?"
She props herself up on one elbow, resting her hand over my heart. "We're not finished."
I grin at her lazily, tucking her hair behind her ear. "We're not?"
"Honey, it's been over three years. We're just getting started."
As if I'd argue with her about this.
She leans down and kisses me, leaving no room for argument. She giggles a moment later, letting out a little moan as she collapses beside me again. "I missed this. We've always been so good at this. I probably shouldn't say that, though, right?"
I shrug, stroking her arm, feeling the sweat from our exertions drying on her skin. "Don't know, but you're right. We've always been magic together. This was better than I remembered, though."
"I learned it all from you, honey," she teases, and I pinch her side, making her squeal for a moment before we settle down, her fingers running gently over my chest.
I feel lethargy starting to settle in, my body relaxing nearly to the point of catatonia, so I sit up a little, adjusting my pillow so that it's propped against the headboard. Her eyes sparkle as she watches me, and my heart feels so full that it could burst. "Let's get married," I say suddenly.
She smiles at me even as her eyes squint in confusion. "Uhhh…" She looks down at her engagement ring for a moment. "All right. But I thought that was already the plan."
"No, I mean, let's get married tomorrow."
Her smile grows even wider. "What?"
I sit up completely, taking her hands in mine, the idea sounding better and better. "Let's get married tomorrow. We've been waiting for more than three years to do this; why put it off any longer?"
"Tomorrow?" she asks, biting her lip.
"Yeah. We'll go into the city and find a Justice of the Peace and we'll finally be husband and wife. What do you say?"
She stares at me for a few moments as she thinks about it, her head tilting to one side as she considers me, then leans forward to kiss me. "Next Saturday."
I blink at her dumbly for a few moments. "Next Saturday?"
"Next week," she confirms, and I look at her in confusion.
"Why?"
"It'll give us a little bit of time to get ready. I want to find something nice to wear at my wedding. And I want to make sure Ross and Phoebe can be there, too."
I nod slowly; even though it means one more week of not being married, I like the idea of it. "And maybe we can find something adorable for Abby to wear."
She nods enthusiastically. "Yes! And…maybe we can do it in the barn?"
"Well, my mother will be thrilled," I answer, trying to hold back my own excitement. "She'll probably be able to throw together one hell of a shindig in a week."
"You don't mind waiting another week?"
"I'd wait another year if you really wanted to," I answer, watching her face light up.
"I don't think we need another year. One more week is plenty."
"One week," I answer. "You're sure?"
She throws her arms around me; I can feel her smiling against my neck. "I'm sure."
I hug her tightly, a million different emotions washing over me, but above all is the absolute pure joy of knowing that she's going to be my wife. "We're getting married," I say softly, and she squeezes me in response.
"We're getting married," she exclaims, laughter bubbling out of her, and I can't help but laugh, too.
Finally.