Chapter 8: This Can't Stay In London

Chandler swallowed, his jaw and lips setting in a stoic, thoughtful line as he felt Monica rest her head on his chest. The feeling of her, back in his arms, where he was beginning to realize more and more that she belonged, should have been exhilarating, especially seeing as they could hold each other under the cover of not darkness but of dancing together at Ross's wedding reception.

It should have been a relief, and it was, that Monica was holding him like this without showing any obvious signs of discomfort. The awkward murmuring while escorting each other down the aisle, then later over by the food trays, had fortunately not translated into anything physically awkward. Perhaps the pull, given their closeness as friends and especially given everything that had passed between them the night before and at sunrise this morning, was just too strong.

Perhaps it was London, and Chandler felt his heart go through a spasm of pain as he recalled the agreement they had made: what happened in London happened only in London, and then stayed there. They had attempted to capture one last taste of whatever magic had smiled down on them last night, but it was not to be. He had never wanted to deck Joey, or Ross or Rachel (all taboos against hitting a woman be damned) harder in his life. Had Phoebe called at some inopportune time, he likely would have attempted some way of reaching through the phone and hitting her too; at least she had had the good sense not to interrupt, even as she was across the ocean with a stomach out to her feet.

Now it was too late: they would be flying back tomorrow, and there was no way Monica could sneak over to his room again tonight, even if she wanted to: Joey would be there, and they all had an early plane.

"Chandler?" Monica whispered, lifting her head from his chest to peer up into his furrowed face.

He felt his stomach constrict. She was going to say something, he knew it, and whatever it was, he had a feeling it was going to enunciate in the clearest possible terms how what had happened here across the pond could never be once they reached the other side.

Chandler's sudden panic was oddly even more compounded by the ambience of the place: a wedding reception, one that was at the moment less than happy, and even strained. He'd only heard the story later, second-hand, but hadn't Monica broken up with Richard at Barry's wedding reception – another tense nuptials considering Rachel had needed to reconcile whatever loose ends remained with the doctor she had almost married?

Was that what Monica was about to say? To let him down easy? That while what they had shared was indescribable, her heart still belonged to another? The love of her life, that big…. tree….?

No. Chandler couldn't let that happen. Not without a fight.

"Stop. Please. Don't say it." Glancing about, he took her hand and guided her with purpose into a darkened alcove of the reception hall. His heart was hammering in his ribcage. He had no idea what he was going to say, and still less idea if it would even matter what he said, should he manage to utter anything remotely verbose. Chandler finally turned back to Monica and the sight of her beauty made him lose his breath.

No. He may be a commitment freak of nature, but he'd be damned before he lost this!

"I think…" He started to say 'I think you're making a mistake,' but then he stopped, for fear of offending her and her choices. "I think we'd be making a mistake."

"Exactly!" Monica exhaled, smiling and pleased that he seemed to be seeing things her way, after their conversation. "It would be tragic and foolish of us if we were to…."

"No," Chandler cut her off. Slowly, he took her hands in his. "It would be foolish and tragic, yes, but not for the reasons you're thinking. You think it would be foolish and tragic of us to keep whatever happened last night going, back in New York. But, goddamnit, Monica, I think – I know – that what would really be foolish and tragic would be for us to not keep last night going!"

Monica gaped at him, her sapphire eyes expanding with wonder before darting about, as if afraid someone might see, or worse yet, hear. Tilting her head, she peered at Chandler, started deep into his eyes, which she could see now had pools of tears forming.

"Chandler? Sweetie….?"

A tentative, elated grin came over his face. "Yes…." He breathed, looking almost lovesick. "Sweetie. I don't want you to ever stop calling me that. Not for all the world…" True, Monica was free and generous in giving terms of endearment – he'd heard her call Joey and even her brother 'honey' before, albeit in ways that were clearly platonic. But never 'sweetie'. That was her pet name for him, and Chandler found himself guarding its usage covetously…. He took a deep breath, attempting to gather his thoughts. He was about to give the speech of his life and he didn't want to screw it up, lest he live the rest of his life kicking himself.

"Please don't leave me," he whimpered, begged. "Please. Not now, when I've found you…. It took me so long to find you…. Last night…. I finally realized…. I finally knew…." He almost started to cry, but he held the tears at bay. How? How to say this without coming off any more clingy and pathetic than he already was? Those were the worst things for a guy to be. "…. That someone loved me."

Monica's heart broke. All over again, she wanted to curse Chandler's parents for creating in their little boy such doubts about his own self-worth. Her bottom lip trembled and she couldn't help it, she started to reach for him. "Oh, Chandler… My Chandler…"

"That's what I want to be!" He seized on. "I want to be someone's. Monica, I…. I want to be yours." He flushed, his face bashful and adorable and boyish. "... if you'll have me." He watched her expression carefully as Monica's eyes bulged in astonishment and she drew a hand to her mouth. Her full lips were curved in something resembling awe, and Chandler just wanted to kiss them off.

