A/N Thank you all for reading and for commenting!
This is quite a long chapter, as apparently I really enjoy writing Atlantic City based Mondler and seem to be dragging it out a bit!
"Morning ladies" Chandler greeted his two neighbors cheerily as he waltzed into Apartment 20. "I picked up my hire car already and I'm heading off to my conference soon. Could one of you please tell Joey that his agent called to say his audition today is at 3.00, not 4.00? I wrote it on the board but he doesn't always read it."
Monica's brow furrowed and she did not look up to meet his eye. Chandler knew very well that she would not be able to pass on any messages to Joey, as today was the day that the two of them were about to flee New York to spend a secret weekend together in Atlantic City. She had gone over their escape plan with him rigorously, and it certainly did not include this last minute surprise visit, so she felt immediately unsettled by his seemingly cavalier attitude towards her meticulous preparation.
"Yeah sure," agreed Rachel, "Where is your conference anyway?"
"Hartford" he replied casually, before glancing towards Monica who remained staring resolutely at the floor.
A smile tugged at his lips, knowing how hard she was trying not to arouse suspicion ahead of their secret jaunt. They had arranged to meet around the corner from their building in half an hour, and he knew that she had not been expecting to see him before then. When he observed the adorably anxious frown that was bothering her forehead, his devilish streak could not resist flustering her just a little bit.
"Where are you going Mon? Why the suitcase?" he asked her with apparent innocence, gesturing towards the luggage at her feet.
"I'm going to a culinary fair in Philly" she replied a little stiffly, still not looking up.
"Oh, I didn't realize that was this weekend. Sounds fun. How are you getting there?"
"Train." she replied through slightly gritted teeth, looking more than a little annoyed that he was unnecessarily testing out her well rehearsed answers in front of Rachel.
"Are you leaving now? I can drop you at the station if you like?" he offered nonchalantly, "Save you the cab fare? I have plenty of time."
Monica glanced apprehensively towards Rachel, relieved to see that she remained entirely oblivious to any deception.
"OK, thanks. That'd be great." she replied neutrally
"Are you ready to leave now? I can hang on for half an hour if you're not?"
"Um.. Yeah, I guess I'm ready now."
"Great, let me grab your case" he smiled brightly, picking up her luggage.
Rachel stood to bid them goodbye, completely unconcerned by their simultaneous departure, just as Chandler had predicted she would be. He threw a daringly companionable arm around Monica's shoulder for good measure as they headed for the door.
Monica shook her head as they descended the stairs "You know, sometimes I think you're enjoying all of this lying a little bit too much.. " she accused wryly.
He threw her a cheeky grin, "I'm just so good at it! Did you see her face? She never suspected a thing!"
Monica narrowed her eyes and teased "Well I'm not sure how I feel about the father of my child being so sneaky. If this baby takes after you, it's going to run rings around me!"
The father of my child.
A feeling of intense warmth glowed in Chandler's chest. God, he just loved it when she said things like that.
Despite his jocular bravado back at Bedford Street, Chandler had been experiencing a certain degree of trepidation as this weekend had approached. The calamitous unraveling of the last trip he had planned to Atlantic City weighed heavily on his mind, and he could barely dare to hope that this weekend might unfold as he hoped it would.
Of course, his intentions had been very different back then; driven entirely by a lustful desire to get Monica out of New York so that they might stoke and inflame the coals of London that had glowed white hot.
This time around his motivation was rather less carnal. He desperately wanted the opportunity to connect with her as the mother of his unborn child, without the constant interruptions and distractions of their life in New York, but beyond that, he wanted a chance to prove to her that he was up to this job. He wanted to impress her.
Chandler was no fool: He knew that when the news of Monica's pregnancy was eventually revealed, their friends and family would inwardly question; maybe even outwardly question; whether he possessed the required level of maturity to be a good father; it seemed almost inevitable to him that they would doubt his ability to commit to being the support and anchor that Monica and their child would require.
He actually did not care too much if their friends doubted him, because for once in his life, Chandler felt entirely sure of himself: His commitment to this child, and indeed to its mother, was completely unassailable.
But he did care what Monica thought. He wanted her to know with absolute certainty that he was ready for this, and he wanted her to feel secure.
