When You Think Of Me

Chapter Five – Blue Eyes Blue

Okay, this picks up just a few minutes before the end of the last chapter…

Earlier…

            Monica flipped through one of the magazines lying on the table in the small waiting room, doing her best to ignore Pete's impatient movements next to her.  She had no sympathy for him; it was his own lack of planning that had put them there.

            When he had called exactly a week after their group dinner and asked her to join him for a football game in Pittsburgh, she agreed in spite of her lack of interest, deciding that football was much less intimidating than a candlelit dinner.  She didn't even realize it was an important football game until she mentioned their plans in front of Joey, who – after he picked himself up off the floor – informed her that she had been invited to the Super Bowl. 

Pete's plan had been to fly to Boston Saturday on a private jet carrying some of his partners to an important meeting with some software developers.  Pete had claimed it made sense for them to fly along, as he would need to stop in and say hi to the clients, exchange pleasantries and all.  Then they would charter their own plane – Pete held some interest in a charter plane company that had ports in several cities, so he was sure it wouldn't be a problem – and travel on to Pittsburgh.   

            But when they arrived in Boston, it became clear Pete should have called ahead.  After hearing Pete's name (and noticing, Monica was sure, the disdainful look on Pete's face when the option of a commercial flight was mentioned) the manager of the airline promised to try to track down an extra pilot, but cautioned them that the only guy he had left to call was supposed to be leaving for New York that day.  Monica had smiled slightly at the coincidence: they were coming from New York, and their only hope for a pilot was trying to get there. 

            Charlie had stepped back in a few moments ago, looking relieved as he informed them that their pilot – one of the best he had - was on his way in.  Pete's lack of remorse for ruining the poor guy's trip to New York annoyed her, but she was determined not to ruin their weekend before it even started.  She was undeniably tense about the implications of this trip, and all she really wanted was to be safely checked in to their (separate) hotel rooms, where she could lie in her bed and try to figure out how she had ended up in Pennsylvania with Pete Becker.

              Monica looked up when the sound of a slamming door broke the calm silence around them, and she heard a muffled voice call out.  Monica felt the familiar chills travel up her spine, but she forced herself not to acknowledge the thought – that the muted, faceless voice had a familiar quality.  That the tone, the inflections were similar to his.  It certainly wasn't the first time she'd heard a voice that sounded like Chandler's, and deep down, she knew it wouldn't be the last.  But she was tired of feeling her heart leap every time something reminded her of him, no matter how vague the stimulus might be. 

            "Sounds like he's here," Pete commented, coming over to stand next to her, and Monica nodded, consciously deciding to cut Pete some slack.  It wasn't his fault she was in such a foul mood.

            "We'll be in Pittsburgh in time for a late lunch," Pete continued, his voice conveying the thought as a proposal, perhaps even as a peace offering.  Monica smiled slightly, and glanced over at him as she nodded.

            "Yeah.  I'll be famished by the time we land," she offered, giving him a half-smile.

            Pete's face broke into a full smile, and he reached out to squeeze her arm.

            "Have I told – "

            The question, whatever it was, was interrupted when Charlie gave a perfunctory knock and the door swung open.  Monica shifted her gaze to the door, a smile already on her face to welcome the pilot who was canceling his plans in order to shuttle them around.  Charlie stepped into the room, speaking over his shoulder to the young man behind him. 

            "…to your passengers," Charlie said, then swung around to flash a smile at Pete and Monica.  The pilot stepped into the room, dressed casually in jeans, a black collared shirt unbuttoned over a white t-shirt, and a black leather flight jacket, complete with sunglasses perched atop his dark brown hair.  Monica froze as soon as her eyes fell on the familiar form, and she forced herself not to cry out, in case this was just another one of her spells of déjà vu.  Then the pilot looked squarely at them with a cheerful smile, and the blue eyes erased any doubts.  She felt her knees giving way, and the possibility that she might just faint at his feet horrified her back to alertness.  Then Chandler's eyes locked with hers, and the expression on his face turned to one of shock, disbelief, and maybe even fear.  For a moment, she even suspected that he might be the one to pass out. 

