When You Think of Me

Chapter Four – I'm Movin' On

A few months later…

            Mark knocked briefly before walking into Chandler's apartment, not surprised to find his friend lounging on the couch with a far-off expression in his eyes.  He found him this way often, but Chandler never wanted to talk about it.  However, a month ago, Mark had found the courage to ask Nora if she knew why Chandler had come to Boston, and what he was so preoccupied with.  Nora had shrugged it off at first, telling him that she wasn't sure why Chandler had left New York so suddenly - and so adamantly refused to go back.  But gradually, Nora began to share her suspicions that perhaps it was a broken heart that brought Chandler to them. 

            That was the first time Mark heard about Monica Geller. 

            It hadn't surprised him.  He had surmised that it had to be a girl that sent Chandler on his wild mood swings.  And Mark had determined that today, he would try to get Chandler to talk.

            "Hey man," he called softly, in an effort to get Chandler's attention and make him realize he was being watched.  "You ready to go?"
            Chandler glanced up, then jumped to his feet as he realized Mark was standing there waiting for him. 

            "Yeah, I'm ready," he answered, with an obvious effort to sound upbeat.  He reached for the black leather flight jacket that was slung over the arm of the chair, then grinned slightly as he acknowledged Mark's identical jacket.  Chandler had bought the jackets, and presented Mark his when he returned to the ground after his first solo flight.  The two wore them pretty much every time they went flying together.  Today was a "just for fun" flight, with no passengers besides the two of them, but they both still dressed the part. 

            "Take your dark glasses," Mark advised as Chandler shrugged his arms into the sleeves.  "It's bright out there today."

            Chandler nodded and reached for his keys, locking the door to his apartment behind them as they left. He'd lived there – just a few blocks Mark's apartment, which Nora still shared – for about three months, but he still felt like he was locking a hotel room behind him. 

            This wasn't home, no matter how hard he tried to pretend. 

            Chandler sighed as the now-familiar thrill of takeoff overcame him, and he smiled up at the clouds above them. 

            He loved to fly.

            This was the one good thing that had come from leaving New York.  When he was soaring along above the fancy subdivisions and pool-dotted apartment communities outside the city, his mind cleared, and he could think.  He felt free.  And he had taken a job with the small charter company Mark flew for in his off-time a couple of months ago – and was now making a pretty good living doing something he adored.  He'd even considered taking the classes to become certified on the big-time stuff – 747's and the like – and fly for a major air carrier like Mark did.  He'd contented himself on that front with the promise of 'maybe someday'. 

            From his first lesson, he had found it an escape, something new to concentrate on, something other than Monica.  But lately, it seemed that his feelings for her and the calmness he felt as he drifted through the sky were inherently linked, and she had been on his mind more than ever.  Maybe it was because time had distanced him from his initial hopelessness, or maybe it was because he had grown up a little in the past few months…but he was beginning to wonder if leaving had been such a good idea after all.

            Not that it mattered.  He had left.  He had made the decision, and he had followed through with the action.  No matter how much he regretted it now, he couldn't change it.  The best he could do was make his peace with it and learn to move on.  Somehow. 

            "Are you thinking about her?" Mark asked suddenly, breaking the calm silence of the cockpit.  Chandler glanced at him, then back at the sky, shrugging slightly.

            "How do you know there's a her?"

            Mark gave a short laugh and leaned back in his seat, away from his copilot controls.  Chandler was in perfect control of the aircraft, so Mark would just relax and enjoy the ride.  "It's obvious, Chandler.  It was obvious from the very first day.  Nora said her name is Monica."

            Monica.  Chandler shivered, unprepared to hear the name on the lips of anyone else.  That had been one of the pros to Boston – Nora was the only person here that knew Monica, and she never mentioned her.  That gave Chandler a sense of security, knowing he wouldn't have to listen to people talk about her, or hear her name in conversation.  And now Mark had ruined the illusion.  He knew her name.

