A/N: Not much to say except sorry this took so long. My grandfather died on Wednesday so needless to say, reviews would be appreciated. Thanks *hugz everyone*.

Disclaimer: I don't own them although, lord, if I owned Matthew Perry I would be a much happier woman.

CHAPTER SEVEN - Exhaustion

"I don't believe him," Rachel said exasperatedly a few minutes later after Monica had recounted Monica and Chandler's conversation. "And I don't believe you!" she cried, swatting Monica's arm and causing Elizabeth, who was asleep in Rachel's arms, to open up her eyes dazedly.

"What do you mean?" Monica asked sullenly.

"You are so full of crap! Monica, this is Chandler - Chandler, Elizabeth's father? The guy you love? And you just let him walk away! Are you crazy?"

"I - I - "

"Okay, I know he messed up and I know you are going to have trouble forgiving him - blah, blah, blah," Rachel said, rolling her eyes. "But honey - you sleep with his picture under your pillow."

"Not anymore," Monica said defensively. "Know what, Rach? I'm not really up for another one of your unhelpful pep talks." She stood up.

"Fine! And I'm not in the mood for giving one!" Rachel said.

"Good!" Monica replied, stalking away.

"I've got everything under control here, by the way! I'm happily watching your baby!" Rachel said saucily.

"It's about time you do some work!" Monica cried, walking into the guestroom and slamming the door behind her. She flopped under the bed and buried herself under the covers, trying to erase Chandler and Rachel's faces from her mind.

But she couldn't sleep. His face kept slipping into her mind's eyes, smiling at her...

Think about something else, she instructed herself. Think about... Dad. Or work. Or television. Or Chandler...

Monica walked into the staff room at work and found Morgan sitting on the couch, examining her nails. She went over to her cubby and hung up her sweater on her hook. The door to the staff room opened and, to Monica's surprise, Chandler entered.

"Hey, Chan - " she began, but stopped, horrified, as Chandler walked over and sat down next to Morgan. Morgan smiled and turned to Chandler - and they started to kiss!

Monica couldn't move. "Chandler! Chandler, stop!" she cried, appalled. But Chandler and Morgan didn't stop. Morgan climbed on top of Chandler and straddled him. He began to unbutton her shirt. Neither of the two seemed to notice Monica standing in the corner.

"Stop!" Monica screamed as Morgan unbuckled Chandler's belt. Their bodies were completely pressed together - and Monica couldn't stop watching the gruesome sight.

"Stop!" she screamed, and suddenly jolted upright. Monica looked around wildly, searching for Chandler and Morgan. But... wait...

"A dream," she whispered, putting her head in her hands. "Just a dream." She tried to calm her beating heart and glanced at the clock. 5:48.

What was that psychotic dream about? Was she afraid Morgan was going to steal Chandler from her? No, that wasn't it. Maybe... maybe she thought she was losing him, not necessarily to another woman, but just in general. She couldn't stop him from kissing Morgan, and he couldn't hear her screaming. She was terrified of losing him again. Now she knew what she had to do - unfortunately, it would have to wait.

Day was breaking outside the curtained window, and Monica stood up on shaky legs and threw open the curtain.

The cool morning breeze instantly made her feel better. Monica remembered the times when Elizabeth, who'd had colic until she was four months old, would be up all night, screaming and crying. Monica would sit by her window in her room at her parent's house and watch the sun rise, feeling the cold nighttime air change to warm, tantalizing puffs, for the lawns lining the street to light up, drops of dew reflecting off the grass. Those were her times.

Now Monica watched as New York City lit up with sunlight and people walking to work and tourists eager to sightsee filled up the streets. She heard the faint cry of a baby filling the apartment, and followed it Rachel's room.

Rachel was slumped in the bed, sleeping peacefully, her hair askew over her head. Elizabeth was just waking up in the tiny bassinet next to her, one they'd left there almost a year before. Monica smiled and picked up her daughter.

"Shhh," she said, rocking her and kissing her head. "Shhh, shhh, baby. Mommy's here. Mommy's here."

When Rachel awoke a few hours later, Monica had fed and clothed herself and Elizabeth and was playing with the baby on the floor. "Hey," Rachel said, avoiding Monica's eyes.

"Hey," Monica said. "Listen, I'm really sorry about our fight. I was just - upset - but that doesn't give me the right to - "

"No, Mon, I was the jerk," Rachel said. "I knew you were freaked, I shouldn't have kept bugging you. I'm sorry." She held her arms out, and Monica immediately ran into them. "Let's never fight again," she said, grinning at Monica.

"Sounds good," Monica said.

Eight hours of waitressing, it turned out, was great for becoming so exhausted that you forgot about the rest of your life.

But as soon as her shift was over, Monica's whole situation came flooding back to her. She knew that she had to talk to Chandler. She called the baby-sitter and asked if she could keep Elizabeth an extra hour, and then splurged on a cab to the Plaza.

She waked straight up to Chandler's room and knocked on the door, unsure of what she was going to do, only knowing that she had to do it, had to talk to him, had to make everything work out. She waited several seconds, then knocked again.

"Chandler?" she called. "Chandler, open up, it's Monica!" She pounded on the door again, getting frustrated. "Chandler, stop being a pussy and open this door!"

