Chapter 2: You're My Home

Ross sat waiting in his idling car, in the roundabout outside the terminal of Westchester County Airport. It was a small, regional hub not far from where his and Monica's parents were based, and yet to hear his brother-in-law tell it over the phone, this would be a first for him, passing through this airport. Chandler's company had the means to fly him out of the bigger hubs: JFK, LaGuardia, Newark Liberty. More than once, they had offered to fly him first class. Sometimes Chandler accepted the convenience of departing or arriving from one of these three, but he always declined flying first class. Something about wanting to save his company money.

More like save himself money, Ross thought, though he could hardly view Chandler as anything like a skinflint. His brother-in-law probably made more dough than anyone in their friend group, including Monica – Ross was at ease in the knowledge that, even as she had her own career, his sister would be, and was, well provided for.

Ross drummed out a rhythm on the dash, tapping the steering wheel. He only stopped himself at his own mental reminder of who was waiting in the backseat, asleep. Glancing back through the rearview mirror, he beheld his daughter. Emma was dozing away. Ross glanced back to the automatic doors of the Westchester terminal again, willing his passenger to appear. The paleontologist glanced at his watch: the man's flight landed close to twenty minutes ago. How long did it take, really, for people to deplane?

Ross jumped and then inwardly groaned when he heard someone tap, tapping on the window of the driver's side: a security guard, with a flashlight. "Go around again!"

Ross stewed but refrained from doing something uncouth and unwise, like flipping the guy off just for his doing his job. It would not do for him to leave his daughter alone in a hot car because he had to do something stupid like get on the bad side of Dubya's goons at DHS. He pulled off the curb and made another loop around the circle again.

By the time he was coming around to the curb again, the automatic glass doors were opening, disgorging a man in a business suit with familiar spiky chestnut hair. Ross flashed his headlights and caught the man's attention.

Chandler jogged up, looking tired but eager, brimming with anxious excitement even, enough to open the shotgun door too loudly.

"Emma's asleep!" Ross warned in a stage whisper, even as he smiled broadly and exchanged backslapping hugs with his brother-in-law.

Chandler craned his neck around to smile softly at his niece in the backseat. He made a point to close the car door as gently as possible, as Ross began to pilot a course back into the city proper.

"Did you really have to fly in from all the way out here?" Ross bemoaned.

Chandler shrugged. "It's quieter at night than trying to fight the rest of humanity at the main three."

Ross nodded, eyes making a sweep at decent intervals from the road up into the rearview mirror. Chandler reached back without looking and groped for Emma's teeny feet, pajama-clad, playing with one as tenderly as he dared without waking her up.

Side-eyeing him, Ross smirked. "Seem almost disappointed there, man."

Chandler flushed. "I was expecting Mon."

"I told you: for this to be a surprise, I couldn't tell her. Besides, arriving late as you did is just as well. She's probably asleep. You can be there when she wakes up."

Chandler leaned back against the plush of his seat and rested his eyelids. "Pushing for a four-day weekend will have been worth it."

There was a long silence.

"How long you gonna do this, man?"

"What?"

"This! Being the airline commuter, living half your time in fucking backwater Oklahoma! What's even in Tulsa?"

"The memorial for the bombing," Chandler answered honestly. "I went there one afternoon; it's beautiful."

"OK, besides that!" Ross groused.

"Sooners have got their own stadium."

"Hmm," Ross demurred. "And it's probably nicer than what they're calling a season right now…." He merged onto the highway. "I'm just saying…. You got such a raw deal, man. If I were you, I'd be thinking of how to get out."

Chandler looked shocked, even if not entirely surprised. "I've been with this company since we were out of college!"

"…. And you hate it," Ross reminded his sister's husband knowingly. "You've said so yourself. And you'll probably hate it even more when I tell you what I see every week: my sister – your wife – pining away for you. Seriously, Chan: she's broken-hearted."

Chandler ran an exhausted hand over his face. "We're making it work…." He mumbled.

"Yeah? For how much longer?"

"I don't know, all right? But Monica and I told each other that we always rank first with each other, over any job, and that's how we've been able to cope."

"If my sister is more important than any job, like this piece-of-shit commuter gig to Tulsa…." Ross pounced on knowingly. "…. Then why haven't you tossed the piece-of-shit gig overboard yet?"