            "Yeah," Chandler confirmed in a hollow voice, all signs of his happiness at take-off gone.  "Her name is Monica."

            "She must be something," Mark continued, not willing to let the topic drop in spite of Chandler's lack of enthusiasm.  "To have this kind of effect on you after all this time."

            Chandler sighed and glanced at Mark, silently pleading with him to drop it.  But Mark gazed back with a sympathetic but determined expression, and Chandler knew he wasn't going to let it go easily.

            "She is.  If you knew her, you'd understand."

            "Were you together long?" Mark asked, struggling to keep his tone casual, knowing that was the only way Chandler would keep talking.

            "About a year and a half," Chandler replied, resigned to the conversation, but not finding it as hard as he'd expected.  "But we were close for a long time before that.  Her brother was my college roommate – we'd known each other for years.  And she lived across the hallway, so… We were always together."

            "You loved her, huh?"  The question came out as a statement, accompanied with a sympathetic smirk.  Chandler swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a brief moment, then nodded slowly. 

            "Yeah.  I love her." 

            Mark gave Chandler a sharp glance, not missing the present tense of the admission.  He debated his next question before he asked it, not sure how Chandler would react.  He might not offer any more information.  But Mark took the chance, hoping that Chandler would realize that it would be good for him to talk about it.

            "So…what happened?"

            "I happened," Chandler answered softly, after a moment of hesitation.  "I panicked and I left.  I ruined everything, and I know I broke her heart in the process."

            "You?  You left her?" Mark repeated, confused.  "But I…"  He trailed off, unable to complete the thought.  He'd been sure Monica was the one to call it off, given the way Chandler had been acting the entire time he was in Boston.  But now he was hearing another story, one he couldn't quite get his head around.  "Why?  If you love her so much, then why did you leave?"
            "Because she deserves better than me," Chandler told him quietly.  "And I didn't want her to settle for a life with me, and then live to regret it.  So I ended it for her, so she would have no choice but to move on."

            The questions abounded, but Mark couldn't put any of them into words.  He reached absentmindedly for the controls in front of him.  Chandler relinquished control immediately, and leaned back in his seat, staring out the window in the opposite direction from Mark.  They flew in silence for a few minutes, until Mark finally got his thoughts in order and turned back to Chandler, his face still revealing his bafflement.

            "Did she ever do anything to make you think that?  That you weren't good enough?"

            Chandler sighed and shook his head slowly, not turning his attention from the window. 

            "No.  No, she always made me feel…like I was the only man in the world."

            "So she loved you?"

            "Yeah," Chandler whispered, feeling tears sting his eyes.  "I think she really did."

            "Chandler, you're an ass," Mark announced matter-of-factly, all sympathy gone from his voice.  "You just left her, for no reason but your own pathetic insecurities?"

            "Yeah," Chandler sighed.  "That's about it.  And if that surprises you, you obviously don't know me very well."

            "I have a good mind to turn this plane around right now and fly you straight to New York City," Mark said in a low, almost angry, voice, ignoring Chandler's last comment.  "If we had enough fuel, I probably would."

            "No," Chandler stated emphatically, turning in his chair to look at Mark.  "I can't go back.  Not now."

            "Why not?  What if she's as miserable as you are?  Don't you think you owe it to her – to yourself – to at least talk to her?"

            Chandler shrugged slightly, not willing to admit out loud that it was the same question he asked himself every day. 

            "I don't know…" he finally answered.  "…how I can ever make her understand.  And if I can't tell her why, there's no reason for me to go back to New York.  It will only hurt her more."

            "So what are you gonna do?" Mark persisted, wishing he could reach over and shake some sense into his friend.  "Stay here in Boston all curled up with your misery?  That sounds like a great plan, Chandler.  Let me know how that goes for you."

"I don't know what else to do, Mark!  Don't you think I know I messed up?  Don't you think I'd like to do it differently?  It doesn't matter!  This is where I am.  I can't change it."

