Monica ran across the street and sat down heavily on a bench, hands dangling limply between her knees. The snow soaked her legs, making her lower half very nearly as numb and frozen as her brain.
She's told Chandler and Joey that she had to meet Pete for dinner... which was, of course, a lie. It turned out that marrying Monica Geller had been a lot like winning the Ultimate Fighting Championship... once Pete had accomplished it, he'd lost all interest. It was one of the reasons she'd been so excited to see them all again... to revisit a world where she mattered.
But she didn't, did she? Not to them.
The front bell of her old apartment building jangled, and Rachel stepped through a door held by Richard, wrapping her scarf around her and calling back through the doorway. Monica quickly slid behind the bench, thankful she'd worn white.
The rest of them followed, spilling out the door and onto the sidewalk like the curtain call of her past. Phoebe snuck a handful of snow down the back of Ross' coat, and he whirled, laughing... Richard captured Rachel's small lavender mitten in his own large black glove, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Chandler and Joey danced out in front, chasing each other into the street, peacoats swung out like capes, powder flying in arcs from their shoes, attempting to sling their scarves in each other's faces using only hula-hoopish neck motions.
They looked like a postcard. They looked so *happy*. The only thing missing... was her.
Only... only they didn't seem to notice.
Chandler turned back to the group, yelling words the wind stole from her. She'd always loved him in that coat, thought it made him look like a poet, or a dark stranger...
Joey ruined the illusion, smashing a snowball on top of Chandler's head. Chandler caught his wrist and whirled, pulling Joey to him, capturing his lips in a kiss that grew more heated as the others laughed and walked ahead.
Monica's stomach rolled with a mixture of jealousy, nausea, and fascination. She'd almost forgotten kissing Chandler, forgotten how different he was from the other men she'd known... forgotten how his eyes flared with heat and then closed with almost holy reverence... almost forgotten how he kissed, mouth open and hungry, the way his hands would trace her jawline in wonder, the pressure of his lower lip, the slow and irresistable heat of him.
But he wasn't kissing her... he was kissing Joey, his fingers tangling into Joey's dark hair, Joey's hands sliding up his stomach, snow falling all around them. It was like a beautiful painting... of her worst nightmare.
"Okay, you two, get a room!" Phoebe bellowed. "We're gonna be late!"
Chandler and Joey broke off the kiss, laughing, and ran to catch up with the others.
Monica stumbled back onto the bench, hands groping in the snow for support. It was true. They couldn't have faked that, not even for her benefit, there was no way... she'd felt Chandler's passion from across the street. And if *that* was true, then all of it was. Pheebs and her brother.
*Rachel* and *Richard*.
Richard... oh, God...
She should go back to the hotel. Now. Run like hell for the Presidential Suite, climb into the whirlpool, wrap a robe around her, leaf through a magazine, pretend this night had never happened. Pretend it was a dream, a nightmare concocted of jet lag and too many bags of peanuts. Leave her memories of them the way they were supposed to be... not this, this Dali interpretation of her world she'd stumbled into.
"You forgot these."
Monica's head snapped up. Phoebe stood in front of her, holding out her hand... which held Monica's gloves.
"How'd you...?"
"I'm psychic, remember? Also, you're wearing a *really* bright red beret."
Monica's hand flew to her hat, and her face flared to match.
"Nobody else saw you," Phoebe added gently. "Look -- I told Ross I was coming over here, he'll make my excuses. You wanna get some coffee?"
"Yeah... from Central Perk," Monica muttered. "Fat chance of that, though..."
Phoebe touched Monica's arm. "Gunther works at a place four blocks down. Coffee tastes just the same."
Monica stood, dusting the snow off. "Everything... everything changed, Pheebs."
"Yeah, Mon... it did. Of course it did. Everything does." She took Monica's arm in hers. "C'mon."
"Not... not *this* much." Monica brushed her hair away from her face. "I just... I just don't understand how this *happened*."
