OKAY... HERE'S THE FOLLOW-UP. IT'S NOT AS LONG AS PREVIOUS PARTS, BUT IT WORKS. :-) I'M NOT SURE IF I'LL CONTINUE WITH ANOTHER PART... IT DEPENDS ON THE FEEDBACK I GET AND WHETHER OR NOT PEOPLE THINK A CONCLUSION OR EPILOGUE IS NECESSARY. ADDED TO WHICH, I HAVE OTHER FICS IN THE WORKS, SO... ONLY TIME WILL TELL, I SUPPOSE! ANYWAY, PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! THANKS! :-)
She stared at his silhouette, frozen in place by the combination of fear and shock. She tried to swallow, but found that her throat was not willing to cooperate. She finally found the ability to speak, but her voice was barely above a whisper and it shook just like the rest of her. "D-- Dad." She stared at him, terrified of what he was going to do. He eyed her suitcases pointedly and looked into her face once again.
"Weekend holiday?" he asked quietly. She remained silent, having absolutely no idea what to say. She was completely unprepared for such an encounter -- the thought of getting caught by one or both of her parents had never entered her mind. He sighed and Monica stared at him, the panic as present as the first moment she'd realized he was there.
"W-- What are you doing up?" she stammered. He looked at her for a moment, as if judging whether or not to tell her the truth.
"Getting a glass of water," he said eventually. Monica stared at him momentarily, not so much doubtful as surprised. He sighed again. "Waiting for you."
"Pardon?" Monica's eyes widened in surprise as she stared at him.
"Your mother told me that you said you love him," he said after a moment. Taken aback, Monica could only nod. "He told me he's in love with you." She couldn't prevent the smile that crossed her face.
"He did?" Jack nodded.
"Yes, he did. I figured that if that were true and if what your mother said were true... well, Monica, you've always had your mother's strong will and my stubbornness. I wasn't naive enough to think that my firing the boy would diminish your determination to be with him." Monica's fear gave way to a curious confusion as she stared at her father, her brow furrowed and her luggage still tightly gripped in her hands. "I take it you're leaving with him," he said almost inaudibly. She nodded slowly.
"Yes, Dad, I am. I love him and he loves me. I won't marry Peter Becker, you can't make me marry someone I don't love--"
"I know that, Monica," he interrupted. She stared at him skeptically. He sighed. "I'm not down here to stop you." Her skepticism turned into genuine disbelief, a change that he could read on her face. "Monica, I've always wondered what would become of you. You always had the kind of spirit that I couldn't bear to see broken, and I wondered what on earth would happen if you were forced into a marriage that you didn't want." He paused. "Look, regardless of what we always say... I want you to be happy. And I'm not here to forbid you to leave. You're a woman now, not a little girl, and that's a decision that you can make for yourself. I just... I didn't want to wake up tomorrow morning with my little girl gone and no goodbyes said." Monica felt her eyes fill with tears as she put her suitcases down and almost ran to him, hugging him tightly.
"I love you, Daddy." He sighed into her hair as he rested his chin on top of her head.
"I love you, too, sweetheart." He pulled away and looked into her eyes, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Does this boy really make you happy?" The way her eyes lit up was undeniable and it was in that moment that Jack realized that she really was leaving and that it wasn't just a "run-away-to-prove-a-point" scheme.
"Yes, he does." Jack nodded and slowly removed an envelope from his pocket. He held it thoughtfully in his hands for a moment before he spoke again.
"Have you been terribly unhappy with your life, Monica?"
"Oh, Dad, of course not," Monica assured him. "I've been so happy. It's just... I'm older now and I want a life of my own. With Chandler."
"And you're sure about him?" Monica nodded. "I just... I was only skeptical because... well, you come from such different backgrounds..."
"It doesn't matter," Monica interrupted vehemently. "I love him and he loves me." Jack simply nodded and, after a moment of pensive silence, he held the envelope out toward her. "What is this?" she asked, looking up at him curiously. Jack cleared his throat.
"While I'm not thrilled about allowing my little girl to run off with... well, with a strange boy, the last thing I want is for you to end up poor and homeless and God knows what else. That," he said, nodding toward the envelope, "is what we had planned on spending on your wedding and all of the parties and such." Monica's eyes widened in surprise. "It's not a fortune, by any means," he assured her. "But it's something to keep a hold on, just in case. To get your feet under you, if you will." Monica hugged him tightly again.
"Thank you, Daddy." He hugged her tightly, feeling the familiar pains of a father whose daughter had become capable of living her own life.
"Promise me, Monica, that this is truly what you want. If you can tell me this is the only thing that can make you happy, then I won't stop you. But don't go simply because you're angry with us, or with your mother." Monica pulled away and looked into his eyes almost pityingly.