Chandler didn't answer, not because he wasn't aware that Ross was right, but because it was hard to explain. He pretended to be dozing until he felt Ross's car slow to a stop and the parking brake engage. He climbed out and waited for Ross to unbuckle Emma from her car seat. The brothers-in-law ascended the steps to the third floor of the apartment building on Bedford Street.

Spotting Apartment 20, Chandler lengthened his stride. He couldn't get his key in the lock fast enough, and only barely enough to be quiet about it. Sensing Apartment 19 across the hall at his back, he only spared Joey a moment's thought, confident he could surprise him too in the morning.

Chandler and Ross entered to hear music wafting at a decent volume from somewhere close.

"Oh, shit!" Ross hissed. "Quick – turn it off! What is it, anyway?"

"Antique wireless. Joey and I found it in a dumpster." Chandler turned on his phone and let the blue light guide him to where he knew Monica kept the radio, and he powered it down.

Ross breathed a sigh of relief, bouncing a still out-cold Emma. "Phew. She's still asleep."

"Good," Chandler grinned, as he turned on the lamp above the kitchen table to the dimmest, lowest setting. The men tiptoed over to the Bings' bedroom. Chandler let Ross push back the door first, allowing a sliver of light to fall across the bedspread.

Inside, Monica stirred awake at the feeling of brightness stabbing into her eyes.

"Who's there?" her voice quavered nervously.

"It's me, Mon. Your brother."

Monica blearily rubbed at her eyes. "…..Ross…..? It's the middle of the night….!"

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just…. I have a surprise for you…." And Ross stood aside to reveal the darkened silhouette in the doorway, backlit by the kitchen lamplight.

Even by his outline, Monica could tell who it was, even as she hardly dared to believe it. "….. Chandler?" She sucked in a breath.

Her husband was across the room in two seconds, leaping onto the bed before gathering her in his arms and kissing her. The moment his lips touched hers, Monica recognized his taste and sighed happily, sliding into his arms. When the couple broke apart, her eyes were shining. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow night!"

"Busted my ass," Chandler grinned. "Worked overtime to give myself an extra day. You surprised?"

In answer, Monica grinned. Her eyes darted over to where she now spotted what looked like Emma curled in her father's arms. "Ross, is my niece asleep?"

"Yup."

"Good," she beamed, looping her arms around Chandler's neck. "Because her young and innocent eyes shouldn't be seeing this."

And she kissed her husband, so indecently that when Ross finally groaned, she let out a giggle of victory into Chandler's plundering mouth.

"Ewwww… Mon! My eyes are too young and innocent to be seeing that! Uggh – good night! Literally!" And Ross stomped from the apartment.

Beaming, Monica almost didn't allow Chandler out of her arms even so he could close their bedroom door. They reunited with some making out and heavy petting, though they didn't move to make love – there was plenty of weekend time for that later.

Running his hands over her body, Chandler smirked into Monica's lips.

"What….?" Monica chuckled.

"You're wearing one of my shirts…." He mumbled proudly. "All those times on the phone when I'd ask what you were wearing and you'd say 'You,' I didn't think you were serious…" A beat, and then he frowned. "Unless Phoebe was right about me being a fashion designer in a past life…."

"Of course I was serious! I missed you…." Monica murmured.

"God, Monica, I've missed you – you don't have a clue how much…."

Monica clutched at her husband. "Not having you home…. It isn't the same….."

Chandler kissed the top of her head. "I know. I hate it. I fucking hate this…."

She hummed in concurrence, snuggling down against his chest. Chandler stroked her hair, tucking her into his side.

"Promise me I'm not dreaming?" Monica murmured sleepily. "Promise me you'll still be home when I wake up?"

Chandler nodded. "I promise." Watching his wife drift under, he softly sang to her:

"We are home. We are where we shall be forever…. Trust in me, for you know I won't run away…. from today, this is all that I need and all that I need to say…. Home should be where the heart is. I'm certain as I can be – I've found home…. You're my home… Stay…. With…. me….."

Right then, even as he didn't quite have the voice or even the thoughts to verbalize it, Chandler knew that his stint in Tulsa would not be long for this world. For as his wife had expressed to him when he'd taken the gig, what was important, from least to most, in this order was: old job….. new job….. and then her.

There was nothing more important to Chandler than his beloved wife….. Nothing…..

And all through that weekend, he made sure to let her know it, by cooking for her, cleaning for her and making love to her every chance he got.