"You can go home, Chandler.  I'm not saying that she'll take you back, or that you'll live happily ever after, but you're never going to have any peace until you talk to her.  And my guess is, neither will she.  If you love her as much as you say you do – and I think you do – then you have to go back to New York.  You just have to."

Chandler set his eyes on the horizon in front of him, refusing to look in Mark's direction.  Mark got the message; the conversation was over.  He glanced at Chandler one last time, wondering what he was thinking.  Then he turned his attention to the ground as the small airport they flew out of came into view on the horizon, and he began to prepare for a landing.

The dream left him panting for breath long after he woke, and he clung desperately to his pillow as his mind drifted slowly back to reality.  He knew from experience that after a nightmare like this one, he would have to down several Tylenol PM's to get back to sleep.  Only drugs could provide the oblivion he needed.

            A shiver ran through him when he recovered enough to think about the dream he had just awakened from.  It started out the same as the others.  He was standing in the hallway, dredging up the courage to knock on her door.  But this time, the door was opened by Ross, who silently allowed him to enter.  But when he did, Chandler saw that it wasn't Monica and Rachel's familiar apartment that greeted him, but some sort of chapel, filled with mourners.  And at the front of the church was a casket. 

            Chandler could still feel the horror he had felt in the dream, as he glanced at Ross, then back at the front row, where Joey, Rachel, and Phoebe were sitting, looking back at him. 

            No Monica.

            Chandler gasped for breath as the vision from the dream flashed in his mind, and then pushed the covers off of him, sitting up on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.  He'd never had a dream like that before; they had always been limited to horrible scenarios of his reunion with Monica.  He didn't know what this new dream was supposed to mean, but it scared him.  It scared him so completely that it took all of his willpower to keep from calling her apartment to make sure she was okay.  That was the last thing he should do - call her at 3:00 am after nearly a year of no contact, just because he'd dreamed she was dead.  That would really help matters.

            Knowing he wouldn't sleep any more, with or without the help of medication, Chandler left the bedroom and pulled a chair up next to the window.  He blamed Mark for the dream, knowing that it had to be the effect of his own guilty conscience, revived by the conversation he'd had with Mark in the plane earlier that day. 

            But he couldn't blame Mark, when what he said was the absolute truth.  Damn it, he was just like Ross in that respect.  You hated to admit he was right…but he usually was. 

            Chandler sighed, then decided it was far past time to weigh his options.  He couldn't go on like this.  If he was ever going to live again, he had to make a choice. 

            He had left her, and no matter what happened next, there was no changing that fact.  The past was written in stone, and no amount of regret could change the story.  But the future was still his to shape.  He knew that she was unlikely to forgive him.  He knew that it would probably be too hard for them to maintain a friendship now, much less any kind of intimate relationship.  He knew that she probably wasn't even the same woman she had been before all of this happened.  God knows he wasn't the same man who had jumped ship for reasons that seemed entirely insane now.  But he also knew that if he really loved her, he had to go back to New York and try.  Not necessarily to get her back – he couldn't blame her if she never wanted to see him again – but to tell her what he had felt then, and how he felt now.

He loved her.  There was no doubt about that.  So there was only one choice he could make.

            He'd give a two-week notice in the morning, and he'd make his plans.  For better or worse, he was going back to New York.

I've dealt with my ghosts and I've faced all my demons
Finally content with a past I regret
I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness
For once I'm at peace with myself
I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long
I'm movin' on.

Monica stepped into the coffee house and instinctively glanced toward the orange couch.  Today, Ross and Phoebe occupied their usual gathering place, and appeared to be in the midst of a heated discussion about – surprise, surprise – something they didn't agree on.  Monica smiled to herself as she went to the counter, deciding that if it hadn't been for the rest of the gang, Ross and Phoebe would have been destined to be mortal enemies.  She could totally picture "Street Phoebe" making it a point to visit the museum where Ross used to work every day, just so she could get him riled up with arguments of the supernatural and non-scientific.  In Monica's mind – and maybe it was just the result of deep-seeded jealousy from her childhood with Ross – Phoebe always won the imaginary showdowns, sending Dr. Geller off in tears.

