Head Over Heels
Four: Your Cheatin' Heart
"Is this seat taken?"
Joshua looked up, a hesitant smile dusting his lips.
"Is it safe? I mean…your boyfriend is—"
"Not here," Rachel grinned, and slid into the chair adjacent to Joshua's, "and besides, he doesn't own me."
"Coulda fooled me," Joshua snorted into his coffee mug.
Rachel arched an eyebrow, and smiled flirtingly, "That's not nice," she said softly.
Joshua laughed, and Rachel felt butterflies flutter deep inside her.
That feeling was followed by a searing flame of guilt, as Ross' face flashed through her mind.
No…she wasn't cheating…she was only talking to…a friend.
"Rachel? Um, did you want some coffee?"
Rachel looked blankly at Joshua, and then up at the waitress, who was looking down at her impatiently.
"Oh…y-yes, a non-fat latte, please," Rachel smiled politely and swallowed thickly.
It's not cheating…if you don't do anything…right?
"So…how long have you been dating…what's his name? Russ?"
"Ross," Rachel sputtered after a desperate moment of amnesia, "h-his name is Ross."
"Right," Joshua smiled, "Ross. He…um…he doesn't seem like your type."
"He's…he's Ross," Rachel shrugged, suddenly at a loss for words.
"So, Rachel…what made you want to sit with me?"
Rachel looked up at Joshua, and suddenly found herself lost in a sea of blue. She took a sharp breath, and looked down at her hands.
"Maybe…maybe I shouldn't have—"Rachel stood, and Joshua grabbed her wrist, sending waves of electricity through her.
"Stay," he whispered huskily, his eyes looking up at her pleadingly.
She sat down, suddenly unsure as to why she wanted to leave. She looked over at Joshua, as one of his comments echoed through her head.
Ross…he doesn't seem like your type.
Ross kicked the ground dejectedly, his latest fight with Rachel still stinging. He loved her…really loved her, so much, and yet something…just wasn't right.
He couldn't remember a time when he didn't adore Rachel Green.
It had started in high school…at some point, and it had turned into a near obsession by the time he'd left for college.
Then…years later…somehow…it had happened.
She'd looked at him one day…as more than a friend; more than Monica's geeky older brother.
He'd been there, to guide her through a particularly nasty break up. He'd held her as she cried, and whined, and carried on about a man he had always hated.
If for nothing else, than for the fact that Paolo had won a heart that was rightfully his.
Then, one stormy winter's night, she'd looked up at him, her eyes no longer filled with heartache…it was filled with…something else.
Their lips had collided in a blinding passion, and moments later, Ross' dreams were coming true.
He'd finally won the woman of his dreams.
Ross wandered past a large picture window, his eyes falling on Rachel. He smiled, as she laughed, her face lighting up with a radiance he hadn't seen in quite a while.
His smile melted, when he saw who Rachel was with.
He sighed, and turned away from the scene, his heart hurting, his eyes stinging.
The woman of his dreams…was never like this, when she was only a dream.
"Oh, God, I am so sorry, I—"Monica flushed, and crouched down, angrily grabbing fallen pieces of lasagna and glass with her hands.
"Wait, let me get…something…to help you," the blonde woman disappeared from the doorway, and Monica took a deep, shaky breath.
She was humiliated.
The woman…she must be his wife…she was beautiful.
What the hell was she thinking?
"Here," the woman reappeared, and crouched down next to Monica, before gathering the remainder of the glass and lasagna with a dishtowel.
"I—I'm so sorry, Mrs.—"
"Please," the woman smiled, "it's no problem. And call me Phoebe."
"Phoebe," Monica echoed, and lingered in the doorway, while Phoebe carried the mess to the kitchen sink.
"What's goin' on?" a dark-haired, handsome man walked out of one of the bedrooms, "Hey, who's this?" the man smiled at Monica, but she stayed frozen in the doorway. He looked at Phoebe, and a look of devastation crossed his face.
"Oh, man, are you throwing away food?"
"Easy, Joey, I'll make you a sandwich, okay?" Phoebe laughed, then looked over at Monica, "Oh, honey, come in! You're a mess!"
Monica smiled, as Phoebe led her into the apartment. She liked this woman. As much as she didn't really want to—she did.
"So, I'm assuming you are one of the new neighbors Chandler was telling us about?" Phoebe smiled.
"What? Oh, y-yes, I'm Monica Geller," Monica shook herself from her trance, and extended her sauce-covered hand. She looked down at her red-coated hand, and flushed.
"Monica," Phoebe smiled knowingly, and shot Joey a look.
He looked back at her blankly, and she simply shook her head.
"Well Monica, Chandler is giving Izzy a bath, and we were gonna order some pizza if you'd like to stay," Phoebe said, as she led Monica to the kitchen sink to wash up.
