The One With The Transporter

Chapter seven

By: Jana~

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--Chandler felt his protective nature kick in, standing in front of Monica, ready to safeguard her against any harm the man approaching intended to cause. Fear for his own safety was secondary.

"We've been looking for you," the man informed, a thick Italian/Brooklyn accent wrapping around the ominous words.

"We don't want any trouble." Chandler forced his voice to sound stable and unafraid as he continued to shield Monica.

She peeked out from around him, scared not even close to describing what she was feeling.

"Then, Mr. Tribbiani, you need to clean up your boat!" the man barked. "It's been months since you've been here to clean it, and frankly, it's becoming an eyesore! We have all signed a petition, and unless you take action, I'm afraid we'll have no choice but to vote you out of this marina!"

The guy thought he was Joey. Chandler rolled his eyes, relieved that it was a simple boat owner on a mission and not some hitman ready to snuff them out. "I apologize, sir, and trust me when I say, this matter will be dealt with."

The man went on to thrust the petition under Chandler's nose, but he put his hand up, refusing to view the document.

"I believe you, sir, that you have the signatures needed," Chandler humored the man, discreetly gesturing for Monica to board the boat. "But we're on a bit of a tight schedule at the moment, so this will have to be dealt with when I return."

He went back to untying the line from the cleat, all the while the man continued to list all the complaints about the appearance of the Mr. Beaumont. Finally, the boat was free, and so was Chandler to walk away from the man's ramblings.

"I'll be happy to review the list when I return," Chandler told him, tossing the rope over the side and into the boat. "Have a pleasant day."

He climbed the ladder, aware that the burly Italian/New Yorker was watching him; he guided Monica away from the side of the boat, and away from the man's line of vision.

"I though for sure-" she whispered, panic in her voice and eyes.

"I know," he interrupted, softly touching her shoulder in support as he moved past her. "Let's just get out of here."

He started up the motor and carefully pulled away from the dock. Luckily, he was able to maneuver the boat around the other boats and get it out into the bay without hitting anyone or anything.

"I'm better at this than I thought," he figuratively patted himself on the back, smiling at Monica. His smile soon dropped however, when he saw the expression on her face. "What's wrong?"

She threw herself into his arms, her face against his chest. "I thought we were dead back there," she cried, her voice muffled as she spoke into his shirt.

"I know," he soothed, stroking her hair. "The thought crossed my mind too."

She pulled back, her tear-stained cheeks standing out as the cold ocean breeze stung and reddened her face. "You stood in front of me," she stated in awe. "To protect me."

He watched her expression closely, nodding only slightly.

"Thank you," she whispered, the look on her face a cross between pained and confused.

Again, he nodded. "You're welcome," he whispered back.

Instinct caused him to lean in, and neither blinked nor even dared to breathe until their lips were centimeters apart; they both inhaled sharply as their eyes fluttered shut, anticipating the kiss to come.

Lips brushed tentatively, hands roamed gently, time stood still. But almost as soon as it began, it was over.

Monica broke the kiss, her eyes wordlessly asking the question her voice couldn't at that moment. His eyes seemed to be studying her, and she gulped nervously, only able to stare back at the man holding her.

"What are we doing?" she finally asked, her voice meek and unsure.

His arms were still around her, continuing to hold her, carefully, as if she were a fine China doll that may break. "Something we probably shouldn't be," he replied, then released her. "I'm sorry if I-"

She shook her head, the response stopping him from finishing his apology. Her eyes dropped to the deck beneath her feet, "I think I need to rest for a bit." She wanted, needed to get as much distance between herself and Chandler that she could.

He agreed with a gesture, an attempt to make her feel better about her need to flee from what had just occurred. "Of course! Absolutely!"

Turning her back, she walked away from him and towards the furthest end of the boat, the end Chandler was farthest from. As much as she liked it, the kiss confused her, and she needed space, as much as the small boat would allow, to gain some perspective.

Chandler inwardly groaned, chastising himself for his actions. She was scared, and vulnerable, how could he do that to her? Especially after he told her he would never take advantage of her. But that's what he did, in his mind. He'd taken advantage of her.

It didn't matter if she returned the kiss, he reasoned, it was still a bad move. Still not right of him to place her in that position. And then there was the added concern of whether or not things would be awkward between them. They couldn't afford to have there be unresolved issues, not when things were so, dire.

He stole a glance in her direction, watching her carefully as she stared out at the ocean. She seemed so sad, and he wanted to apologize right then and there, but thought time and distance would be best for her, at least for a while.

