Author: Patrick

Story: She Didn't Get Off the Plane

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

AN: This chapter will be mostly fluff. Sorry the plot is lagging, but at least these chapters give me a chance to practice writing (and conveniently prolong having to make important plot decisions). I've never really written mush or M/C stuff before so let me know how you think it worked out. Thanks for all the reviews and keep reading!

Chapter 9

The drive home from the hospital was painfully silent. Monica gripped the wheel tightly, her subconscious mind auto-piloting the car while her conscious thoughts were coming at her faster than the little white and yellow lines paved on the rich, black expanse of asphalt that spread out before her. Occasionally she would check her periphery, making sure her brother was still fast asleep in the passenger seat, but otherwise her weary blue eyes remained locked straight ahead, almost as if she were endeavoring to search beyond the metaphorical horizon more so than the literal one.

When she dropped Ross off, she didn't escort him up to his apartment. She probably should have, but she didn't really have the heart to endure any interaction that might take place under the current circumstances. She also hoped that sending him up alone would encourage him to get some much needed sleep. She instead, hugged him goodbye, telling him to call if he needed anything, and pulled away once he was safely inside his lobby. Normally she would have shed a tear for her brother's sorrow. Tonight, she was all cried out.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Monica pulled the car into the driveway and clicked off the ignition and the headlights. She remained seated in the silent vehicle for a few moments, trying to organize her thoughts on the evening's affairs so she could neatly put them away in the confines of her subconscious.

She traversed the front sidewalk to her front door, nervously massaging the brass key between her fingers. She slid the key into the lock, feeling each jagged click as the multiple ridges slid right into their respective places.

Right into place. That sounded so unbelievably nice right now.

She took a final deep breath and turned the key, felt the subtle metallic vibration of the lock coming undone, and twisted the knob. Monica stopped dead in her tracks as the form of the swinging door gave way to a greatly unexpected scene.

The first thing she noticed was the luminescent glow of candlelight that filled the living room, covering the living room furniture and walls in a wash of incandescent light. The next was the soft melody of Ben Folds "The Luckiest" playing on the stereo, the familiarity of its tune had caused her heart to accelerate before she was even consciously aware of its presence.

The last and certainly not the least, was the figure standing in the middle of it all. The unmistakably endearing smile, the almost seductive glimmer of two beautiful pools of dancing with the yellows and oranges of firelight. And if there were any mistaking the man's identity up until now, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets bashfully as if to remove all doubt.

"Hey you," he said, melting Monica's heart a little with a gentleness of his tone.

"Chandler, you are so sweet!" Monica complimented, crossing the room to embrace her husband.

"I know!" he said exaggeratedly, no doubt mocking his wife's trademark use of the expression. They both giggled as he pulled her into the warmness of his arms. He pressed his lips tightly against hers, making her feel slightly weak all over for a few moments.

After their passionate moment had ended, Chandler went and sat on the couch and extended a hand inviting her to join him. She quickly obliged. Chandler sat rubbing his palms together for a second, obviously wanting to say something but not sure where to begin. After a few moments the contrived gesticulation ceased and he opened his mouth to speak.

"You wanna hear something strange, Mon?" he asked, a coy smile appearing on his lips. Apparently his attempt to brainstorm a normal conversation-starter was unsuccessful.

"If you heard it from Joey then probably not," she replied, giving him a sarcastic look He shot a look of his own back at her, telling her that he wanted to be serious. "Oh. Okay, but please tell me it's strange-good. I've had all the strange-bad I can take for one…lifetime."

"It's strange-good," he affirmed, reassuringly weaving his fingers with hers and turning himself on the couch so that he was looking more directly at her face. Without realizing it, and much to Monica's delight, Chandler's shift had put his face more directly in the bath of candlelight, and now each flicker of flame accented one of the thousands of shades of blue from the beautiful spectrum of his eyes, causing Monica to feel weak in the knees as she waited for him to say whatever it was that he wanted her to hear.