            "Chandler Bing," Charlie began, the name a final confirmation neither of them needed.  "This is Pete Becker and – "

            "Monica," Chandler stated in a whisper, his eyes wide.  Monica stared back at him, unable to believe that after all this time, she was finally face to face with the man that had broken her heart into a million pieces.  The man that had shattered every illusion she had ever had about true love.  The man she had loved with every part of herself, more completely than she had ever loved anyone.  More completely than she thought she would ever love again.

            She jerked her eyes away from his and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself in an effort to stop herself from shaking.  She could almost feel Charlie's confusion and Pete's concern, but most of all she could feel Chandler's presence behind her.  Dear God, what was she supposed to say to him?

            "Monica…" Chandler said again, the shock in his voice giving way to apology as he reached out to gently touch the back of her shoulder.  She stifled a sob at his touch and wheeled around, pushing his hand away from her and knowing that she wasn't ready for this. 

            "Don't," she whispered, tears now threatening to spill.  "Just don't."

            "Please, Mon," he pleaded, his own eyes glistening with tears.  She was unprepared to hear the familiar nickname on his lips, and for a moment it almost broke her completely.  She closed her eyes and bowed her head, unable to look into his face and unable to find her voice.  She had spent the last year wondering what she would say to him if she ever saw him again, and now she couldn't remember one single word that she had wanted him to hear. 

            Ironically, now that he was standing right in front of her, the only thing she wanted to do was get away from him.

            She pushed past him, angrily freeing herself from the hands trying to stop her, and ran into the hallway and down into the larger terminal where 'ordinary' passengers – meaning those that weren't multi-billionaires that owned a large part of the airline – waited for their flights.  She collapsed into a chair and buried her face in her hands, finally allowing her body to shake with sobs. 

            She couldn't believe that he had appeared from nowhere and turned her life upside down all over again.

            She wasn't surprised when she heard tentative footsteps coming toward her.  She had expected him to follow her, though she wasn't sure why.  After all, he had gone against everything she ever thought she knew about him when he walked away without even saying goodbye.

            He stopped in front of her, close enough but not too close.  She stubbornly averted her eyes from his pleading gaze, choosing to study the fabric on the chair next to her instead.  He squatted in front of her, but didn't touch her.  It made her queasy when she realized how badly she wanted him to touch her cheek, brush a strand of hair away from her face, reach for her hand…anything.   But he didn't. 

            "I'm sorry, Monica."

            The simple words fell around her, but they didn't touch her at all.  "Sorry" didn't mean much to her right now. 

            "Why were you going to New York?" she finally asked him, looking up at him with eyes burning with confrontation.  He blinked, obviously surprised, and raised an eyebrow.

            "How did you…?"
            "Your boss," she answered, venom in her voice.  "He said you were supposed to be on your way to New York.  Why?"

            "Well, I…um – shouldn't that be kind of obvious?" he asked in return, his eyes meeting hers nervously.

            "I don't know, Chandler, should it?  Maybe it's as obvious as the reason you walked out the door one night without an explanation and just, I don't know, never came back?"

            "Mon, I didn't – " 

            "Don't call me that," Monica told him in a voice that was deadly calm.  "I don't want you to call me that anymore."

            "Monica…"

            "Tell me why, Chandler.  Why New York?  Why now?"

            "I – I wanted to talk to you, Monica.  I wanted to explain, to tell you…"

            "Tell me what?" Monica interrupted, her voice heavy with contempt.  "That you love me after all?  That you just can't live without me?"

            Chandler paused, staring at her, knowing that was exactly what he wished he could say.  But he knew better than to tell her that now, and besides, it wasn't what he had wanted to tell her.  He had wanted to apologize, to try to make her understand why.  He hadn't even dared to dream that he would have the chance to make it to "I love you". 

He lowered his eyes and slowly shook his head.  "Not exactly," he admitted softly, his eyes glued to the floor. 

            Not exactly. 

            Monica swallowed hard, willing herself not to show disappointment in his answer.  But if he wasn't going to New York to tell her he still loved her, then what?  To give her closure and then take off again? 

            "You know what, Chandler?  I don't care why.  You can go to New York and do whatever the hell you want to do."  She paused and stared at him for a long moment before she turned her head and started back up the hallway.  "Just stay away from me."

I thought that you'd be loving me.
I thought you were the one who'd stay forever.
But now forever's come and gone
And I'm still here alone.
 