"Hey guys," she interrupted, sitting down in the armchair and smiling at them expectantly.  "What's up?"

"Ross is sucking all of the joy out of life," Phoebe replied with an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes in Ross's direction. 

"Again?" Monica deadpanned, grinning when Ross shot her a look.  "What is it this time?"

"Rock candy," came the irritated reply, and Monica had to hold in her laughter.  Only these two…

"I was just – "

"Save it, Ross," Phoebe snapped before Ross could defend himself.  "Nobody wants to hear it."  After looking toward his sister for sympathy she wasn't ready to bestow, Ross slumped against the back of the couch in a pout while Phoebe turned her attention to Monica. 

"So what have you been up to?"

Monica dreaded the inevitable question, and all of its implications.  There was no right answer, and no matter what she said, she would receive the sympathetic looks, pats on the knee, and "sudden" ideas about somewhere she should go or someone she should meet.

They didn't seem to understand that she didn't want any of that. 

"Just…you know, work and stuff," she finally replied vaguely, glancing away from the disapproving flicker in Phoebe's eyes.  She saw Ross's gaze turn in her direction, and was relieved when Rachel appeared from nowhere, just in time to prevent Ross and Phoebe from ganging up on her.

 "Guess who I ran into today!"  Rachel flounced onto the couch with a grin on her face, turning her eyes pointedly in Monica's direction.  For a split second, Monica's heart jumped into her throat…until she realized that if Rachel had seen Chandler, she wouldn't be announcing it so cheerily in the coffee shop.  There would be long moments of preparation; the serious and compassionate looks to let her know that her friends were there for her.  And she was sure Rachel would let the others in on the secret before she told Monica, so they would all be crowded so closely around her for support that she would find it hard to breathe.

Willing her heart to stop thumping and hoping her face hadn't gone pale, Monica stilled her shaking hands in her lap and tried to look casual.  Luckily, Phoebe had started excitedly running down her list of off-the-wall names – from Celine Dion to Ben Affleck – taking attention away from Monica for the moment. 

"Screech from "Saved By The Bell?" Phoebe yelled out suddenly, oblivious to the curious looks coming in her direction from the other patrons of the shop.  Rachel stopped mid-head-shake and raised her eyebrows at Phoebe. 

"No…"  Rachel shook her head and refocused on her announcement, looking back in Monica's direction and making it obvious this time to all of them that it was someone that would be especially meaningful to Monica.  "Pete Becker."

"Oh, really?" Monica replied, as she knew was expected.  "How's he doing?"

"Great," Rachel responded with raised eyebrows.  "He asked about you."

"Hmmm…that's nice."  Monica didn't elaborate, hoping Rachel would drop the subject.  However, she had a sinking suspicion that she knew what was coming. 

"Yeah.  So, he suggested we all get together for dinner, since he hasn't seen us in a while, and I told him I thought it was a great idea."

"Rachel…" Monica began, closing her eyes for control.  "I can't believe – "

"Monica, he asked all of us.  What harm can it do?  Wouldn't you like to see him again?  I know you didn't part on good terms, but c'mon.  He was a good guy.  And the rest of us will be there.  It's not like a date."

But you intend to turn it into one, Monica thought to herself.  She glanced at Ross and Phoebe, who were watching the conversation with interest, then turned back to Rachel.

"I just don't think I should.  Okay?"

"Think you should what?" Joey interjected, sauntering over to them.  Monica smiled slightly as he briefly rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then took a seat at the table across from her.  His eyes met hers, silently asking what was going on. 

"Think I should go on a date with Pete Becker," Monica told him, intentionally forgetting to mention that he – and the rest of them – were invited too.

"Not a date," Rachel chided her.  "Dinner.  And he invited all of us."

