Everytime

Chapter Three: Vein Of Lightening

Disclaimer: I don't own them. None of them. Still hoping for that EBay sale, though.

A/N: Okay, I lied. But I have a lot more time during these exams than I was expecting, so I wrote this.

I'm not sure about this chapter. It's a bit longer than the previous ones, but for some reason I feel really insecure about it. If you hate it, I want to know.

This chapter is where the summary starts to take hold. I will say no more. Except that the lyrics are from Please Forgive Me by David Gray, and I would be very grateful for reviews. As long as they don't insult me. Just tell me gently that I suck. ;)

*****

Please forgive me

If I act a little strange,

For I know not what I do,

Feels like lightening running through my veins,

Everytime I look at you,

Everytime I look at you....

*****

Monica hummed as she looked between the dresses laid out before her.

It was fifteen minutes before she was due to leave for the restaurant, and she still hadn't decided which one to wear. Which one would Chandler like best?

Wait a minute, why was she asking herself that? Why should it matter, which dress Chandler liked? Why was she trying to impress him, when he wasn't her husband?

Chandler as her husband.... she slid to the floor as her mind immediatly seemed to create that mental image. She saw herself on the couch in Central Perk, her head resting on Chandler's chest, his lips kissing her hair, both of them with big smiles on their faces.... she saw herself kissing him in the backseat of a car, a crowd cheering behind them.....

Oh my God. She was imagning herself.... at her and Chandler's wedding.

But she was still married to Pete. Is married to Pete.

"Ok, ok," she whispered to herself, "Just stop it. You love Pete. Just because you had some stupid moment with Chandler this afternoon doesn't mean you don't love Pete. Pete is your husband, and you love him. Not Chandler. Pete. Now, just pick out a dress and put it on."

"Mon?" yelled Pete. "The cab'll be here in a minute!"

"Coming," shouted Monica. She scanned the dresses in front of her again. "Uh, it's too hard!" she groaned quietly. "The blue one. Just go with the blue one." She moved to pick up the dark blue dress laid to the right of the bed. "Oh, but Chandler always says you look great in the red one," she said, moving to it. "No!" she said harshly to herself. "Definately the blue one." She picked it up, and walked into the bathroom, not daring to look back at the red dress still laid on the bed.

She hung the dress on the shower rail and turned to look at herself. Her mouth was extremely dry, and her hair had gone frissy because of all the times she'd run her hair though it in frustration.

"Oh, your hair is horrible!" she said to her reflection, grabbing a brush from the shelf and running it through her hair. "That's better. Now where's that chapstick?" she said absently, opening the cabinet behind her and searching for it. "Ah, got it." She ran it over her lips. "Better take this for the road," she said, throwing it onto her bed towards her purse.

*****

Fifteen minutes later, Monica emerged from the bathroom, the blue dress wrapped tightly around her, her hair around her shoulders shining in the moonlight that shone through the window. Hearing the cab outside sound it's horn, she quickly grabbed her purse off the bed and ran hastily down the stairs.

"Pete!" she yelled, grabbing her black high-heeled shoes from the cupboard and trying to push them quickly on her feet.

Pete's head appeared around his office door. "Yeah?" he said.

Monica glared at him, still trying to jam the shoes on her feet. "Why didn't you tell me the cab was here? I'm gonna be late! Chandler'll think I've stood him up," she said in frustration, slamming her foot down in an attempt to squash it into the shoe, and in the process snapping the heel. "And now I've broken my favorite pair of shoes! Great!" she snipped sarcastically, snatching them up off the floor and throwing them angrily down the hall.

Accidentally, one shoe flew astray and hit Pete in the face, causing him to yell, "Ow! That freakin' hurt! What the hell are you doing?" He groaned as he gently touched his cheek. "You know, it's not like you're going out on a date or something. I never got why you always try so hard for Chandler, anyway," he added, wincing in pain.

Monica grabbed another pair of shoes from the rack and whacked her foot down, this time succeeding in getting her foot into the shoe. "Maybe because," she said, pushing her foot down into the other shoe," he actually pays me attention. Maybe because he doesn't work all the time, unlike someone else I could mention," she said, glaring at him.

Pete frowned. "What is THAT supposed to mean?" he said, anger rising in his voice.

