Chapter 3: Suddenly, Chandler

The rain had eased up by the time Chandler's feet had carried him on an aimless path out onto the Brooklyn Bridge. The famous landmark wasn't that far of a distance away from Central Perk and Bedford Street, yet it felt as though he'd walked an entire continent. If it wasn't so bloody balmy and the middle of summer, he almost wished he had brought an overcoat, one with a collar he could pull up.

He hadn't had a proper drink since yesterday afternoon, was more or less reasonably sober (as reasonably as he could be, anyway), and yet he had never, never experienced a hangover quite like this. It was as though knives were being stabbed into his skull.

Stumbling, staggering, Chandler swayed and only the railing of the bridge caught him. He stared down, down at the choppy, swirling waters of the East River. The waves were still frothing from the recent rainstorm.

Oddly, he flashed back to Ross's 20-year high school reunion in that moment. It hadn't been Chandler's reunion, yet Ross had dragged him there anyway, apparently needing a wingman. An image of the woman he loved – that was it. That was when he had last seen Monica, but only at a distance, juggling two car seats with screaming toddlers in them. Ross had then pretty much abandoned his best friend and left him in the lurch to help Monica corral the babies – God only knew where Richard had been!

Despondent and utterly defeated, Chandler now found himself clambering out onto the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge. There were two sets of railings that he needed to traverse, plus cross the pedestrian and bike path, just to get to the outer edge. Gripping the hand railing, he stared down at the swirling white caps.

Wouldn't they all be better off if he wasn't such a burden on them? Could she feel like she could then continue on with a clean conscience once he was no longer here as a living reminder – if he even still reminded her of anything at all? Should Emma have to continue to suffer over her pathetic embarrassment of a godfather?

A little voice needled him. Do you wish you could live your life over?

Fuck yeah, I do.

Would you take some things back, if you could do it over again?

…. Oh, yeah…..

He steeled his nerves, taking a deep breath. His brain still mocked him, urging him to do it! Why don't you jump?

He loosened his grip on the railing slightly, and oddly, what was to be his last thought turned out to be a long-ago, nearly forgotten strain from that stupid opera Joey had been in, the one he had been practicing the morning that Monica had gotten married. It didn't take much to tweak just some of the words. Chandler could even hear it being sung, oddly in Joey's voice, given that he had played the lead and it had been during a climatic scene of suicide.

"My friends, my leave of life, I'm taking…. For, ah, my faithful heart is breaking….. When I am gone, oh, prithee, tell the maid that as I died, I loved her well!... Beware my roommates all, who love in leagues above you! For Monica, I fall…..!"

"Chandler, NO!"

The plaintive scream in her voice startled him, so much so that he jerked and slipped, nearly enough to lose his footing and fall over rather than jump. Hands seized him in the nick of time, dragging him back over the railing and onto the bike path. Someone warm and soft slammed into his body, hugging him fiercely around the neck.

Then Monica was drawing back and whacking him in the chest. "Don't you ever….!" She rasped, sounding close to tears of righteous anger and terror. "…. Scare me like that again, Chandler Bing!"

Chandler stared back at her dully. "You sure you're not the one going for that acting degree at Syracuse instead of your daughter? Because you're almost making me believe that you care!"

She reeled back, gaping, as if he had just slapped her. "I do care!"

"Do you?" Chandler clapped back. She opened her mouth to protest and he talked over her. "Just caring? Is that all?"

Monica shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "It was never just caring, Chandler! Not from me."

"Well, then what was it?"

She studied him, shaking her head and pursing her lips while gazing at him. "Was? Is, honey! You think that what I feel for you is just something relegated to the past?"

"Isn't it?" he queried hopelessly.

"No!" Monica breathed, and she started to cry.

"Then, what? Why are you here? Why are you doing this?"

"Because….. because I love you!" Monica hissed helplessly in a tear-choked whisper.

He stared at her, bewildered. Was this a joke….? A sick joke? He wagged his head back at forth, gaping, disgusted with her.

"You're telling me this now?! You mock my pain!"

"Life is pain, Bing!" Monica threw her arms wide, bitterly. "Anyone who says differently is selling something."

Chandler started to laugh at that. "Oh, and what do you know about pain? What kind of pain has deigned to visit the great goddess Monica Geller – oh, excuse me….. Burke." He noted how she flinched at her married name, and an ugly kind of satisfaction rose up in him. "Was it tortuous living in a macmansion, with your husband, the mustachioed doctor and birthing two cookie-cutter little brats with him?"