With the wide-open sea before him, he cut the motor on the boat and began to set the sails, solo. It was slow coming back to him at first, but soon, he was sailing like a pro, and heading in the general direction of their destination.

Then he approached her, sitting beside her as her gaze remained on the ocean, the water reflecting images of the dark clouds above. It suited the mood, he thought ruefully.

Monica was aware of Chandler's presence, but said nothing and acknowledged the same.

"You ok?" he asked, noticing her color was a little off. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," she lied, her voice giving away her discomfort.

"You're motion sick," her asked her, "Aren't you?" She only shrugged in response.

"Give me your hands." The order was a kind one, but she hesitated before complying. "If you apply firm but gentle pressure here," he explained, pressing his thumbs gently into the underside of her arms, just above her wrists, "It will help counter the nausea."

She stared down at his hands, her mind far from the motion sickness the boat was causing… until his little trick seemed to be actually working.

"Better?" he asked, observing that her greenish complexion was starting to fade.

"Yeah," she admitted, amazed. "Where did you learn that?"

"Phoebe." He released his grip, "She's into all that, holistic medicine and aromatherapy and stuff."

Monica nodded, her eyes returning to the bluish-gray water that surrounded them.

He sighed as he watched her emotionally distance herself, both of them falling into an uncomfortable silence. It was several minutes later before he noticed her shiver, goosebumps peppering her arms.

"You're cold," he realized, grabbing his duffel bag and rummaging through it. "I have something you can wear."

The cold wind had felt good when she was feeling ill, her discomfort causing heat flashes, but once the nausea had subsided, the biting wind began to chill her.

He pulled out a long-sleeved shirt, holding it up for her to slip into. She glanced at him briefly before accepting the warm article of clothing… it smelled like him, and she inhaled deeply as she hugged herself protectively.

What she was protecting herself from, she didn't exactly know. From getting her heart broken, maybe? Chandler didn't really seem like the type to break hearts though. More likely, he was the one getting his heart broken.

"It's a pretty view," he said casually, looking out at the same piece of ocean that had her attention. "Too bad we couldn't be viewing it under better circumstances."

She turned away from the water and faced him. "Why are you so nice?"

He laughed at the question. "What?"

"I don't know what to make of you! Here you are, going through the same thing I'm going through, but instead of focusing on yourself-" She stumbled verbally, trying to find her words. "You seem to be going out of your way to make this as easy on me as possible! Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess- I just- I went into this willingly, ya'know? I knew something wasn't right, but I got involved anyway. You, you were brought into this against your will. And even though I'm not the person directly responsible for that, I am as close as we're going to get. Right now. Out here." He picked at imaginary lint on his pants, any task to take his eyes away from hers. "I just feel responsible for you now."

"And that's the only reason you're being nice to me?" she asked. "Because you feel responsible for me?"

He looked up at her, into her eyes; they seemed to show an inner pain that made him admit to something he might not have otherwise.

"No," he told her. "That's not the only reason." He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, the brisk air causing a slight burn to his already dry throat. "I like you, Monica. And I know we've only known each other for one day, but, I like you. If I had met you at the coffeehouse, I would have asked you out by now. But with things the way they are--"

He stopped abruptly, watching her for a reaction, but she only stared at him in response.

"I'm being nice to you," he concluded, "Because I like you."

She remained silent for several moments, and he looked away as he anticipated her shooting him down. They hadn't known each other long at all, would it really be that devastating if she did? Somehow, he felt it would be.

"I like you, too, Chandler." Her voice was so quiet it almost couldn't be heard over the wind whipping past them.

"What?" he asked with a surprised yet hopeful expression.

"I like you, too," she repeated, her eyes avoiding his once again.

Delicately, he reached out, lifting her chin with his finger, his eyes begging to meet hers. When she finally looked up at him, he smiled.

"May I kiss you?"

She nodded, the movement so slight it could barely be seen, but Chandler saw it. He was hypersensitive to everything about her at that moment.

The kiss that followed was slow and sweet, and all together too brief.

"Chandler!"

Chandler pulled away abruptly at the sound of his name being called. Where was it coming from? Frantic, they both jumped from their seats, scanning the ocean around them in search of that answer.

"You heard it too, right?" he asked her, wondering briefly if it was all in his head.

"Yeah," she confirmed, "I heard it too. Where is it coming from?"

"I don't know, another boat maybe?"

"Chandler!"

There it was again. It definitely was not their imaginations, someone was calling to him.

"Who is doing that?" Monica asked, her voice thick with fear.

Chandler hesitated before responding. "It sounds like… Joey."

TBC…

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