"Maybe if work didn't ALWAYS come first, you would KNOW what THAT means!" She stormed towards the door, grabbing her coat from the rail by the door, and left, slamming the door behind her in anger.

Pete snatched the pair of shoes off the floor and threw them hard into the trashcan, rubbing his swelling bruising cheek as he walked heavily back into his office.

*****

The cab jumped as it passed over a hole in the road, but Monica didn't notice.

What was going on with her? A few weeks ago, everything had been fine. Well, maybe not fine, exactly. That's when she first started to notice. When she first started to really see how Pete's attention had become divided.

Work was far more important, to him, and she wondered, just when had it started? If she thought about it really hard, would she be able to pinpoint the exact moment, that her marriage started to fall apart? Was it falling apart? Was it salvageable?

Did she even want to salvage it? She briefly wondered what he was thinking, in the wake of her leaving the way she did, having yelled at him. Having hit him with her shoe. He knew something was bothering her, she was sure of it.

Then there was Chandler, and the 'moment' they had shared earlier. But, was it really a 'moment', or was it just an illusion, brought on by an unhappy marriage?

More than anything, she'd wanted the storybook wedding and life, and now that longtime dream seemed to be slipping away. She didn't want her marriage to fail, but if something didn't change, and soon, she feared that it would.

She didn't want that. She didn't want to be like Ross, always sad; always moping; always dragging his feet, unable to participate in conversations without stopping twenty-something times in mid-sentence, struggling against tears.

But then, look where Ross was now. With Rachel. In love. With his soulmate. There was no better place.

Was Pete her soulmate?

She wasn't sure. Ask her that a week ago, her answer would have been a definite yes, but now she found herself doubting everything that her life was made of. Her life revolved around Pete, his life. She had her own life, with her friends, but being with Pete had always come first.

It wasn't perfect, it wasn't wonderful, it wasn't magical.... but it had worked. It had worked when Pete had spent time with her, talked to her, included her. But she felt him slipping away from her now, and had no doubt that her outburst earlier had only done her relationship with him more damage.

She didn't want to push him away, but if she didn't start thinking before she spoke, she was going to end up alone in the street. She knew she had loved Pete, but she wasn't sure of anything anymore, not even that.

But Chandler... Chandler. Chandler seemed very complex these days. Before, she'd always been able to read his mind, but now he seemed to be more intense, more confused. She had no idea what it was.

She'd tried to find out, but he always bent the conversation in another direction and she became so engrossed in that, she forgot about it. She often wondered why he wouldn't open up to her, but Chandler had had a lot of hardship in his life, and he didn't exactly need her breathing down his neck.

But he was still her best friend. He was the person she saw the most. He was her confidant. He was the one she could go to with her problems, and know that he would always do whatever he could to help her solve them. He was always there for her.

Nothing else. He was her friend. He helped her. He was not "her's".

And now, she needed his help.

*****

Chandler sat quietly at the table, looking around at the people in the restaurant. In the middle of the room, a large group, evidently celebrating a birthday. In the corner, a young couple were kissing sweetly over the table. Next to Chandler, an elderly couple, smiling at each other over their meal.

And here he was, all alone. He would have given anything for it to be him and Monica in place of one of them. They could be the young couple. They could be celebrating her birthday. They could be the elderly couple. Together. But they weren't.

He heard the restaurant door open, and saw Monica walk in, dressed in a stunningly tight silken blue dress. He looked down, feeling his cheeks flush at what he was thinking.

She spotted him at the table and walked over, handing her coat to the waiter, who disappeared through a door. She sat down at the table, opposite Chandler, and gently eased the chair in. "Hi, Chandler," she said slowly, still wary of her thoughts.

He looked up, glad her lower body was now hidden by the high table. "Hey, Mon," he said, smiling. "What took you so long?"

"Oh, you know, traffic and stuff. I'm sorry I kept you waiting," she said, smiling at him as the waiter handed them menus. "So, um, have you been waiting long?"

"Oh, no, um, not too long. Actually, I was a little late myself." He didn't know why he was lying. It really wouldn't make that much of a difference, if he had told her the truth; that he had been there for a half hour. Maybe he just wanted to spare her from feeling guilty.