"This can't stay in London," Chandler told her earnestly. "You know it can't. I know it can't."

"We…. we could keep it a secret…." Monica whimpered, and only the smallness of her voice gave away her true feelings on the matter.

Chandler shrugged. "I suppose we could…. but do we want to?" He eyed her meaningfully, heart in his throat. This was the moment. His fate – their fate – was in her hands. Her answer would adjudicate whether or not they were doomed. If Heaven on earth was to be forsaken in the interest of some asinine reason, be it fear or concerns about optics or the judgment from their friends. Judgment from her brother…

Monica shook her head. "No," she shook her head.

"No what?"

"No, I don't want to."

Chandler's heart howled. He hung his head. A one-night stand was all this was to be, then. "I understand…."

"…. I don't want to keep this a secret…."

Just like that, Chandler's head and his hopes lifted, and he gawped. "You…. you mean….? But I thought…."

"You thought what? That I was ashamed? About what… what we….?" Monica flushed with a soft smile.

"Weren't you?"

Monica laughed, and the sound of it pealed like bells. "Chandler, if I was, would I have tried to sneak you off after the ceremony and… have my way with you?" Her blue orbs had darkened considerably, even in this dim lighting.

Chandler grinned adorably, elation flaring. "Either that, or you're already a sex addict."

He was pleasantly knocked off-step by her flirtatious repartee. "Addicted to you? Oh, yes."

Chandler stared, bewildered and hardly daring to believe it. "After only seven times… and you already know that?"

Monica nodded, and she felt her own tears pool. Just the memory of last night, the pleasure, nearly made her weep with joy. "Chandler… the way you held me… the way you…." she whispered it almost scandalously. "…. made love to me…." (He suppressed a growl). "I knew then that…. someone loved me too…."

Monica knew something else as well, and it washed over her in a wave of peace and acceptance as Chandler gently took her in his arms:

At this very moment, she was gazing into the eyes of her future spouse. She knew, deep in her heart, that she was one day going to marry this man. She would have him as her husband, even if she had to propose. And when they wed, she would take his name and share it – happily, as his wife.

As she reached up to kiss him, Monica also knew: she would someday bear Chandler's baby, and gladly. Perhaps he had placed their little one already inside of her, filled her womb with his seed. The thought of being the mother of Chandler's child made her head giddily spin.

But unlike with some of the other men she had been with, Monica didn't speak these resolutions aloud. She'd learned well how that could frighten many men off, and if she confessed these things to the man she loved now, Chandler may well run and all this would be ruined. So she kept her intended future close to heart, deciding that, if they were going to do this, they had to take it slow and step-by-step. This – being with her best friend in a way that she never would have thought possible until last night – was too important to screw up.

How could she have ever even suggested that they lock this bliss away in some box upon returning home, never to be opened again? They would have only failed to keep it shut anyway, she knew.

Encircling her arms around him in utter relief, Monica was startled by how Chandler shied away. "What is it?" she whispered breathlessly. "What's wrong?" She tried not to let hurt flash through her eyes.

"Your brother…. What if someone sees….?" Chandler's eyes darted out towards where the reception was still going on.

"I thought we said we didn't want to keep this a secret."

"You didn't," he pointed out. "But… but what if Ross…? Your parents….?"

Shaking her head with a small smile, Monica looped her arms about Chandler's neck and pulled him close. "I don't care," she hissed with relish, the glint in her eye sharp. It was exhilarating, to be so openly dangerous, when not even 12 hours ago, she had been buried underneath the covers in his bed with her brother only feet away. Gaze flitting to Chandler's lips, Monica felt her eyes grow lidded. "Let them look….." She leaned in, whispering. "Kiss me….."

Chandler bowed his head, the last of his hesitancy melting away.

"Kiss me, Chandler…. Kiss – Mmmmm….."

Their lips met, collided. Sank into each other and their arms wound about each other in a close embrace. Monica moaned happily. The sweeping pathos, the romance of it, of her begging him to kiss her, nearly swept her off her feet.

She groaned again as Chandler's lips left hers to blaze open-mouthed pecks along any bit of exposed skin and she melted into his arms. "Ahhhhh…" Her sigh emanated from her around a smile.

Chandler drew back, his own smile smoldering in a kind of disbelief that Monica was here, that this was real. "Monica…." He caressed her face, swallowing hard. "You…. you are the love of my life and the light of my love."

Monica sucked in a sharp breath, and now she let the tears fall. What a sweet thing to say… That had to have been a huge step for him, to say such a thing. Her pride in him nearly made her heart burst, and letting out a strangled gasp, she pulled him close and kissed him desperately again.

The embracing lovers staggered back into the wall, grinning into each other's eyes. Having surrendered, they let their affair begin, to do with them what it would.