Every Time

Chapter Twelve: Everything I Do…

Disclaimer: Y'know, they're done filming… are you sure I can't have them yet?

A/N: Well, here we go. I held off publishing for a few days, because I really wanted to get the entire story done before I did. Which I have. So, it shouldn't be too long… some time later this week.

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks to Pie for proofing. And to Becca for giving her opinion. You both rock… almost as much as Monica. [sigh]

*~*~*

"Hurry up!"

Chandler's yell echoed around Phoebe's small living room, a few bags lying on the floor in front of him.

"I can't find them!" she shouted back.

Chandler sighed. "Can I help?" he asked desperately.

Phoebe appeared through the bedroom door. "No!" she said. "I can find them," she assured him, and vanished again.

Chandler hopped impatiently. "But Pheebs, the plane leaves in a half hour… we're gonna be late, come on!"

"We'll be okay," she called back. "Ooh, I've got 'em!" she squealed.

"Yes!" Chandler said. "Come on then, let's get going!" he said, picking up the bags.

Phoebe raced out, grabbing her coat from the stand, then she froze.

"What?" said Chandler.

"Yeah," said Phoebe, putting her coat back. "These are my house keys," she said, running back through the door.

Chandler groaned and slid onto a chair at the table, tapping his fingers impatiently. "I knew I should have hired a cab," he said to himself.

Phoebe appeared again, grabbing her coat again. "Definitely got them this time," she said, and he followed her quickly down the stairs, bags in hand, and his heart thumping wildly.

This was it.

*~*~*

The rain beat heavily down on Monica's umbrella, dripping sullenly off the edge, making an odd ring of water around Monica, as she stood silent on the corner of the street, purse in hand.

She looked around for the limo, trying to see a long black sleek car amidst the rain and mill of people. She knew she was looking in vain. Pete never managed to arrive on time.

She'd been here a week now, spending all her time either shopping or lazing about in their hotel room. A few days ago Pete had taken a day off his apparently very busy schedule to take her to see an apartment, but she had decided before she had even seen it that she didn't want it.

If they bought an apartment, she knew it would solidify their move. They would officially be living there; it would be her home. And she knew she was being stupid, but she still held out some vain hope that she'd somehow go back home.

Rachel called her every couple of days, sometimes with Ross around. She never got to speak to any of the rest, but Rachel always assured her they were fine.

Monica always found her stomach tweak uncomfortably when Rachel mentioned how well Chandler was; apparently, he had gotten himself a new girlfriend.

Monica couldn't help feeling bitter. Chandler's feelings for her had apparently been a fluke- as soon as she'd gone, his life went into wonderful mode.

'I guess I was holding him back,' she thought sadly, kicking the building behind her with the heel of her shoe. 'It's probably best that I left,' she sighed.

She smiled weakly at a couple that passed, seeing their tightly grasped hand. As her upset mind automatically pictured her in that situation, she wasn't surprised to find that it was Chandler who filled the space beside her, not Pete.

The rain started to beat harder, and it began to come down almost horizontally. Monica groaned as her legs became covered with water, and she ran quickly to the door of the restaurant behind her, taking refuge under the cover.

She put down her umbrella quickly; it's drips on the entrance floor gaining disdainful looks from a waiter nearby. She smiled apologetically, and he gave her a sullen look, so she dropped her expression, walking into the restaurant and looking around.

It was just after lunch, and the restaurant was almost deserted, the polished black and white chequered tiles glinting under the bright lights. She compared it with her restaurant back home; but nothing could beat home in her mind right now.

She made her way past the few small tables on the bottom floor, up the short flight of steps onto the raised floor, and looked around for a single table. Seeing them all taken, she sat down at a table for four, and a waiter immediately arrived. She ordered an orange juice, and sat back, draping her coat over the chair next to her.

She looked around, seeing a small family on the near table, the baby flicking bits of it's lunch at the child opposite, who was whining to his mother. The mother saw Monica, and she smiled briefly, looking away.

Monica turned her head almost three hundred and sixty degrees, a blush spreading over her face, and her eyes almost leapt from her head.

Chandler was sat, a newspaper open on the table beneath him as her stared through the front window, apparently transfixed by the raindrops running down the glass.

She felt her breath quicken, but she knew there was no other reason than her for his presence, and she slowly made her way over, swallowing incessantly.

"Hey," she said softly, tapping his shoulder.

He looked around, and gasped as he saw her. "Monica!" he cried, and stood up, hugging her tightly. "I've been looking all over for you!" he said, flipping the newspaper closed as he spoke.

She smiled as she hugged him back, but her head was spinning. What in hell was he doing here?

"Hey," she repeated, smiling. "Wh-Wh... What are you doing here?" she stammered.

He expression softened, and he looked her with the gaze that she remembered from only a couple of weeks ago. "I think you know why I'm here," he said.

She stared at him, and she watched his expression, the sparkle in his eyes as he stared back, the deep blue of them as his smile weakened her defenses.

Before she knew what was happening, she burst into tears, water rolling down her cheeks in a sudden burst, as though her tears ducts had exploded. Her knees weakened, and only Chandler's hold on her made her stay up.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said, pushing a chair underneath her, as she continued to sob uncontrollably. "What's wrong?" he asked, pulling her chin up to see her face.