"This IS what I want, Dad," she assured him. "This is ALL I want." He nodded again and reached out for a final hug from his one and only daughter. As they parted, she bent and picked up her suitcases. "Thank you," she said softly. Not trusting his voice, which he knew would shake if he attempted to use it, he nodded slightly. "I love you, Dad." She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, and he watched as she headed toward Chandler's room. Unable to bear the thought of watching her leave the home he'd spent years watching her grow up in, he turned and headed toward the stairs and silently prayed that regardless of where his daughter's journey took her, she would be delivered safely.
Chandler rose nervously from his bed and opened the door when he heard a timid knock. He smiled when he saw Monica standing on the other side, and he felt a certain sense of relief flood him when he saw that she actually had suitcases with her. While she'd been adamant about leaving with him, he'd been afraid that she'd end up backing out and he would eventually be forced to leave alone, without her. She smiled back slightly and she placed her suitcases down outside his door. They stared at each other in silence for a minute, both exhilarated as well as terrified of what lay in store for them.
"You ready?" he asked after a moment. She nodded. He gave a slight nod and turned to pick up a few of the bags, but before he could grab the handles he felt Monica's slender arms wrap around his waist.
"I love you," she whispered softly. He grinned. Every time she said it, he felt like he could sprout wings and fly away.
"You know how crazy this is, right?" She smiled and nodded.
"Yeah, I do." He nodded, accepting her response, and grabbed a hold of all the cases he could carry, leaving Monica with just one and her carry-on bag.
As they sat in the train station awaiting the time to board, Monica nervously played with the chain around her neck.
"That's pretty." Her thoughts were interrupted by Chandler's soft voice, and she smiled as he gently took the charm in his hand and looked at it closely.
"My father gave it to me," she explained. He nodded.
"What is it?"
"A St. Christopher."
"A what?" Chandler asked, his brow furrowed.
"A St. Christopher," she repeated, smiling. "My Dad gave it to me when I turned sixteen."
"What does it mean?"
"Well, people believe that St. Christopher was the saint who protected travelers. When I was younger, I always used to tell my Dad that I wanted to travel when I got older. See the world. My mother always said it was ridiculous and that I'd never have the opportunity to see the world unless I married someone rich who traveled a lot." She chuckled slightly. "You can imagine how pleased she was when, at the tender age of six, I declared that I would never marry anyone who wouldn't let me do what I wanted." Chandler grinned and remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "Anyway, it was one of the things that I always said... I wanted to someday leave New York and see other parts of the country. Maybe someday even a different country altogether. So, when I turned sixteen, my Dad gave me this necklace. A St. Christopher. He told me the story behind it and said that he was sure that someday my life would take me somewhere too far for him to watch over me, and that then the St. Christopher would have to do it for him."
"He knew you'd get out," Chandler said softly. Monica nodded, her eyes stinging.
"Yes, he did." After a moment's uneasiness, Chandler spoke again.
"Monica, if you change your mind... if you want to go back, I'll understand." She turned to face him, and he wished he could read the expression on her face. She remained silent for a short minute before speaking.
"Chandler, I love my father. He's my father, and he's the person who understood me more than anyone else. But I love YOU. Yes, I'm going to miss him. Yes, I wish I didn't have to say goodbye to him and not know when or even if I'll see him again. But just because I love my father doesn't mean that I'm questioning my decision. I love you. With all my heart. And I'm going with you." He had to fight to keep from releasing the relieved sigh that was trapped in his throat. Monica smiled. "Rest assured now?" He nodded.
"I just... wanted to be sure," he explained.
"Well, you can be sure. I am." At that moment, the platform attendant's voice interrupted their conversation as he announced the boarding of the 3 a.m. train to Boston. Chandler felt Monica's cold hand slip into his and grip it nervously as they stared at the locomotive that would take them both into a new life, a life in which they had little more than each other.
"Ready?" he asked. She nodded and followed him toward the platform. He helped her climb the stairs and pointed toward a cluster of empty seats near the back. She followed his direction and sat in the seat near the window, glancing out at the New York train station she had come to know on the odd occasions when her father used to go away. After showing the attendant their tickets, he removed his jacket and sat next to her, draping both of their coats over the arm of his seat. He followed her gaze out the window and wondered what lay in store for them. All he knew for certain was that he had the one and only thing that he'd ever truly needed and that he couldn't live without, and it was sitting in the seat next to him.