"Jack and Erica are ADOPTED!"

Silence. The air seemed to get sucked off the bridge, except that Chandler could still hear the wind howling. He faltered, the cruel streak that had been boiling in him now extinguished faster than a candle.

"Wh-What….? Jesus, Mon, I'm… I'm so sorry…"

Monica sniffled, taking a hanky out of her purse and wiping at her eyes. "I was infertile. I couldn't conceive. And it was all my f-fault…. Apparently, my uterus was an inhospitable environment. It didn't mean a hill of beans that Richard's sperm worked perfectly fine."

"Of course they did," Chandler snorted sarcastically, bitterly. She was too emotional to rise to the bait, and a part of him actually felt bad for even knocking her husband.

Monica's deep, shuddering breath brought him back to reality.

"It took me a while, to grieve, but then Richard and I came around to the idea of adoption….."

"Not surrogacy?" Chandler inquired, voice soft.

Monica snorted bitterly. "I didn't want someone else to carry around my embryo….."

"Would you have let a surrogate carry it, if the embryo had come from my sperm?"

Silence. Monica was staring at Chandler in shock, bewildered. "…. You would have done that? For me?"

He gazed back at her sadly. "Would you have accepted it, if offered?" He immediately knew Richard wouldn't have – the big tree would have thrown a fit.

"I asked you a question first."

Chandler took a deep breath, balling his hands into fists. He finally lifted his head to look his lost love square in the eye.

"I would have done – would still do – anything for you, Monica."

She peered at him, utterly speechless. Then she burst into tears again. Chandler felt his heart twinge.

"Mon…..?"

"Anything? After what I…. what I did…..?" She lifted her face from her palms, grimacing wetly. "You would have given a baby to the woman who broke your heart?"

Chandler nodded. "If it had made you happy."

She staggered back slightly, shaken. "If all you've ever wanted was for me to be happy….. then why didn't you object at Richard's and my wedding?" She sniffled. "Why didn't you…. come after me?"

He gawped at her, feeling like he had been punched in the gut. "I didn't know you wanted me to! I didn't think you wanted me to! You left me!"

"That's right," she croaked. "I did. And it was, without a doubt, the biggest mistake of my entire life!"

Chandler's head was swimming. The biggest mistake of her life, she had said! The biggest mistake, leaving him for Richard…..? Had he died…..? Was this some hippy-trippy-dippy heaven?

Monica was weeping again, burying her face in her hands. "If I could go back….."

"You wouldn't have gotten Jack and Erica! I know you wouldn't give them up for anything!" Chandler was confused. Why was he fighting this….?

"I've been a horrible friend," Monica whimpered. "And a mess of a mother…."

"That's not true, Mon!" Chandler denied vehemently, even if at least part of her statement was true: she hadn't been the best friend, for most of these years.

"Isn't it? I didn't try and help you. The first time Joey told me you were drinking and had gone to…. to rehab, I didn't sleep for a week! But did I pick up the phone? No….."

"Monica…."

"The whole time, I was such a coward, that I was expecting you to do what was right to fix things, when I was the one who broke them!"

"How could I have fixed things? What could I have done?" Chandler asked, befuddled.

"I wanted you to FIGHT for me! I was WAITING FOR YOU!"

Silence. Stillness, except for the sounds of traffic rolling across the Brooklyn Bridge behind them. Monica hugged herself and continued to sob.

"I'm just a low, chicken-shit, pathetic excuse for a person…. I hurt you….. I pushed you away, and onto this path, and I….."

Chandler took her by the shoulders and rubbed her arms. "Monica, you're not a pathetic person. You're a very good person, whose made some mistakes, but I made them too, and worse. Sure, you had your OCD and your quirks, but underneath all those idiosyncrasies and neuroses, you wanna know what I saw? : a girl I respected. In spite of everything, I still do."

She was still sniffling, snot dribbling from her nose and in danger of ruining her makeup. Noticing how she was holding her purse between them, Chandler fished around in it for another hanky. He found none. Tenderly lifting her chin with one hand, he moved to fish about in his pockets with the other for a tissue.

Lift up your head. Wash off your mascara – here, take my Kleenex. Wipe that lipstick away….

Coming up lucky for once, he gently brushed the tissue along Monica's face and eyes, sparkling from her tears. Her tears which he now dried.

Show me your face. Clean as the morning. I know things were bad, but now they're OK…..

He smiled at her. Weakly, she grinned back.

