The One With The Truth About Santa

By: Jana~

Chapter One

*

--Chandler startled awake, the dream especially vivid this time.

The dream where he finally tells her. He knew his subconscious, or something greater maybe, was trying to send him the message that he needed to confide in her, but every time he tried, he would chicken out.

Catching his breath, he looked down at his sleeping fiancée, kissing her hair lightly before leaving the bed and heading for the kitchen. He would have to leave soon. He would have to tell her.

"Sweetie?" Chandler's attention snapped over to a groggy Monica as she stood in the doorway to their bedroom. "Can't sleep?"

"Umm, no," he answered, stammering slightly. "My throat was dry. I was just getting a glass of water."

"Would you like me to make you some warm milk?" she asked, padding towards him.

Smiling, he wrapped her in a hug when she was within arms reach. "You're so good to me," he whispered. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she answered automatically, confused by his early morning, pre-dawn emotion. "You ok? It's just warm milk, ya'know?"

Releasing her, he leaned against the kitchen counter, staring back at her concerned expression. "I'm fine. I'm just, sorta stressed. About something. At the moment."

"Well," she offered as she reached into the fridge to retrieve the milk, "Maybe I can help."

"It's- it's, well, work related."

"Ok," she muttered simply, grabbing a pan to heat the milk, oblivious to the inner struggle going on within her soon-to-be husband's mind. "I don't know much about what you do, but I'm here for you, if you want to vent."

He watched her as she busied herself with the task; she was in her element when she was in the kitchen. "I have to tell, um, a colleague, something, that may be hard to hear. To believe. And I'm worried that, if I tell them, they will, want to leave. Quit."

"Well," she asked, "How well do you know this person? Has he been with the company long?"

"Several years, yeah."

"Is he a good guy? A good employee?"

"The best we have."

"So," she suggested, "Just preface the conversation. Tell him that what you have to say is hard. That it's even a bit unbelievable, but you're being honest, and forthright, because you respect him, as a person and as an employee."

"You really think that would work?"

With a shrug, she said, "There are no guarantees, but it couldn't hurt."

He nodded silently as he watched her pour the warm milk into two mugs, then accepted one of them when she offered it to him.

"Is this guy getting demoted or transferred or something?" she asked, but he didn't respond, his thoughts elsewhere. "Chandler?"

His mind jumped back into the present when he heard his name. "Yeah?"

She only stared back, as if studying him. His expression. His mannerisms and stance. "There's something you're not telling me," she stated, as if fact. "This isn't about some co-worker, is it?"

He slowly shook his head, looking guilty. "Monica," he whispered, "We need to talk."

"Oh, God," she breathed, her mug slipping out of her hand, hitting the ground. It shattered in a million shards of stoneware, mixed with steaming milk, but she stood still as stone, not reacting or even flinching to the crashing sound, the mess that was created, or the hot milk that seeped into her socks.

Chandler jumped as the mug hit the floor, and his eyes darted back and forth between the mess and Monica, before locking with hers. He realized, as they stared silently at one another, as if time itself had stopped, what she was thinking.

Walking around the mess, he approached, taking her hand and pulling out a diningroom chair for her to sit in. "It's not what you think," he tried to assure her, speaking softly.

"What do I think?" she asked, cautious, sitting in slow motion.

"You think I want to call off the wedding."

"You don't?"

He shook his head, then knelt down in front of her. "I love you, Monica. So much so, that sometimes I think my heart will burst, unable to contain it." She smiled at his words. "But," he added, and the smile dropped from her face, "There's something you need to know. To understand. And it won't be easy to hear, or believe, but I'm telling you the truth, when I tell you this."

"Ok," she nodded, tense as she waited for him to continue.

"There's something about me you don't know. Something I kept from you, because I didn't know how you would respond. Something that will change everything between us."

"You're scaring me, Chandler," she whispered, fear clearly present in her tone.

"I don't mean to," he told her, admitting, "I'm scared, too. Scared you'll think I'm crazy, and leave me."

"I won't leave you, Chandler. Whatever this is, we'll work through it."

"I want you to know, before I tell you this… I'm not sick. I don't have a fever, and I didn't bump my head. And I'm not trying to create an excuse to leave you, nor am I insane. What I'm about to tell you, is the absolute truth, as hard as it may be to believe."

"Please, Chandler," she sighed, the wait torturous, "Just- just tell me."

After taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, and gathering his courage, he announced, "Monica, I'm- I'm… Santa Claus."

Dumbfounded, she said nothing, staring past him. Almost through him. She couldn't have heard him right. What did he mean by that?

"Say something," he asked of her, and her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what to say in response.

"Santa Claus, like, at the mall? You lost your job, and now you're a mall Santa?"

He shook his head. "No, Monica. I'm not a mall Santa, I'm the real Santa."

"Santa isn't real," she informed him. "He's make-believe. A fun fairytale for kids to believe in."

"No," he told her softly. "He's real, and I am him."

Suddenly, she started laughing, "Oh! It's a joke! It's a prank, right?" Her laughter started to subside as he shook his head. Her expression changed to a scowl. "This isn't funny, Chandler."

He bowed his head, defeated. "I'm not trying to be funny."

"So, what's next?" she asked, sounding angry. "You have to go to the North Pole? Like you told Janice you had to go to Yemen, right? You are such a chicken! If you want to bail, at least have the balls to tell me! Instead of making up crazy stories!"

"I'm not, Monica," he said softly, sadly. "I'm not making this up. I told you," he reminded. "I told you this would be hard to believe."

"Hard to believe?!" she repeated, sarcastic. "Oh no! It's not hard to believe! I'm actually surprised it didn't happen sooner! You know what," she announced, "I'm gonna make this easy for you! I'm calling off the wedding!"

She stood, avoiding the mess on the floor and marching with purpose towards their room. "You can sleep on the couch," she told him, entering the livingroom with a blanket and pillow in her arms; she startled when she saw that he was no longer in the room.

He wasn't in the bathroom; the door was open and she could easily see in. She peeked out on the balcony after dropping the bedding on the couch, but he wasn't out there, either.

Then her eyes settled on the front door. He must've gone over to Joey's and Rachel's, she thought to herself, picking the bedding up to put back away. Two steps from the room, she dropped to her knees, sobbing.

The man she loved; the man she wanted to marry, and grow old with, wanted out. It felt like her heart was breaking.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Please review! And remember… He knows when you are sleeping; he knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake.

MTLBYAKY