Silence fell over them as they looked over the menu, and even though Monica had decided rather quickly what she wanted, she said nothing, keeping up pretenses, afraid she would slip up and say something she shouldn't.

Chandler was looking unusually suave in his dinner jacket; funny how she'd never noticed before. She wished she wasn't noticing now. She wished she could get him off her mind.

Chandler was staring intently at the menu, trying to make sense of the blurred words upon it. Knowing Monica was only on the other side of it wearing that breathtaking dress was too hard to keep his mind off, but he didn't dare look.

He swallowed. "So, Mon.... how was your day?"

She looked up. "Er... fine," she said shortly, looking down again. 'What is wrong with you?!' she thought to herself. 'You can't even look at him now! He's gonna suspect something!'

She forced herself to look up again. "Well, shopping with Rach was fun, then I just hung out with her and Ross at the coffeehouse. Nothing special."

"Oh," said Chandler, trying to think of something to say and failing miserably.

He stared at her as she scanned the menu, taking in the dress she was wearing, the way it complemented her curves to perfection, the way it hugged her body so tightly. He gulped, and fanned himself slowly as he felt the colour in his cheeks rise.

"You... you look beautiful," he said.

She looked up. "What?" she said slowly.

Chandler's eyes widened. "I said... I said you look beautiful," he smiled.

Monica dropped the menu. "I- I think I need the toilet," she said, standing up and almost running to the bathroom.

Chandler sighed and leaned back. Looking that beautiful, he was bound to slip up, revealing his secret to her. Did she seriously have no idea, the affect looking like that would have on him?

*****

Monica raced breathless into the bathroom, pulling desperately at her tight dress.

"Oh God!" she squealed. "I can't do this, I can't..." she cried, slamming her hands down on the sink counter and wiping her sweaty forehead. "I can't do it..." she whispered.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked frantic.

He was doing this to her and he didn't even realise that he was. He was confusing her like never before. He was tearing apart all parts of her life and putting them back together in a different order.

She didn't know what she wanted anymore. Everything that had made sense to her before was suddenly all jumbled up before her eyes, and she couldn't see past it.

She couldn't let this happen. It must be stopped. She must not let things change. She liked things the way they were. All this dreaming and wishing wasn't going to get her anywhere. Wishing Pete would pay her more attention. Dreaming that she was married to Chandler. Wishing that she had a perfect life.

If she wanted a perfect life, she was going to have to make moves to get one. And that wasn't going to start in a public bathroom.

"Get a grip, Monica!" she scolded. "You love Pete," she insisted to herself. "This thing with Chandler is just a.... phase. Just a phase. You'll get through it. Now march right out there and ask him. Do it. Do it now."

She gave one last glance at her reflection, rubbed her still frantic eyes, and marched out of the room.

*****

Chandler looked down at the table, staring intently at the spotless table cloth.

He didn't feel like he could hold it in any longer. It had been spilled. Phoebe had found out, and now she had, he didn't feel like he could conceal it from anyone.

Not even Monica.

It was almost as though his feelings had been kept in a bottle, stoppered by a cork. Phoebe had pulled out the cork, and now all the liquid was about to spill out.

He heard footsteps behind him, and looked up to see Monica sitting back down again.

"You okay, Mon?" he asked in concern, putting his hand absently on her's over the table. She looked down at it, surprised, but did not recoil. That would only make him suspect more.

"Yeah," she said slowly.

Chandler took her answer as final, and swallowed.

"Mon, I need to ask you-"

"Chandler, I need to ask you-"

They both stopped mid-sentence, smiling at each other.

"You first," said Chandler, sitting foward.

"Okay," said Monica. "Well, you remember that thing I told you the other day?"

Chandler remembered that better than anything, but simply nodded.

"It's to do with that," said Monica, trying to work out how to phrase her words.

Chandler frowned. "What- what is it?" he said, half hopeful, half nervous. He hoped his hammering heart wasn't showing through his chest.

Monica stayed silent for a moment, considering, before she said, "Well, I need you to.... I need you to help me save my marriage."

Chandler stared at her. "Oh," he said quietly.

*****

Help me out here

All my words are falling short,

And there's so much I want to say,

Want to tell you just how good it feels

When you look at me that way,

When you look at me that way....