Suddenly, Chandler….. is standing beside you…. you don't need no make-up….. don't have to pretend…. Suddenly, Chandler…. Is here to provide you…. with sweet understanding….. Chandler's your friend…..

The sky having now cleared, Chandler offered Monica his hand. Smiling hesitantly, she took it, allowing him to lead her with purpose off the bridge and back in the direction of Bedford Street.

Chandler took Monica back to Apartment 20, letting them both in by turning the key in the lock. Monica seemed stunned by how much….

"Oh….. wow….. the old apartment still looks the same…."

She turned back and was shocked to see the intense heat, coupled with intense sadness, in Chandler's eyes. "I didn't want to change anything…. Do you know how long I've fought with Joey to keep him from turning this place into a pit?"

Monica giggled. "Must have been hard."

"Hard? It was practically warfare."

She smirked wryly, blushing at how Chandler's gaze was roving over her.

"You know, for someone who just cried their eyes out not twenty minutes ago, you're still the most beautiful woman who's been in this room tonight."

She couldn't imagine how his phrasing – though slightly adjusted – could be anything but deliberate. Still, she rose to meet the compliment. "Really?"

"Are you kidding? You've always been the most beautiful woman in most rooms…."

She jumped his bones. Practically tackled him and kissed him like it was the last chance she would ever get – and maybe it was.

Fireworks. Even after all these years. They went pealing with a shriek through Chandler's brain as he forgot himself and kissed her back. Just like that, he was back in fucking 2000, or even nineteen ninety and flipping eight, in that London hotel room.

He remembered himself, and despite how it took all his willpower, he broke the kiss first. "Whoa, whoa, you and I just made out. Are we making out?"

"Well, not any-fucking-more!" Monica growled with something that may have been pent-up sexual frustration.

Chandler gazed at her, astonished.

This is a bad idea, me and you. It's a bad idea, me and you…. I've never known anything so true…. It's a terrible idea, me and you….

A beat, and then the former lovers were ravishing each other, even as Chandler tried to wrestle with the logic that was trying to claw its way back into his brain.

You have a husband….. It's a bad idea, me and you…. Let's just keep kissing till we come to. Heart, stop racing, let's face it, making mistakes like this will make worse what was already pretty bad…. Mind, stop running, It's time we just let this thing go….

They didn't let it go. When Chandler dared to dip his palms below her waist, greedily clutching at the accentuated curve of her buttocks, Monica shocked him by guiding his hand to her inner thigh; in one, fluid and intimate motion, he had hiked her leg up to his hip, causing Monica to let out a squeaky gasp of amazement. The kiss deepening, growing wild and out of control, Chandler almost didn't notice how they were maneuvering back to his bedroom – what had once, long ago, been their bedroom.

He only clued in once Monica's lips had left his and air was allowed to fill his lungs and his brain…..

…. his brain which now registered how Monica was lounging back onto the bed, her skirt stretching as she boldly spread her legs for him.

"Whoa, whoa, what are you doing….?" He felt himself grow hard as Monica boldly began to touch herself.

"Going after what I want, for once in my life." She sat up slightly, eyes dark with lust.

Chandler eyed her up and down, warily but intrigued. "….. How drunk are you?"

"Drunk enough that I know I want to do this…. Not so drunk that you should worry about taking advantage…."

Chandler considered it, long and hard. Was she out of her mind? Was he? Joey or any one of the Geller-Greens could be back any minute. This was a totally, completely bad idea.

…. It was a pretty good bad idea, wasn't it, though?...

Chandler put his hands behind his head and paced for a moment, two, his ethics eating him alive while also going to war with his need to remember, what it had been like, just once….

Lord, show me how to say no to this…. I don't know how to say no to this…. But my God, she looks so helpless…. And her body's saying 'Hell, yes'…

Chandler glanced back at where Monica was panting, her pupils dilated, and her cheeks flushed.

"Chandler…." She crooned, seductively, and his cock gave a violent throb in his pants. "I'm still on London time…. Doesn't that count for something?"

Oh, Lord have MERCY, that counts!

"We owe it to sex!" She was practically begging for it. Did he really have to make her beg?

Chandler took a deep breath. He chose. He spoke. "Well, if we owe it…. That's still the perfect amount."

She tackled him to the bed.

Then her mouth is on mine, and I can't – say – no….

Then her body's on mine, and I don't – say – no!

A/N: So, the original Gilbert and Sullivan lyric from when Chandler is on the bridge actually reads, "Beware, my messmates all who love in rank above you... For Josephine, I fall!..."