'Cause you were only playing,
You were only playing with my heart.
I was never waiting,
I was never waiting for the tears to start.

            Chandler watched her disappear down the hallway, unable to find the strength to go after her.  He had hurt her enough.  Maybe one day he would have the chance to make it up to her, but for now, he would just let her go.  He owed her that much.

            He slumped into the chair she had just occupied, and he swore he could almost feel the life draining out of him.  He couldn't believe that he had just been face to face with her…and he had ruined everything all over again.  No wonder she didn't want to talk to him.

            "You screwed up, Bing," he said out loud to himself, rubbing his face with his hands.  "Big time." 

            Heaving another soul-wrenching sigh, he lifted himself to his feet and walked off in the opposite direction from where Monica had gone.  He didn't want to risk making her see him again right now.  He would wait until he was sure she – they, he reminded himself, Monica and Pete – and then he would find Charlie.

            He had a lot to think about.  He needed to see some clouds.

I thought that I'd be all you need.
In your eyes I thought I saw my heaven.
And now my heaven's gone away
And I'm out in the cold.

            They arrived in Pittsburgh on a commercial flight after all, and Monica spent the whole time brooding, staring out the window. 

            Not exactly.

            So he didn't love her.  It hadn't been a mistake.  He didn't regret leaving her; he didn't want to come back. 

            He didn't love her.

            Until now, she hadn't realized that she had been holding on to that hope: that he would come back and declare his love, tell her he knew now that he couldn't live without her.

            But that wasn't what he had wanted to say to her.

            She couldn't get his face out of her mind.  He looked good.  He'd lost weight over the last months, but he wasn't skinny like he'd been in their early twenties.  His hair was lighter, giving the impression that he spent a lot of time outside.  And his eyes…they were still the same gorgeous shade of blue, but there was something different in them.  Something older.  Something very un-Chandler-like.  Something she didn't recognize.

'Cause you had me believing,
You had me believing in a lie.
Guess I couldn't see it,
I guess I couldn't see it till I saw goodbye.

            "Mon?" Pete asked softly as he carried her bags into her room.  "Is there anything I can do?"

            She shook her head, giving him her best effort at a smile. 

            "No, I'm fine.  But…would you hate me if – "

            "You went home?" he finished for her, smiling knowingly.  "No, I don't think I could blame you for that.  I'll call the airport and arrange for our tickets."

            "Pete…" Monica began carefully.  "You don't have to go with me.  You can stay here, go to the game.  I'll be okay."

            Pete looked at her for a moment, then nodded slowly.  Disappointment shone in his eyes, and Monica knew that he knew.  She had a feeling that he wasn't surprised.

            "Okay.  I'll stay.  Just…if you need me, Mon, please…call."

            "I will," she promised him, leaning forward to kiss him softly on the lips.  "Thank you."

            Pete nodded, then tilted his head toward the door.  "I'll just go call the airline."

            Monica nodded back, giving him the best smile she could muster, then sank onto the bed when the door closed behind him.  She was absolutely drained of emotion.  She didn't think she could handle any more emotion today.

            As if on cue, her cell phone rang.  Monica rummaged through her jacket to find it, wondering who would be calling her.  She smiled slightly as she recognized the number on the caller id, and lifted the phone to her hear.

            "Hey Joey."

            "Monica," Joey replied, his voice sounding frazzled and confused.  "I think you should sit down."

            "What is it, Joey?  What's wrong?"

            "Chandler's mother just called," Joey answered, his tone telling her that he was still reeling from whatever Nora had told him.  "She said mine was the only number she remembered, since Chandler lived here and all and she apologized for - "

            "Joey," Monica interrupted firmly, stopping his rambling.  "What did Nora say?  Why did she call?"

            "She wants us to come to Boston, Mon," Joey told her, his voice breaking.  "It's – it's Chandler."

It was you who put the clouds around me.
  It was you who made the tears fall down.
  It was you who broke my heart in pieces.
  It was you, it was you who made my blue eyes blue.
  Oh, I never should have trusted you…
 

To Be Continued…

"Blue Eyes Blue" is written by Diane Warren and sung by Eric Clapton.

Yes, I'm going somewhere with this, I promise.  Really.  And since I know what's coming next, I hope the next chapter will be up by the end of the weekend…of course, I thought the same thing about this chapter.  ;-)