"Dinner?"  Joey's eyes lit up at the thought of food, and food provided/paid for by a billionaire, no less.  "Nothing wrong with having dinner with the guy, Mon.  I mean, as long as the rest of us are there, too."

Monica rolled her eyes and smiled at her friend.  Joey had become her fiercest protector, often jumping in on her behalf when the others were urging her to move on a little too insistently.  It had been awkward for a while after their one night together, but they had agreed that it would be their secret, that they would pretend it hadn't happened.  And they had also agreed to stay away from the alcohol when they were alone together, just to keep it from happening again.  Monica figured it was lucky that neither of them remembered too much about the night.  It made it easier to ignore.   It was harder to ignore the guilt she felt, in spite of the circumstances, for sleeping with Chandler's best friend. 

"You guys can go if you want," she told them.  "But I – I'm just not ready for that, no matter how innocent it is."

"Look, Mon, I respect that.  I do.  But just think about it, okay?  It might not be as bad as you think it'll be."

Monica glanced around at her friends.  Phoebe and Ross had remained strangely quiet, but one look at their faces told her that they agreed with Rachel.  Joey was most likely to be on her side, but even he was shrugging, as if he couldn't see what it would hurt.  Monica sighed, then nodded slowly.

"Fine.  I'll think about it, but no promises.  Okay?"

"Okay," Rachel replied with the confidence of a person who knew they had won the game.  She leaned back against the couch and looked around at the others. 

"So, what's up guys?"

Joey, Ross, and Phoebe erupted into a cacophony of conversation and explanations, and Monica let them talk, the sounds of their voices washing over her as her mind drifted away.

She knew they loved her and wanted what was best for her, but they didn't understand.  Sometimes – not often anymore, but sometimes - she felt so removed from them, as if she really didn't know them at all.  It was a strange feeling, to look at faces of people she had known and loved for years, and to feel like they were strangers looking back at her.  She wondered if they felt the same way sometimes, and decided they probably did.  They expected her to be the same old Monica they had always known, but she wasn't.  Not anymore. 

She knew they didn't want to admit that.  That they didn't want her to change; they didn't want the dynamic of the group to change.  But it had.  She had.  Everything in her world had changed the moment she realized that Chandler was gone.  And she hated him for it, for making her feel this way. 

For changing her so much that she felt that she no longer belonged here.  For making her feel like she wasn't herself without him. 

But he was gone, and it didn't appear that he was coming back.  She still had a life to live, and she wasn't going to let him control it any longer.   She closed her eyes and let his face flash in front of her.  One breath, then two.  She swallowed hard, then willed his face away and opened her eyes, feeling a new determination fill her body. 

"Fine," she heard herself say, as surprised by her own voice as they were by her interruption.  "I'll go to dinner with Pete.  Go ahead and call him, Rach.  I'll go."

I've lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different but they're always the same
They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it
They'll never allow me to change.
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong…
I'm movin' on.

            To her surprise, dinner with Pete went well, and she actually had a nice time.  Not a romantically nice time, but a catching-up-with-old-friends nice time.  Pete regaled them with stories about his Ultimate Fighting quest, which he had finally given up after being hospitalized for two weeks for a head injury.  The only reference to his past relationship with Monica came when he was telling them about one fight that left him "looking worse than the night Monica broke up with me". 

            Pete helped Monica with her coat when they were getting ready to leave, and Monica watched helplessly as the other discreetly walked ahead of them to the door, leaving her alone with Pete.  He gave her a small smile, then leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

            "It was good to see you, Monica."

            "You too," Monica replied honestly.  "This was…nice," she finally finished, unable to find a better word.

            "Yes, it was," Pete answered with a nod.  "Joey seemed to enjoy it, too," he speculated with a thoughtful expression, making Monica laugh.

            "Joey's easy to please.  You pay for dinner, he loves you for life."

            "Yeah…"  Pete looked down at the ground, then back up at Monica.  "Listen, Mon, I – I was wondering…if maybe I could call you sometime?"

