And So It Goes
A/N; Yep, another London story. My first attempt at Mondler. I find Monica to be one of the hardest characters to grasp, so bear with me. Set at the end of season 4. Warning: this will probably suck.
A/N2; Right now, I am currently beta-less (because my previous beta turned out to be a bitch… oops!). If anyone's offering, leave me a comment or drop me an email. I'd appreciate it.
Disclaimer; I can't stress this point too strongly, this story isn't real.
Rating; R.
Uno: London, Baby!
Chandler kept his head against the cool glass of the airplane window and exhaled, eyes closed as his breath left a hazy cloud against the pane. They had been flying for over four hours and he had all too quickly grown tired of the movie they had offered, and now opted for a nap. Assuming he'd ever be able to fall asleep.
It wasn't long before counting sheep and reliving the best of Baywatch had failed to deliver, and he had to pull his CD player and headphones out of his backpack. Somewhere in the background he could hear Monica chattering away with Ross; wedding plans he assumed. He was too bored and too sleepy to actually care.
When he opened his eyes again, Monica was seated next to him and was gently shaking his shoulder. The plane seemed to be spinning around in circles as his eyes slowly opened, invisible glue attempting to keep the lids together and pull Chandler back into the claws of unconsciousness. When he could finally see, he groaned a groggy "huh?" in Monica's direction, and saw a flash of white teeth as she smiled.
"Hi, sleepyhead."
"Muhgginfruffin." He pulled himself to sit up and rubbed the back of his neck, yawning. "What's goin' on? Are we there yet?"
Monica shook her head. "No, not there yet. But you shouldn't be sleeping right now because the time zones are going to fuck with you."
Chandler smirked. "I'd rather you do that."
She responded with a smirk of her own and leaned over to flick his upper arm. "Couldn't just let it go, could you?"
Chandler looked around, eyebrows raised, as though looking for someone before his eyes fell back on Monica's. "You do realize this is me you're talking to, right?"
She shrugged and laid her head against the seat. The plane had a surprisingly sparse amount of passengers, and Chandler gathered that she was enjoying the ability to go anywhere she pleased, pester anyone she wanted. He chuckled.
Joey was snoozing two seats behind Chandler, and a loud snore sent both his and Monica's heads turning towards the 20-something actor. He swatted at his face, slapping himself on the cheek, but he seemed to take no notice. Chandler smiled.
"Going to wake him up, too?"
Monica shrugged. "Or you could."
"Why me?"
Monica shrugged again, and began twisting her hands in her lap. When Chandler spoke again, his voice held a tone of warning, a silent message that said tell me, or else. "Monica…?"
"Okay, fine. Joey… is mean when he sleeps!"
The laugh Chandler let out probably woke the sleeping passengers in first class, and Monica slouched in her seat, sending a glare his way. "What?! It's true! The last time I woke him up, he tried pinching me!"
Chandler simply rolled his eyes, head shaking as he stood up to slide past Monica and into the aisle. He glowered at her, playfully, and moved back to slide into the empty seat next to Joey.
When Joey was safely awake, with no injury to Chandler, he motioned for Monica to come back. The three spent the rest of the far-too-long flight chatting, while Ross typed away on his laptop.
[[.]]
This sucked. Everything about London thus far had only succeeded in reminding Monica of how alone she was. She tried willing the feelings away, but spending that afternoon with Ross and Emily hadn't helped the process.
All in all, the day had been a complete disaster. First, the knowledge of Emily's choice to have chicken at her wedding reception had driven Monica almost completely nuts, because really… chicken?! That, followed by the destruction of the ceremony location, and being excessively wounded by a seamstress who had no idea in hell what she was doing, had left Monica feeling a little less happy and a little moreirritable.
She had hoped a bath in her hotel room with the candles she had brought along would cleanse her of the dirt the day had gathered, but the time alone was making it worse. Her mind was wandering, taking her unwillingly to places she did not intend on going.
The next day was going to be a tough one. They had the rehearsal dinner, and her date was someone that existed only in her head, someone who kept her company when no one else would. An imaginary friend, at best.
She sighed, a weary exhale that came from the furthest depths of her aching body, and pulled herself out of the shallow tub. This was going to be a long night, probably filled with little sleep and an old black and white movie on television.
First things first, though. She needed to take her damp head downstairs and get some snacks from the machine, because there was no way in hell she was going to pay those prices for room service.
She slid into a pair of sweatpants and a clingy red beater, and made her descent downstairs.
[[.]]
Chandler kicked the snack machine with as much brute force as he could muster, and was convinced from the pain shooting up his leg that he had only succeeded to break every toe on his right foot. He'd be a cripple with hunger pains; just perfect.
He was startled when Monica emerged from the elevator, and she rushed over to him when she noticed the pained expression on his face.
"Chandler, what the hell happened?"
"What? Oh, no, this is the way I always look when I'm getting a snack." He sent the machine a death glare as he tried cradling his foot, with little accomplishment. It would pay.
"Did it eat your money?" She asked.
"Uh huh." He responded, grimacing.
"Kick it?" He didn't answer right away, which was as much of an answer as she needed.
"Come on upstairs," she said, "and I'll take care of it for you."
Chandler hobbled on one foot and attempted to follow her. "Joey has a girl in the room."
"Well then," she said with a smile, "we'll go to mine."