A.N. Sorry for the delay guys, if you're still reading this. Been kinda hectic over here. I'm really tired and can't think of a clever author's note. So just please review okay??? Thanks J
Maddy.
"What time is it?" she asked quietly. She knew he wasn't sleeping, that neither of them had slept a minute that night. In fact, neither of them had said a word in hours; they'd just been lying there in his bed, knowing what the other was thinking without having to use words.
"Five thirty," came his immediate reply. His arms encircling her pulled her closer and she squeezed her eyes closed as she felt his lips on her shoulder.
"Chandler?"
"Yeah?" he replied, his head resting in the crook of her neck.
"I just cheated on my husband." He didn't say anything. It was true, and she wasn't looking for a response. Instead he kissed her shoulder again, brushed her hair with the back of his hand.
She wondered why she didn't feel guiltier. It was horrible; she was a good person, a person with morals, or so she thought. And yet here she was, in another man's bed, and he was holding her and all she could think about was how right it felt.
"I don't feel bad about it," she admitted, barely a whisper.
"It's not like he's a pillar of monogamy himself, Mon," he finally said back.
"Let's not justify it," she said. "I can't justify it, all I know is that I wanted something, and for the first time in a while, I got what I wanted."
"That makes two of us," he said with a smile. "Listen, Mon, I know you didn't plan this and that you probably think it was a mistake- and that it probably was a mistake- but, I guess I just don't want you to leave without making sure you know."
"That I know what?"
He rolled away from her and stared up at the ceiling, holding her hand in his.
"That I love you."
She shook her head in frustration, sat up and started gathering her things.
"Don't be angry," he pleaded. "Come on, I had to say it. I didn't want you leaving thinking I just wanted- that I only wanted…" he trailed off.
"To get laid?" she finished, finding her discarded dress and pulling it over her shoulders.
"I didn't want you to think that."
"I didn't," she said.
"Okay, so… why are you leaving and why are you pissed?" he asked, reaching for her hand. She sighed.
"I'm not pissed. I'm frustrated. And I'm leaving because I've been out all night, I'm wearing the same clothes I had on at the party, and I'm married."
"Frustrated why? Monica, talk to me. You were just fine," he said.
She shook her head again. "You love me. That's just great Chandler, that's fabulous. Where was that when we broke up? Where was that for the entire year I was single before I started going out with Richard again? Where was that when I got married, when you saw it was a mistake and I didn't?"
"I was trying to let you live your life. I wanted you to be happy. Can't you get that? Above my own happiness, I want yours."
Her eyes filled with tears and she bent down to kiss him softly one more time.
"You'll never understand that we might have both been happy, will you?" was her question as she straightened herself and left his room.
April 1998
He had just had probably one of the worst days of his entire life. He had been an hour late to work, missed a crucial meeting, gotten reprimanded by a boss he hated at a job he hated, his mother was in town and had insisted on a simply painful lunch, it was pouring rain and snowing at the same time (so much for spring), and he couldn't think about anything except getting home, calling Monica, and complaining to her about it over pizza and ice cream.
They'd been dating for about ten months already, been public for less, but still, it was a long time. He could feel himself, the past few weeks, getting panicked, wanting to run, and it scared him. Lunch with his mother today was especially disturbing; she was in the middle of divorce number four, and his faith in commitment and life long relationships just wasn't what it should be; it wasn't what she deserved.
He walked into her apartment, wet, cold and looking as bad as he felt, because she looked up from the book she was reading and made an "oh no, poor you," noise.
"What happened?" she asked sympathetically.
"Worst day ever, I need pizza, I need the couch, I need dry clothes, and I need you," he said.
"Pizza's on its way," she said, "The couch is right there, but don't sit down until you get that dry clothes thing worked out… and you have me," she finished, ignoring the frozen wetness of his jacket and hugging him.
He wasn't listening, because the last part of his own statemtent was reverberating in his brain. "I need you," he had said. He hadn't realized how true it was until that moment. How if they broke up- when they broke up, because let's face it, with him, it was inevitable- she wouldn't be there for him at the end of the day.
He remembered, as he went to his apartment to change his clothes, back to when they were "just friends". He still would have gone right over there after the hellish day he had had. She still would have comforted him, as she always did. The evening they were about to share would be almost the same (minus anything sexual that happened). He would still have her there.
Then he thought about an alternate reality, better known as the future, after what they had was over. It would end messily, it always did when people loved each other and had a big history. And she wouldn't be there. They wouldn't even have the friendship. He couldn't live without her, and he knew then, that he had to find a way to talk to her, to make her see. As much as he wished he could spend the rest of his life with her- it wasn't worth the chance of spending the rest of it completely without her.
Monica walked into her brownstone quietly and crept upstairs, wondering if he had come home at all. It was quarter after six now, and he wasn't upstairs. She came back down, thinking about how stupid she was to feel any guilt when he wasn't home either, and swung open the door to the kitchen. She jumped when the opened door revealed Richard, sitting at the table, waiting for her.
"Where were you?" he asked evenly.
"Richard, I didn't think you were home," she said with all the calmness she could muster, what with it being dawn and still wearing her dress from the night before.
"Of course I'm home, it's six am," he said. She snorted.
"Let's not pretend it's an 'of course' situation, okay? What happened, was she married? Did she have kids?"
"Dammit, Monica, I'm so tired of your accusations!" he said, his voice raising. "Honestly, look at us. I'm sitting here, waiting for you, and you waltz in at six o'clock in the morning, wearing the same clothes you had on last night, and accuse me of cheating on you."
"Wouldn't be the first time," she said through clenched teeth as she poured coffee into a mug.
"You didn't answer my question. Where have you been?"
She smiled ironically. "This is an interesting twist of events. Role reversal. It's good to change things up, keep us on our toes, don't you think?"
"Stop being sarcastic and tell me where you were," he said, losing patience.
"I was at Chandler's," she said. Somewhere along the line, she'd learned that the best lies were closest to the truth. "I drank too much at the party and Chandler took me home and let me sleep on his couch."
"Why didn't he just bring you home?" Richard asked disbelievingly.
"Because no one knew where you were and he didn't want to leave me alone," she shot back, shocking herself at the ease with which the lie came out of her mouth. His eyebrows unknitted, his mouth softened, and she knew he had believed her.
"Mon, I'm sorry, okay, I swear I wasn't doing anything… I drank too much too, wandered around with some of the guys. That's it." He reached for her hand.
"Okay," she said in response.
"You believe me?"
"Sure. Why not," she said, taking her hand away and turning to leave the room.
"Monica… don't be angry. Come on. You know I love you," he said. She couldn't remember how many times he had said those words to her in the past three years. This time, he said them to her back, as she walked out of the kitchen and upstairs without turning around.
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