And So It Goes
A/N; The timeline may be a little messed up, but that's okay. Things can change if I need them to. Bwahahaha. :)
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.
Dos: I Love Drunk Monica!
Monica downed her fourth Scotch on the Rocks, the liquid burning a trail down her throat. With every gulp of the alcohol, she could hear that man – that loathsome man – in the back of her head, calling her Ross's mother. She paused in the hallway to look in a mirror, and noticed lines she'd never seen before, age creeping into her face and robbing her youth.
She'd need more alcohol.
Somewhere before she reached piss drunk, it occurred to her that there was one thing to ease her psychological pain. One thing that mightmake her feel young again. Minutes later, with a drink in her hand and a straw at her lips, she was knocking on Joey and Chandler's hotel room door.
At any other time, under any other circumstances, rational Monica would have talked her out of this before she ever reached the room. But drunk Monica held no reservations, drunk Monica knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how to get it. What she wanted was sex. She wanted it without strings, wanted to be lying on her back and begging for more, with the understanding that as soon as it was over, she'd walk out as if nothing happened. And there was one man she knew of that could give her that.
She waited patiently for the door to swing open and prepared a saucy smile. The knob turned, the wood swung backwards, and a surprised face looked back at her.
"Monica. What are you doing here?"
[[.]]
Chandler sat outside the hotel, his eyes unwavering from the magnificent sky above. Stars sparkled, dancing to a song heard only by nature, and reflected in his baby blue eyes. He had had one of two options tonight, after walking a tipsy Monica to her door – go back to his room, watch a Pay-Per-View movie, and fall asleep fifteen minutes into it, or take a walk in the area surrounding the hotel. He had opted for the latter, enjoying the cool, crisp breeze that tugged at his hair and the fresh scent of London in the fall.
Now he sat at the curb, picking at a leaf he had collected on his expedition. He watched as the little shreds fell from his fingers and floated off in the wind before ever hitting the ground.
A little like falling in love, he concluded. You float away without ever having to stand on your own two feet, because someone is there, pulling you away from gravity. He sighed, eyes closing, and as all he could see was darkness, a picture of Monica flashed through his head.
That had been happening quite a lot lately, especially since they had arrived in London. Something in the air here was far more romantic than in New York, where everything was rushed, busy, crime-filled. The previous night spent in Monica's hotel room certainly hadn't helped.
After tending to his wounded toes, they had spent the remainder of the night watching some British cooking channel and laughing at the countless amount of jokes Chandler could come up with to make fun of the Brit's and their funny way of speaking. They drank, but not enough to get drunk, and at one point at about 2 a.m. when the room was dark, save for the glow coming from the television, Chandler saw Monica in an entirely new light.
She was lying on her stomach, legs in the air behind her, chin propped on her hands as she watched a chicken being roasted and potatoes being mashed. One leg kicked back and forth, toes curled, and Chandler watched as her leg moved with unneeded force. Monica's competitiveness even arose when there was nothing to battle but air.
She had let out a soft yawn, eyes squinting shut from the force of her exhaustion. It was something so simple, but so endearing, and had left Chandler's heart swelling in his chest. Part of him felt the strong urge to move to Monica's bed and start tickling her until she cried uncle – which she never would – but he didn't. Instead, he sat on the bed opposite Monica's and watched, unnoticed by the spunky brunette, until she finally fell asleep.
Chandler groaned and observed as the last of his mutilated leaf floated away in the wind, disappearing into complete darkness. Never had he felt so serious, lacking sarcasm and wit, than he did right now. Someone could offer to pay him a million bucks for a joke, but he'd never come up with one.
Well, it would pass, anyway. At least, that's what he told himself as he made his way back into the hotel and towards his room, silently hoping Joey didn't have any female friends so that he could mute his thoughts with sleep.