She looked at him through her blurred eyes, trying desperately to clear a view, but unable to stop the tears from flooding out. "I- I just- I can't- it's too- too hard- confusing- you… Pete- everything," she said, her words coming out in a jumble, and Chandler tried to make sense of what she was saying, as she continued to cry. "I- when- complicated…" she said, then put her head onto Chandler's shoulder, as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Shhh," he whispered, ignoring the glances of the watching French customers in the restaurant, who had looked around at the sobbing woman in a man's arms.

They sat there for about five minutes as Monica's sobs decreased, Chandler stroking her hair affectionately, his heart bouncing wildly as it understood the fact that the woman he loved was in his arms again.

She finally took her head from his shoulder, wiping the corners of her eyes, still stained with tears. She looked up at him, a small smile resting on his lips, and stared at him, trying to understand why he had come.

"Why are you here?" she asked slowly, absently resting her hand on his outstretched knee, neither of them realizing it.

He gave her a puzzled look. "Why do you think?" he said, stroking her cheek with his hand, which had retracted from her back.

"But… Rachel said you had a girlfriend," she stammered, staring confusedly at him.

"What?" he said. "I don't have a girlfriend," he said. "I didn't do anything the last week, except sit around in my sweats…" he trailed off, as her gaze finally held understanding.

She stood up suddenly, pointing at him, but not threateningly; she just looked oddly scared. "So… what?" she said. "What do you want?" she asked.

"I want you," he said plainly, smiling gently at her.

But the return of his smile did not occur; instead, she suddenly ran out of the restaurant, coat flying behind her as she whipped it from the chair she had been sitting on, leaving her sodden umbrella sitting dripping on the floor.

*~*~*

"What?!"

Ross snapped the word out, staring at his girlfriend incredulously.

"He's gone to Paris? Why in hell would he do that?" he demanded, his spit flicking from his mouth onto Rachel's face. She wiped it off in disgust, giving him a sarcastic smile.

"Because, you dingbat," said Phoebe, leaning forward with her coffee in hand, "he's in love with Monica."

Ross' face contorted weirdly at this piece of news, and he stuttered incoherently as he tried to understand it all. Rachel looked at him in amusement, while Phoebe just sipped at her coffee calmly.

"Wh… wh…. wh… what?" he said finally. "Since when?" he asked, a look of disbelieve on his face.

"Well, I found out about a month ago," said Phoebe, grabbing a cookie from the plate Ross had put down on the coffee table.

Rachel took a bite from her donut. "Yeah, and Phoebe told me… like a week ago?" she said, looking to Phoebe.

Ross stared at them. "Well… Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

Rachel sighed. "Because… well, because you'd probably insist on beating Chandler up, for a start," she said, putting a comforting hand on her boyfriend's shoulder.

"You bet I would!" he said loudly, trying to jump out off the couch, but Rachel held him back.

"Ross, sweetie…" she said, "I know you're protective"- she coughed- "of Monica, but this is a… delicate situation. Pheebs?" she said, and Phoebe leant forward again.

"Look, Ross," said Phoebe softly. "Do you think Chandler wants to be in love with Monica?" she asked. "Do you think he wants to mess up her marriage?" Ross shook his head slowly. "Exactly," she said. "Ross… he talked to me a lot, since I was the only one who knew. And it was tearing him up, thinking he couldn't have her. But then she seemed to return his feelings… you should have seen the glint in his eye. I mean, he still knew it was virtually impossible, but he'd had her, for a moment, and it changed him… he's so deeply in love with her, Ross… you can't hurt him for it."

*~*~*

The rain poured down on Monica's head, her hair soaked by water, sticking to the side of her face. Her coat dangled sodden from her body, her shirt pressed to her body by the sheer force of the rain. She ran into the park, throwing her hands up in hopelessness as the trees bucketed water down upon her, flowing down the back of her neck and down her legs.

Chandler raced into the park after her, his shirt sticking to his body. He tried to peel it off, but it was just pressed back down, and he carried on, trying to reach her.

"Monica!" he yelled, and she turned, her face soaked, making it unable to tell whether tears lay there.

"What happened to 'I have to let you go?'" she shouted, the rain dripping into her mouth as she spoke. "Are you just… taking all that back?"

He caught up with her, and she moved back a step, wary of his touch.

"I…" he started. "I… no," he said.

"Then what, Chandler?" she asked, staring at him.

He swallowed, trying to hold back his tears. "I… Joey told me that you took my picture with you," he said slowly.

"So?" she yelled, trying to make her voice heard over the rainstorm above. "I took everyone's pictures," she lied.

Chandler moved nearer. "No, you didn't!" he yelled, his voice followed by a crack of thunder. "You took mine, and only mine! Or if you did take everyone's, then you took TWO of me!" he shouted.

"How the hell do you know anything?" she asked, wiping her face free of raindrops.

He moved closer, softly putting his hand up to her cheek. "Monica…" he whispered, barely audible under the rain. "I love you."

Monica tried to speak, but just kept inhaling the rain still hammering down upon them. Chandler slid his hand into hers, entwining their fingers together. She looked down at them, her expression still, her salty tears mixing with the raindrops on her cheeks.

As she looked up, she saw Chandler's face before hers; and before she knew it, their lips were together, capturing each others it a passionate kiss. She moved her hands up to his hair, running them through the rain-drenched strands. She felt his hands move over her back, pulling her body nearer.

"Monica?" came a voice, and they broke apart, Monica's head whipping around.

Pete stood in the gateway, the door of a sleek black limo behind him, and a look of amazement on his face.