            She wasn't surprised, but she still found it difficult to form a response.  She looked up at Pete, and realized that the prospect didn't repel her.  It didn't exactly excite her either, but then, it hadn't the first time around with Pete, either, and she had still fallen for him. 

            She wasn't ready to fall in love again.  That much she knew for sure.  But maybe she was ready for a phone call.

            "Okay," she finally agreed. 

            Pete's face broke into a relieved smile.  And after a moment, Monica smiled back.

I'm movin' on
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me
And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone
There comes a time in everyone's life
When all you can see are the years passing by

And I have made up my mind that those days are gone

Two weeks later…

            Chandler placed the last box in the back of the Explorer he had bought a few months ago, then slammed the back door shut.  He glanced up at the windows of the apartment he had lived in for less than six months, not surprised that he felt no regret to be leaving it. 

            Apprehension about what lay ahead of him, yes.  Regrets to be leaving, no. 

            His boss had taken his resignation well, and had even referred Chandler to a sister charter company in New York, who – being in New York – had more business than they could handle.  He would still be able to fly when he was back in New York. 

            Mark had been more than supportive, and Nora…Nora had hugged him and told him she was glad he was following his heart.  She'd almost felt like a normal mother at that moment.  Almost.

            Chandler started the engine, and pulled away from the curb without a backward glance.  He'd stop for gas at the station two blocks over, then it would be him and the road for the next four hours or so.  He had no idea what he would find at the end of the road, but he had some time to think about it.  At least he knew he was heading in the right direction.

I sold what I could and packed what I couldn't
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town
I've loved like I should, but lived like I shouldn't
I had to lose everything to find out
Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road
I'm movin' on.

            His cell phone rang as he was pulling out of the gas station, and he glanced at the caller id, surprised to recognize the number of his boss's office at the airport.

            "Hello?"

            "Chandler.  It's Charlie.  Listen, are you still in town?"

            "Headin' out now, Charlie.  What's wrong?"

            "Look, I know it's a lot to ask, but do you think you could do me a favor?  I just got a request for a charter to Pittsburgh, and everybody else is out.  This guy owns part of the company that owns us, Chandler, and I can't really turn him away.  I know it's a lot to ask, but do you think…maybe you could come in and take it?  It'll only set you back a couple of hours.  I'll double your pay for the trip."

            Chandler smiled to himself, and glanced at the clock on the dashboard.  11:38.  He had plenty of time to make the flight and still get to New York, and it was the least he could for a man who had done so much for him.

            "I'll be there in twenty minutes, Charlie."

            Fifteen minutes later, Chandler jogged into the hangar, slowing down to a walk as he headed through the double doors into the office area and waiting rooms.

            "Charlie, I'm here," he called into the office, before going to the desk to check himself in on the flight sheet.

            "Chandler," Charlie greeted him as he walked out of the office.  "Thanks for coming in.  I owe you one."

            "I think I owe you enough to make up for one little favor, Charlie.  So, Pittsburgh huh?"

            "Yes.  I've already submitted the flight plan.  Let me introduce you to your passengers."

            Chandler nodded and followed Charlie into one of the smaller rooms that served as waiting rooms for VIP tours or special groups. 

            "Chandler Bing, this is Pete Becker and – "

            "Monica," Chandler whispered, staring at his second passenger in disbelief. 


I'm movin' on.
I'm movin' on.

To Be Continued…


 "I'm Movin' On" is written by Phillip White and Vincent Williams and sung by Rascal Flatts.  (It's also one of my favorite songs of all time!) 

 
AN:  Okay, so I know this took forever for me to post, but I kept changing my mind about what I wanted to happen, and how I wanted to lead up to things I have planned for future chapters – so, anyway, I rewrote this about four times. 

And the "running into each other at the airport" came from catnamedzane.  I hadn't considered it before, but I thought it was a good idea so I used it!  (Thanks, by the way.)