"Oh…no, I—erm, I thought you were making sandwiches?"
"Oh, honey, that's just to hold Joey over until the pizza's get here," Phoebe laughed.
Monica smiled, and turned from the sink, just as the bathroom door opened.
Chandler walked out, with a towel-wrapped Isabelle in his arms.
"Hey, I forgot to tell you there's coupons for the pizza on the fridge—"Chandler stopped, a smile lighting his face, when he saw Monica.
"Hey, Monica," he said softly.
Monica smiled tightly, and looked at her feet. Chandler furrowed his brow, and looked at Phoebe, who was smiling widely.
"What are you smiling at?" Chandler laughed.
"Nothing," Phoebe replied, her grin growing, "Here, I'll go get Izzy dressed…you guys order the pizza," Phoebe took Isabelle from Chandler before he could protest, and began walking into the bedroom. She turned, and looked pointedly at her husband.
"Joey, why don't you come help me," she suggested.
"But I want pizzaaa!" Joey whined loudly. Off of Phoebe's look, he simply shrugged and followed Phoebe into the bedroom.
Chandler watched the bedroom door close, then turned to Monica nervously.
"I don't know what has gotten into those two today," he laughed nervously.
"I—I didn't know you had…guests," Monica replied quietly, "I should…go."
"What? No, it's just Joey and Phoebe. When we lived in Boston they were always over at our place, so I don't even think of them as 'guests'—even here," Chandler smiled wistfully.
"They—they're both here from Boston?" Monica asked hopefully.
"Yeah. They insisted on seeing our place as soon as I moved," Chandler laughed and shook his head, "I think they're afraid I'm gonna screw something up out here on my own."
"O-on your own?" Monica asked softly.
"Well, me and Iz. I—oh my God, Monica, your hand!" Chandler crossed the room and grabbed Monica's hand quickly.
"What?" Monica looked down, flushing slightly when Chandler took her hand.
"You're bleeding," Chandler said softly and looked up at Monica incredulously, "you didn't notice the big gash on your hand?"
"I—I guess I was distracted," Monica shook her head, suddenly aware of a sharp sting in her hand.
"Don't move," Chandler instructed, and disappeared into the bathroom. He appeared moments later with a First-Aid kit.
"How did this happen?" he asked, as he flipped open the plastic case and pulled out the necessary tools, before taking her hand again.
"I guess when I dropped the lasagna," Monica nodded toward the kitchen sink, "I broke the pan, and—"
"You made lasagna?" Chandler smiled, and pulled out a cotton ball and rubbing alcohol.
"Well I—"
"Then you dropped it?" Chandler laughed.
"Well, I just wanted to—ouch!" Monica winced, as Chandler put alcohol onto the cut.
"Sorry—I'm out of peroxide," Chandler apologized, and blew softly onto the cut to ease the sting.
Monica smiled, and felt a wave a warmth rush through her. She was lost in thought, as she watched Chandler dress the wound, shaking from her thoughts only when he let her hand go.
"Better?" he asked softly.
Monica nodded silently, her voice eluding her.
"Okay," Chandler straightened, and looked away from Monica quickly, "what do you like on your pizza?"
"She's cute," Phoebe said later that evening, after Isabelle had been tucked in, and Monica had gone home, "she seems really sweet."
"Yeah, she's nice," Chandler smiled tightly.
"She seems to really like you," Phoebe continued, and Chandler sighed.
"Pheebs, I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I am not ready—"
"Chandler, she's nice, she's hot, and she really likes you. We're not saying you have to get married, but—"
"I'm not getting married again."
Joey and Phoebe looked at Chandler, shock lining their eyes.
"What?"
"Chandler, you can't say that—"
"I can't do it. Look, I know you guys are just looking out for me and Iz, but I—"
"Chandler I know that it's hard right now, but it'll get better!"
"Actually, Joe, you don't know. Do you remember how nervous I was the night before Caitlin and I got married? How everyone kept joking that there was no way I was ever gonna settle down? But then we got married, and it was so great…it was great because it was Caitlin—"Chandler sighed, and shook his head. "Joe, remember how you said that you couldn't imagine yourself with anyone other than Phoebe?"
Joey nodded silently.
"That's what I mean. I can't do it again. I won't."
"But…what about Monica?" Phoebe asked feebly.
"I—"Chandler shook his head, and closed his eyes slowly. He opened them again, and looked down at his hands, "I hope we can be friends. That's all I'm looking for."
"I don't think she'd say the same," Phoebe muttered, her mind whirling. She knew that Chandler was wrong. He was capable of loving someone else—of falling in love again.
And she had a feeling—a psychic feeling perhaps—that Monica was the one that could change everything.