And so far, everything was going according to plan: The journey to Atlantic City passed without incident, traffic was relatively light and they located their hotel with no problem at all.
Chandler was particularly relieved to see that the hotel appeared rather more luxurious than he had worried it might be. He had stayed in some real dives in the city over the years, on various bachelor parties and catch-ups with old College friends, but this place actually had an unexpected air of modern refinement about it.
Crucially, it exuded a feeling of cleanliness: Monica was no Princess, but Chandler knew only too well that she would struggle with the idea of spending the weekend anywhere that was too grimy or unkempt.
"Here's your room key. Enjoy your stay!" The perfectly groomed hotel receptionist flashed them the whitest smile Chandler had ever seen as she concluded their check-in and slid their key across the counter towards them.
As they crossed the glossy marble floor of the lobby towards the elevator, Monica side-eyed him with interest as she asked mildly "So, we're sharing a room?"
"Uh... well, it's actually a suite. There's an extra bedroom off the main room, so it's kind of adjoining. I hope that's OK? I just thought it would be easier to hang out if we were kind of sharing... Instead of being way down the corridor from each other... But don't worry, you'll have plenty of privacy... "
His awkward rambling stood in stark contrast with the cocksure swagger he had displayed earlier in front of Rachel, and Monica could see that he was worried that she might think his booking them a joint room was somehow presumptuous.
She touched his arm lightly, "Sounds great" she reassured with a grin.
Based upon first impressions, their room was of a similarly high standard to the lobby area.
The sweeping ocean views were pretty spectacular and the room itself was generously proportioned, flooded with sunlight, and furnished to a high standard; with linen that one could immediately feel had a high thread count, and fixtures that appeared bespoke.
"Wow, look at that view!" Monica enthused, as she took in the space. Chandler smiled, glad to see that she seemed as impressed as he was.
He watched nervously as she began to investigate the suite with her terrifyingly hyper-aware eye, tracing her fingers along surfaces, re-stacking the monogrammed stationery, and inspecting the clarity of glasses and water jug that sat beside the mini-bar, before exploring the sleek, modern bathroom. He was relieved to see a constant look of approval on her face.
Next she turned her attention to the adjoining bedroom, throwing open the partitioning doors to reveal an altogether less majestic area. Whilst clean and functional, the windowless room had no natural light, and housed little more than two decidedly small single beds. It was a space that had most definitely been designed to accommodate the sleeping needs of young children and very little else.
Chandler laughed out loud when he saw it "Don't worry, I'll take this one" he reassured her.
Monica smiled appreciatively but refuted his suggestion "Chandler, you're way too tall to be comfortable in one of those beds. I'll be fine in there."
"No way" Chandler rejected firmly, "You're taking the big bed. There are two of you, remember?" he leaned forward and brought his fingers to her hip by way of illustration, before pulling his hand back a little too quickly, his eyes anxious as he gauged her reaction to his touch.
Monica regarded him with a wistful smile.
This was not the first time he had felt compelled to make contact with the tiny swell of her bump, but until now he had managed to resist the urge. Since learning of his baby's existence he had felt an almost magnetic yearning to place his hands on the warm curve of her middle, and he imagined that if he just asked her if he could, she would probably let him: The two of them had always been physically comfortable around each other, and she certainly seemed wholly keen to share the full pregnancy experience with him. But Chandler had decided it would be better to wait until the baby started delivering discernible kicks before making such a request. He knew that Monica could not even feel any of the baby's movements herself yet, so it felt just too strange to ask to grope her abdomen.
They had checked-in to their room not long after 4:00pm, and the day was still young, so the two of them decided to take a stroll on the beach to take advantage of the pleasantly warm and sunny weather.
"Will we come back here to eat?" Monica checked, realizing that it already felt like a long time since the disappointing lunchtime sandwich they had sourced hastily on the road. Her appetite was voraciously back in force now that the anxious nausea of her first trimester had fully dissipated.