WELL, THAT'S IT! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE FEEDBACK... LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS PART! IF YOU THINK IT NEEDS ANOTHER CHAPTER, JUST SUGGEST IT IN THE REVIEW... DEPENDING ON MY OTHER FICS AND WHETHER OR NOT I FEEL THE URGE TO ELABORATE ON THEIR LIFE IN BOSTON, THERE JUST MIGHT BE A SIXTH PART, LOL. EITHER WAY, PLEASE LEAVE YOUR OPINION! THANKS FOR READING!
She stared at his silhouette, frozen in place by the combination of fear and shock. She tried to swallow, but found that her throat was not willing to cooperate. She finally found the ability to speak, but her voice was barely above a whisper and it shook just like the rest of her. "D-- Dad." She stared at him, terrified of what he was going to do. He eyed her suitcases pointedly and looked into her face once again.
"Weekend holiday?" he asked quietly. She remained silent, having absolutely no idea what to say. She was completely unprepared for such an encounter -- the thought of getting caught by one or both of her parents had never entered her mind. He sighed and Monica stared at him, the panic as present as the first moment she'd realized he was there.
"W-- What are you doing up?" she stammered. He looked at her for a moment, as if judging whether or not to tell her the truth.
"Getting a glass of water," he said eventually. Monica stared at him momentarily, not so much doubtful as surprised. He sighed again. "Waiting for you."
"Pardon?" Monica's eyes widened in surprise as she stared at him.
"Your mother told me that you said you love him," he said after a moment. Taken aback, Monica could only nod. "He told me he's in love with you." She couldn't prevent the smile that crossed her face.
"He did?" Jack nodded.
"Yes, he did. I figured that if that were true and if what your mother said were true... well, Monica, you've always had your mother's strong will and my stubbornness. I wasn't naive enough to think that my firing the boy would diminish your determination to be with him." Monica's fear gave way to a curious confusion as she stared at her father, her brow furrowed and her luggage still tightly gripped in her hands. "I take it you're leaving with him," he said almost inaudibly. She nodded slowly.
"Yes, Dad, I am. I love him and he loves me. I won't marry Peter Becker, you can't make me marry someone I don't love--"
"I know that, Monica," he interrupted. She stared at him skeptically. He sighed. "I'm not down here to stop you." Her skepticism turned into genuine disbelief, a change that he could read on her face. "Monica, I've always wondered what would become of you. You always had the kind of spirit that I couldn't bear to see broken, and I wondered what on earth would happen if you were forced into a marriage that you didn't want." He paused. "Look, regardless of what we always say... I want you to be happy. And I'm not here to forbid you to leave. You're a woman now, not a little girl, and that's a decision that you can make for yourself. I just... I didn't want to wake up tomorrow morning with my little girl gone and no goodbyes said." Monica felt her eyes fill with tears as she put her suitcases down and almost ran to him, hugging him tightly.
"I love you, Daddy." He sighed into her hair as he rested his chin on top of her head.
"I love you, too, sweetheart." He pulled away and looked into her eyes, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Does this boy really make you happy?" The way her eyes lit up was undeniable and it was in that moment that Jack realized that she really was leaving and that it wasn't just a "run-away-to-prove-a-point" scheme.
"Yes, he does." Jack nodded and slowly removed an envelope from his pocket. He held it thoughtfully in his hands for a moment before he spoke again.
"Have you been terribly unhappy with your life, Monica?"
"Oh, Dad, of course not," Monica assured him. "I've been so happy. It's just... I'm older now and I want a life of my own. With Chandler."
"And you're sure about him?" Monica nodded. "I just... I was only skeptical because... well, you come from such different backgrounds..."
"It doesn't matter," Monica interrupted vehemently. "I love him and he loves me." Jack simply nodded and, after a moment of pensive silence, he held the envelope out toward her. "What is this?" she asked, looking up at him curiously. Jack cleared his throat.
"While I'm not thrilled about allowing my little girl to run off with... well, with a strange boy, the last thing I want is for you to end up poor and homeless and God knows what else. That," he said, nodding toward the envelope, "is what we had planned on spending on your wedding and all of the parties and such." Monica's eyes widened in surprise. "It's not a fortune, by any means," he assured her. "But it's something to keep a hold on, just in case. To get your feet under you, if you will." Monica hugged him tightly again.
"Thank you, Daddy." He hugged her tightly, feeling the familiar pains of a father whose daughter had become capable of living her own life.
"Promise me, Monica, that this is truly what you want. If you can tell me this is the only thing that can make you happy, then I won't stop you. But don't go simply because you're angry with us, or with your mother." Monica pulled away and looked into his eyes almost pityingly.