"Miss, you need to stop drumming on that door," an irritated male voice said from behind her. Monica whirled around and found herself facing a dark-suited man with greasy black hair and a puckered frown on his face. He was obviously a Plaza worker.

"Oh, uh... sorry," Monica said reddening. The man looked her up and down, his scowl becoming even more disgusted. Monica looked down and realized that her short waitress skirt and baby-tee, soiled apron, and scruffy tennis shoes probably did not impress an employee at one of the most elegant and expensive hotels in New York. He probably thinks I'm a hooker or something. And screaming the word pussy didn't help either.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the man said.

"Uh, right," Monica said. "Um, could I just leave a message for my friend?"

"You may do so at the front desk," the man said. Monica nodded and let the man escort her into the elevator and down to the lobby. She went to the concierge desk.

"I'd like to leave a message for Chandler Bing in room 4435," she said the man behind the desk. He looked up and gave her the same look the man on Chandler's floor had done.

"And who might you be?" the man asked, wrinkling his nose.

"His girlfriend," Monica shot back.

The concierge opened a book and searched through the pages while Monica taped her foot impatiently.

"Miss..." he said, looking up at her.

"Geller."

"Miss Geller, I'm afraid Mr. Bing has checked out," the concierge said.

"What?!" Monica cried. "But he's - he's not leaving for another week!"

The concierge was still staring intently at his book. Then he looked up at Monica, and then back down. "Would you happen to be a Miss Monica Geller?"

Monica frowned. "Uh, yeah."

The man opened his desk. "Miss Geller, Mr. Bing left this for you," he said, holding out an envelope.

Monica looked at the envelope, and then the man, and then took it. She walked away, stuffing the envelope into her pocket, needing to escape from the disapproving stares and appalled whispers of the people standing in the lobby. She walked down the street and into Central Park, and sat down at a bench near a playground. With shaking hands, Monica opened the envelope and pulled out a letter - and a check.

Dear Monica,

I'm probably gone by now. I'm going to JFK and taking the eight o'clock British Airways flight back to England. I'm sorry I left. I just don't know if things could ever work out. We both have so much going on, so much past and so many memories. Please don't think that I never loved you, that I don't still love you, because I do. I love you too much. And that's why this wouldn't work. I know that doesn't make much sense but I don't know how else to explain it.

I know Elizabeth deserves a wonderful father, and I can't give her that now. I wish you'd told me about her sooner, Mon, and I wish you hadn't lied to me. I would have tried, I really would have. I wish I'd seen you pregnant - you must have been such a gorgeous pregnant woman - and I wish I'd been there when Elizabeth born, and at her first birthday - but I suppose it's my fault too. I was stupid to ever leave you. I just want you to know that I regret that more than I regret anything else.

Enclosed is a check that will hopefully make up for all the child support payments I've missed. I will continue to send a check for the next seventeen years, and if you ever need any more for anything, please tell me and I will send more. When college comes along, we'll talk again.

And I want you to tell Elizabeth that if her father weren't such an idiot, he would love her more than anything else in the world. And that he would love her mother too.

I love you, Monica. This is just what we have to do.

Chandler

P.S. I may come out again in a few summers. If you never want to see me again, I'll understand, but if you maybe want Elizabeth to meet me, I will. Happily.

Monica swallowed hard and blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears that were threatening to pour down her face for passerby to see. She pulled the check from the envelope and gasped.

Five thousand dollars.

Yeah, I think it's enough, Monica thought, her head light. But suddenly, the money didn't matter. All that mattered was finding Chandler. Everything he'd just said - it was true. But for her, it was all a reason to stay together. Monica looked at her watch. Seven fifteen. That gave her forty-five minutes to get to JFK. She stood up and ran through the park and onto the street. When she reached the curb, she threw her arm out into the street so wildly that she almost fell off.

"Taxi!!"

************

Monica ran into the airport at the British Airways entrance. She raced up a flight of stairs and down a long terminal, following the signs that would lead her to an information booth. When she reached an area with British Airways representatives, she leaned over, clutching a horrible stitch in her side.

"Miss?" a woman asked. "Miss, cam I help you with anything?" Monica held one finger out, telling her to wait a second.

Finally, she took a deep breath and tried to talk, but found her mouth was completely dry and she couldn't get her tongue to work right. "Water?" the rep, offered, holding out a water bottle. Monica took it gratefully and swallowed a few sips, and then stood up straight.

"Where's the eight o'clock flight leaving?" she asked.

The representative looked a clock hanging on the wall, and Monica looked at too. She felt her heart fall into her stomach.

"I'm sorry - it's eight-ten. It probably already left the gate." She pointed to a sign that said Gate 4. Monica ran to it.

"Wait!" she screamed to the people standing around it. "Don't leave yet!" A few people looked up at her, and then out the large windows. And then Monica saw why.

A large plane was pulling away from the gate, rolling down the runway.

"No!" she cried, launching herself at the glass. She threw her body up against it and banged on it, as if that would help. "Wait! Come back! Chandler!"

Monica slumped down against the glass, exhaustion overwhelming her. She barely noticed as she was handed water and led to a hard airport chair, where several people who worked at the airport tried to calm her down. She watched the plane carrying Chandler until it was just a speck in the distance.