Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor do I make a profit from writing about them except for a little bit of dialogue practice.

Monica tossed her head back, arching under him, unabashed. Her skin was salty where he lay his tongue and her veins thrummed under his lips.

It was moments like that, when he was hovering over her body, watching her unravel because of him, that he was closest to telling her.

She sighed deliciously as he rolled off of her and he shivered at the chill of the air hitting his sweat as his body got used to being without her.

Chandler thumped his back against the mattress, exhausted and panting.

"I win," Monica giggled, rolling onto him. She propped her arm on his chest and lay her head atop it, their legs entwining. With anyone else, Chandler would have cringed, his sweaty body hot and sensitive to the slightest touch. But Monica was proving to be the exception to his every rule. She had wormed her way into his bloodstream like a poison, numbing him to everyone that wasn't her. His libido was currently the highest it had ever been in his life but he found every other woman he met plain and dull compared to the vibrant red and glorious purples and soft blues that Monica had brought to his life.

He lifted his heavy arms around her and managed to circle them in the air three times, a lazy smile pulling at his lips. "I win."

Monica pressed her face into his hot skin, laughing.

Chandler knew he could be obnoxious and smug when it came to Monica. For reasons he couldn't fathom she liked him, liked him enough to smile as she rolled her eyes at his silly antics. The idea alone excited him, and the more time they spent together, between the sheets or between crying babies and shouting co-eds on the train, the more Chandler felt the need to celebrate. This woman. This amazing, incredible, intelligent, sexy woman wanted him. It was all that mattered. And if he could manage to make her feel just a little of how she made him feel, that was a bonus, and he would clean or take her out agree to anything to make sure she felt it too.

As though she could feel him thinking about them cleaning the apartment an hour ago, Monica moved her chin to the back of her hand and looked at him seriously. "You know you don't have to -"

He shushed her, his lips pressing against her forehead. "I want to do things with you. I don't care what they are."

Her smile should be on postage stamps, he thought breathlessly.

"You don't have to change, Chandler," her voice was soft, dreamy. She dropped her head back to his chest, her lips caressing his sternum.

Chandler shook his head, lamenting. He'd never be able to find the right words to explain it to her. It wasn't that he felt he had to change to deserve her or to charm her, she'd picked him, she kept picking him even when he screwed up, and that was enough. But he was metamorphosing, growing even, coming out of the cocoon he'd been in the last couple of years.

It wasn't even that he wanted to change. He definitely was better, braver, but there was nothing conscious about it. He would chase after her slowly, trying not to scare her off as he'd managed with so many others, and only after realising that he didn't use to wait. He suggested a weekend away not because he wanted to prove to her he was ready for a commitment like he had with Janice, but because he wanted the simple pleasure of spending time with her.

She brought out this self-assured side of him that had been lying dormant all these years. He was a man all of a sudden, after years of teetering on the edge of adulthood, he had settled in his skin. Instead of throwing around his arms, thrashing about when he was floundering for the right words, he had learnt to reign in his elbows and only flailed his hands about when he was worried. Instead of running scared, he dropped his ego and discussed his problems with Monica. He still hated Thanksgiving and his job and that creepy little girl on the package of toilet paper Monica insisted on buying, but he could easily prattle off things he was grateful for.

"Fine. I'll go back to putting the bird food next to the cereal."

Monica slapped his chest, "Don't you dare."

He chuckled without opening his mouth, the sound vibrating in his throat. In all her pedantic, pain-in-the-ass glory, she was beautiful.

"I won't," he promised. "I'll even make their medicines are separated in the cabinet."

He wiggled his eyebrows, half-joking, half curious as to how she would react. Monica didn't disappoint, dropping her jaw wide and gasping like it was the best gift he could have offered her. He didn't need to do all that much to make her eyes twinkle like that.

"Meet '99 Chandler Bing," he stroked a curl away from her forehead, trying to make his voice deep and serious. "You're going to love him."

And then he heard what he said.

Dear God, he was an idiot.

His whole body froze and he could feel Monica stiffen, trying not to react. Bless her. She had been so patient with him since London. She'd let things slide for reasons he couldn't understand, failed to fret and worry and leave him in the dust behind her. Instead, she'd rolled up her sleeves and scrubbed the fear from his mind with a few simple words and the promise of being together again later. She worked with him to make their relationship better and never made him feel like she was working on him or trying to change him.

She'd done wonders for his psyche and his confidence in their relationship but he was still worried about revealing his feelings and her running like every other woman had.

He knew those women he had claimed to love hadn't been right for him but he had thrown every part of him into those relationships and caution to the wind and only one had ever said it back to him. He wasn't even certain he'd meant it then, looking back. He hadn't known what love was.

As far as he was aware, even now, love meant happiness ending.

His parents loved him but they shipped him off to boarding school

Carol loved Ross but not as much as she could have.

Judy claimed to love Monica but Monica hated her.

Janice had loved him but in a fictional, untethered kind of way. And loving Kathy had meant losing Joey's friendship.

Monica was his best friend and, above all else, Chandler didn't want to lose her. He knew he'd never be able to look at her and not think about the way she smiled at him when she thought he wouldn't notice. He liked that she smiled more when he was in the room and she laughed at all of his bad jokes, he liked being the one she looked to when she needed help. She had this ability to tell him everything he needed to hear by pressing a hand against his leg, letting him know that she was there, she was listening, and she understood. There were nights he couldn't sleep, worried about an important meeting he pretended not to care about and she'd sat up with him, reminiscing until their kisses had completely distracted them. He needed her, in a way he hadn't needed anybody ever before.

Being with her, in the way they had since Ross' disastrous wedding made him happy. Happier than he could ever remember being.

He wasn't going to risk that by announcing he loved her too early. And besides, he wasn't even completely sure he was in love with her.

With Janice, Chandler had needed to actively search for qualities he found attractive in her. And even then had only really fallen for her when he hadn't known who she was when she was being real and honest and vulnerable and not some glamorous, romantic comedy character that wasn't her. He needed to plan dates and schedule time to be with her while she was busy with her baby and her divorce, working to fall for her, trying to love her.

With Kathy, it had blindsided him. He had finally understood what Janice had told him all those years ago when she'd called him her 'movie love.' He fell for her at terminal velocity and they had imploded when they crashed into the reality of their lust.

Everything was easy with Monica, simple.

He knew her the way Adam had known Eve. She was the first woman he had really cared about, he knew that for certain. The first person whose opinion he really cared about. Even before London, but especially after they had returned, Chandler often found himself behaving as though she was the only person in the room, touching her as discretely as possible, seeking out her gaze as they pursed their lips at Ross. She was the only woman he could talk to, anyone else and he would have run, but he liked talking to Monica about their relationship, planning dates and frisky hookups.

And he hadn't been lying when he said the sex was the best because of her. He was roommates with Joey and his mother wrote erotica, he knew what sex was meant to sound like, how it was meant to make you feel. He hadn't managed that until Monica. Their bodies fit together the way that one elective he'd taken in college taught him the Greeks believed. Hell, they had this way of being able to agree and debate as though they operated on the same mental wavelength, which was great for the sex too, and they could finish each other's sentences better than the movies.

Chandler could feel himself drifting off, his thoughts turning crooked circles instead of plodding along linearly. He knew fretting about the future of his and Monica's relationship wouldn't do him any good. He could talk himself in and out of explaining to Monica how he felt, how he wasn't sure what it was except that he wanted more of it, more of her, but that could wait until the new year.

'99 Chandler Bing was going to let the die fall where they may.