"This IS what I want, Dad," she assured him. "This is ALL I want." He nodded again and reached out for a final hug from his one and only daughter. As they parted, she bent and picked up her suitcases. "Thank you," she said softly. Not trusting his voice, which he knew would shake if he attempted to use it, he nodded slightly. "I love you, Dad." She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, and he watched as she headed toward Chandler's room. Unable to bear the thought of watching her leave the home he'd spent years watching her grow up in, he turned and headed toward the stairs and silently prayed that regardless of where his daughter's journey took her, she would be delivered safely.
Chandler rose nervously from his bed and opened the door when he heard a timid knock. He smiled when he saw Monica standing on the other side, and he felt a certain sense of relief flood him when he saw that she actually had suitcases with her. While she'd been adamant about leaving with him, he'd been afraid that she'd end up backing out and he would eventually be forced to leave alone, without her. She smiled back slightly and she placed her suitcases down outside his door. They stared at each other in silence for a minute, both exhilarated as well as terrified of what lay in store for them.
"You ready?" he asked after a moment. She nodded. He gave a slight nod and turned to pick up a few of the bags, but before he could grab the handles he felt Monica's slender arms wrap around his waist.
"I love you," she whispered softly. He grinned. Every time she said it, he felt like he could sprout wings and fly away.
"You know how crazy this is, right?" She smiled and nodded.
"Yeah, I do." He nodded, accepting her response, and grabbed a hold of all the cases he could carry, leaving Monica with just one and her carry-on bag.
As they sat in the train station awaiting the time to board, Monica nervously played with the chain around her neck.
"That's pretty." Her thoughts were interrupted by Chandler's soft voice, and she smiled as he gently took the charm in his hand and looked at it closely.
"My father gave it to me," she explained. He nodded.
"What is it?"
"A St. Christopher."
"A what?" Chandler asked, his brow furrowed.
"A St. Christopher," she repeated, smiling. "My Dad gave it to me when I turned sixteen."
"What does it mean?"
"Well, people believe that St. Christopher was the saint who protected travelers. When I was younger, I always used to tell my Dad that I wanted to travel when I got older. See the world. My mother always said it was ridiculous and that I'd never have the opportunity to see the world unless I married someone rich who traveled a lot." She chuckled slightly. "You can imagine how pleased she was when, at the tender age of six, I declared that I would never marry anyone who wouldn't let me do what I wanted." Chandler grinned and remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "Anyway, it was one of the things that I always said... I wanted to someday leave New York and see other parts of the country. Maybe someday even a different country altogether. So, when I turned sixteen, my Dad gave me this necklace. A St. Christopher. He told me the story behind it and said that he was sure that someday my life would take me somewhere too far for him to watch over me, and that then the St. Christopher would have to do it for him."
"He knew you'd get out," Chandler said softly. Monica nodded, her eyes stinging.
"Yes, he did." After a moment's uneasiness, Chandler spoke again.
"Monica, if you change your mind... if you want to go back, I'll understand." She turned to face him, and he wished he could read the expression on her face. She remained silent for a short minute before speaking.
"Chandler, I love my father. He's my father, and he's the person who understood me more than anyone else. But I love YOU. Yes, I'm going to miss him. Yes, I wish I didn't have to say goodbye to him and not know when or even if I'll see him again. But just because I love my father doesn't mean that I'm questioning my decision. I love you. With all my heart. And I'm going with you." He had to fight to keep from releasing the relieved sigh that was trapped in his throat. Monica smiled. "Rest assured now?" He nodded.
"I just... wanted to be sure," he explained.
"Well, you can be sure. I am." At that moment, the platform attendant's voice interrupted their conversation as he announced the boarding of the 3 a.m. train to Boston. Chandler felt Monica's cold hand slip into his and grip it nervously as they stared at the locomotive that would take them both into a new life, a life in which they had little more than each other.
"Ready?" he asked. She nodded and followed him toward the platform. He helped her climb the stairs and pointed toward a cluster of empty seats near the back. She followed his direction and sat in the seat near the window, glancing out at the New York train station she had come to know on the odd occasions when her father used to go away. After showing the attendant their tickets, he removed his jacket and sat next to her, draping both of their coats over the arm of his seat. He followed her gaze out the window and wondered what lay in store for them. All he knew for certain was that he had the one and only thing that he'd ever truly needed and that he couldn't live without, and it was sitting in the seat next to him.
WELL, THAT'S IT! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE FEEDBACK... LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS PART! IF YOU THINK IT NEEDS ANOTHER CHAPTER, JUST SUGGEST IT IN THE REVIEW... DEPENDING ON MY OTHER FICS AND WHETHER OR NOT I FEEL THE URGE TO ELABORATE ON THEIR LIFE IN BOSTON, THERE JUST MIGHT BE A SIXTH PART, LOL. EITHER WAY, PLEASE LEAVE YOUR OPINION! THANKS FOR READING!