"Well, I actually booked us a table at a place down on the boardwalk this eve if you'd like to go?" Chandler proposed hesitantly, "I remembered what you'd said about craving red meat, and a guy from work recommended a place that does good steak, and what he described as "the best lamb shanks in the whole world", so I got us a table there at 8:00. But I can cancel if you'd rather eat here? Or someplace else... "
Again, he felt overcome by a weird flush of shyness as he spoke. Back in New York, in the company of their friends, he had been finding it remarkably easy to maintain their easy and amicable dynamic. He knew Monica had been finding it harder than he was to reconcile normality with their secret life as parents-to-be, and he had perhaps reveled in his own relative competence a little too hard, taking any opportunity he could to showboat in front of her.
Now it was just the two of them, he could feel himself occasionally treating her with a coy reverence that was a million miles away from their usual banter and jostle.
But the beam that crept across her face as she learned of the restaurant booking indicated that she was not concerned by his behaviour in the slightest.
He supposed things were bound to feel different between them now. Things were different. Hugely different. But in the most exciting possible way.
"Is it safe to come out?" Chandler called as he pushed open the door of the steam-filled bathroom a mere sliver, not wanting to burst in on her in a state of undress.
As they prepared for dinner the pair had moved seamlessly between the bathroom, the main bedroom, and Chandler's room in order to grant each other sufficient privacy to change.
"I'm all done." Monica confirmed, before adding a little admonishingly, "I had plenty of time: You were in the bathroom for like an hour!"
"Well it's a nice shower!" Chandler shot back, "If you shared a bathroom with Joey, you'd know what a luxury this is!"
He entered the room swathed in a fluffy, hotel-issued robe, roughly towel-drying the damp tufts of his hair as he spoke.
Monica was standing at the mirror, her lips parted in concentration as she threaded some delicate silver hoops through her ear lobes.
When Chandler saw her he stopped in his tracks. His hand dropped from his hair to his side, and his breath caught, as he drank her in.
Monica had taken to wearing exclusively loose-fitting clothing of late, to keep the eyes of her friends away from her gently expanding abdomen and slightly swollen breasts; but tonight she was liberated from their gaze, and had selected a figure-hugging black dress with a neckline that revealed the perfect amount of honeyed cleavage: Not plunging enough to scandalize, but certainly sufficient to tantalize. The garment was short, but she had teamed it with opaque panty hose, rendering the outfit adequately demure to feel appropriate for a meal out with a friend, but Chandler was still able to appreciate the shapeliness of her toned legs. Her hair had been straightened to a sharp-edged, glossy waterfall of jet, and she had artfully applied more eye makeup than he was generally accustomed to seeing her wear; the sultry smokiness enhancing her sapphire blue irises to utterly beguiling effect.
She caught his eyes in the mirror, and turned to meet his slack-jawed face, looking suddenly unsure of herself. She tugged self-consciously at the fabric of her dress and asked him "Is this too much? Do I look ridiculous? I just really wanted to dress up a little, I haven't been out on a date in so long and thought I probably wouldn't be able to again what with the baby..."
She suddenly swallowed hard and dropped her mortified gaze to the floor, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment.
She had called this a date.
Chandler licked his lips and told her huskily "You look beautiful, Mon."
Her doubtful eyes connected with his and they gazed at each other silently for a moment before Chandler managed to regain his composure.
"Total knockout in fact. I don't know what the hell I'm going to wear, you're definitely going to show me up. We're going to look like Lady and the Tramp!"
Monica smirked appreciatively, buoyed by his compliments and relieved to have emerged unscathed from the intensity of the moment "Well don't worry, I promise not to order spaghetti.." she quipped.
"Ah! Spoilsport." Chandler returned her grin and headed for his room to get dressed.
When he eventually threw back the partition doors between their two rooms, wearing her favorite of his shirts, Monica thought they were about as far from Lady and the Tramp as could be. She had always thought he looked impossibly handsome in blue, and had allowed herself many an admiring glance over the years when he had breezed into her apartment in his office wear, or when they were attending some group dinner or function.
"That shirt's a great color on you. I always thought it." she astonished herself by speaking her thoughts out loud, and he turned towards her in surprised amusement.
"Well, I always liked low-cut dresses on you," he teased.
Monica folded her arms across her chest in exasperation "Oh my God! Right, that's it! I'm changing! I knew this dress was too slutty."
"No! I'm sorry, I'm just kidding!" he chuckled drawing her into a hug of appeasement "Please don't change, you look gorgeous. Perfect in fact. And hardly slutty at all..."