"Well, I was thinking today," he started, "I spent so much of my life being afraid of commitment." Monica cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, wondering where her husband was going with this. Off this cue, he squeezed her hand a little tighter to tell her not to worry.

"I guess the cards were against me from day one, what with my parents being, well…freaking whackos and all." This earned him a slight chuckle and he shared the moment with his wife briefly before continuing. "The thing is," he paused momentarily, searching for the perfect words before going on. "The thing is that I was so incredibly terrified of marriage and I never thought I'd be able to be interested in it, let alone go through with it."

He looked deeply and lovingly into her eyes and said nothing for a moment, letting the words sink in, and also becoming aware of the weight of what he was about to say next.

"And then, on that fateful day in London, everything changed. And suddenly, this huge horrifying ordeal didn't seem so bad anymore."

With the arrival of these first definitively positive words, Monica's look of perplexed apprehension faded into a knowing smile.

"When the day finally came for us to say our vows, sure I was still a little scared, but when it came down to choosing between my fear and a future with you, it was no contest at the end of day."

He had unknowingly scooted closer to her during the last part of his speech and was now clutching her hand delicately against his chest. She faintly felt his heart beating rapidly through his light blue sweater, making her less self-conscious about the fact that her heart had been racing ever since she'd opened their front door. She also knew, while Chandler had a way of being the sweetest man in the entire world, that these little sentimental moments didn't always come easily to him, and something about that made it so much sweeter and made her feel so incredibly special when they happened. She bit her bottom lip as a girlish giggle escaped and her eyes started to glisten as the candlelight reflected off the fresh tears that had started to form.

"Now," he started as an audible tremble accented his speech, gradually permeated his arms and finally began resonating through his hands, a suspenseful indicator that he was reaching the climax of his speech. Monica squeezed his hand softly with hers, encouraging him to continue.

"Not a day goes by that I don't want to marry you all over again."

Monica felt her breath catch in her throat as the tears that had welled up in her eyes started to fall freely at his revelation.

"Oh, Chandler!" she squealed blissfully, throwing her arms around him and nestling her head into his chest feeling at once a sense of belonging that she could only find his arms. She rested there for a second, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, and dampening his sweater with her tears. He kissed the top of her head gently as his hands traced circles around her back. After enjoying their embrace for a few moments, he gently pulled away, but in doing so slid his hands lightly down her arms until they came to a rest in the soft, delicate surface of her hands. He always wondered how a person who used their hands so extensively as part of their career could maintain such a delicate touch. Satisfied that they were still "in the moment," he opened his mouth once more to speak.

"I know times haven't been easy lately; miles from it, but I feel like if I can go from practically soiling myself when I heard wedding bells to feeling how I do now then I can take on anything. I thought I'd be terrified of fatherhood, but getting up every morning and seeing you reminds me that we're taking this journey together and that makes me know I can do it. Your love has transformed me into a stronger, better man, Monica, and I…I just want to say 'thank you.'"

"Why are you thanking me?" asked a stunned Monica. If anything she felt like she should be thanking him. This was just what she needed right now and somehow he—

"For turning my biggest fear into the best day of my life."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nothing had been said for several minutes. The couple just held each other tightly, neither one moving to make it something more. They were just content to be in this moment, not thinking for the first time in days about what they had lost, but reveling in the joy of everything that they still had. Somehow, on that most somber of evenings, they had rediscovered each other.

"Chandler, I love you so much," Monica whispered into his ear. After another quiet moment, she pulled away to look into his eyes again. "You know that stronger, better man that you were talking about before?" He nodded in acknowledgement.

"You have always been that man."

The two held each other for what seemed like forever. After the songs had played, the dances danced, and the candles burned low and were extinguished, they went upstairs and made love, consecrating the new level of their relationship. When it was over, Monica laid next to him with an arm and a leg draped over his body and watched him as he drifted off to sleep. She was going to be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.