Phoebe pushed her hat down, squinting against the wind. "Well... where do you want me to start?"
She's told Chandler and Joey that she had to meet Pete for dinner... which was, of course, a lie. It turned out that marrying Monica Geller had been a lot like winning the Ultimate Fighting Championship... once Pete had accomplished it, he'd lost all interest. It was one of the reasons she'd been so excited to see them all again... to revisit a world where she mattered.
But she didn't, did she? Not to them.
The front bell of her old apartment building jangled, and Rachel stepped through a door held by Richard, wrapping her scarf around her and calling back through the doorway. Monica quickly slid behind the bench, thankful she'd worn white.
The rest of them followed, spilling out the door and onto the sidewalk like the curtain call of her past. Phoebe snuck a handful of snow down the back of Ross' coat, and he whirled, laughing... Richard captured Rachel's small lavender mitten in his own large black glove, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Chandler and Joey danced out in front, chasing each other into the street, peacoats swung out like capes, powder flying in arcs from their shoes, attempting to sling their scarves in each other's faces using only hula-hoopish neck motions.
They looked like a postcard. They looked so *happy*. The only thing missing... was her.
Only... only they didn't seem to notice.
Chandler turned back to the group, yelling words the wind stole from her. She'd always loved him in that coat, thought it made him look like a poet, or a dark stranger...
Joey ruined the illusion, smashing a snowball on top of Chandler's head. Chandler caught his wrist and whirled, pulling Joey to him, capturing his lips in a kiss that grew more heated as the others laughed and walked ahead.
Monica's stomach rolled with a mixture of jealousy, nausea, and fascination. She'd almost forgotten kissing Chandler, forgotten how different he was from the other men she'd known... forgotten how his eyes flared with heat and then closed with almost holy reverence... almost forgotten how he kissed, mouth open and hungry, the way his hands would trace her jawline in wonder, the pressure of his lower lip, the slow and irresistable heat of him.
But he wasn't kissing her... he was kissing Joey, his fingers tangling into Joey's dark hair, Joey's hands sliding up his stomach, snow falling all around them. It was like a beautiful painting... of her worst nightmare.
"Okay, you two, get a room!" Phoebe bellowed. "We're gonna be late!"
Chandler and Joey broke off the kiss, laughing, and ran to catch up with the others.
Monica stumbled back onto the bench, hands groping in the snow for support. It was true. They couldn't have faked that, not even for her benefit, there was no way... she'd felt Chandler's passion from across the street. And if *that* was true, then all of it was. Pheebs and her brother.
*Rachel* and *Richard*.
Richard... oh, God...
She should go back to the hotel. Now. Run like hell for the Presidential Suite, climb into the whirlpool, wrap a robe around her, leaf through a magazine, pretend this night had never happened. Pretend it was a dream, a nightmare concocted of jet lag and too many bags of peanuts. Leave her memories of them the way they were supposed to be... not this, this Dali interpretation of her world she'd stumbled into.
"You forgot these."
Monica's head snapped up. Phoebe stood in front of her, holding out her hand... which held Monica's gloves.
"How'd you...?"
"I'm psychic, remember? Also, you're wearing a *really* bright red beret."
Monica's hand flew to her hat, and her face flared to match.
"Nobody else saw you," Phoebe added gently. "Look -- I told Ross I was coming over here, he'll make my excuses. You wanna get some coffee?"
"Yeah... from Central Perk," Monica muttered. "Fat chance of that, though..."
Phoebe touched Monica's arm. "Gunther works at a place four blocks down. Coffee tastes just the same."
Monica stood, dusting the snow off. "Everything... everything changed, Pheebs."
"Yeah, Mon... it did. Of course it did. Everything does." She took Monica's arm in hers. "C'mon."
"Not... not *this* much." Monica brushed her hair away from her face. "I just... I just don't understand how this *happened*."
Phoebe pushed her hat down, squinting against the wind. "Well... where do you want me to start?"