A wry smile tugged at her lips as she slapped his arm and scowled up at him, "You know, it's really not nice to tease somebody who's growing you a baby. "
The rush he felt whenever he was reminded of that new life in her belly floored him every time, and he gazed back at her with complete adoration, bringing his hand to her face to brush her cheek tenderly with the back of his index finger before placing a lingering kiss on her forehead. He felt a flutter in his stomach when he heard her inhale sharply at the contact.
"C'mon" he murmured with a smile as he took her hand in his, "Let's go get that baby some meat".
"You know, I think your friend was right. I think they might actually have been the best lamb shanks in the world. I'm so glad we came here!" Monica flopped back into her chair feeling entirely satisfied.
Choosing between the lamb shanks and the steak had proven to be an agonizing decision for her, but eventually Chandler had offered to have whichever one she did not, so that she could try both.
And boy had she tried both. Chandler definitely felt like both of his "halves" had been somewhat meager, despite having ordered them the largest steak the restaurant had available. But, as Monica had keenly and repeatedly pointed out, she was eating for two, and Chandler was of course, only too happy to prioritize the nourishment of his unborn child and its mother above his own.
He had, however, made sure to order a Banoffee Pie for his dessert, in the full knowledge that neither Monica, nor the baby were big fans.
"Are you ready to walk back to the hotel?" she asked him.
"You just ate half a cow, Monica. We should probably pay for it," he pointed out, glancing around the restaurant looking for a waiter to bring the check.
"I already paid, wise ass." Monica grinned, kicking his leg lightly beneath the table.
"What? When?"
"On the way back from the bathroom just now."
"You didn't have to do that Mon, I was going to pay" he scolded lightly.
"You've done enough, arranging this whole weekend, the hotel, hiring a car. I guess I just wanted to say thanks" she smiled, " And like you said, I did just eat half a cow so..."
"Thanks Mon" he grinned at her, and took her hand tenderly in his.
"Hold on, does this mean you're not giving me money for the hotel or the car?" he added, with a comically arched eyebrow.
"Well of course-"
"I'm kidding!" he cut her off, "I wrote off the hotel money a long time ago. I'm just glad we can use up the credit just the two of us. I can already tell that you're going to be much nicer to share a room with than Joey or Ross."
"I'd like to think so" she smiled back smugly.
"Yeah, they never bring fancy shampoo that I can steal, and they hardly ever wear revealing dresses.. " he mused.
She gave his ankle another light kick of admonishment under the table "Wafer thin ice, Bing" she warned with a smirk. "Come on, I need to walk off your lamb shanks" she told him, rising to her feet.
As they exited the restaurant into the neon-lit hum of Atlantic City by night, Monica glanced surreptitiously over at him, admiring his profile, as she recalled her earlier embarrassment when she had referred to this evening as a date.
Had this evening felt like a date?
The sense of anticipation as she had carefully applied her make-up; the flutters in her rib cage when he had taken her hand as they had strolled towards the restaurant; the occasional moments of breathtaking tension when their eyes had met with inexplicable and unexpected intensity; there were moments that had certainly felt very much like a date. A really good date, in fact.
But there were other things that felt less like the dates she had experienced before: The conversations that flowed without the requirement of an opener or a segue; the occasional periods of quiet that felt entirely comfortable; the easy laughter and the teasing remarks that let her know that there was no need for her to mask her imperfections and foibles, because the person she was with knew them all already, accepted them unequivocally and regarded them with affection, not judgement.
She had never been on a date where she had experienced that unparalleled feeling of having the space and freedom to be her true and authentic self. Not even during her most significant relationships. There was no man that had ever managed to make her feel that unequaled security of being with a trusted friend.
She threaded her arm through his and rested her head briefly against his shoulder as they began to amble unhurriedly towards the hotel.
It might just have felt like the greatest date of her life.
As soon as they had arrived back to their hotel room, full and sated, Monica changed immediately into her nightwear, keen to shed her increasingly uncomfortable and restrictive panty hose. She was beginning to come to terms with the fact that the necessity to shop for maternity wear was becoming ever more urgent.
She felt a wonderful sense of liberation as she returned from the bathroom clad in short, satin pajama bottoms with a generously elasticated waist, and a soft, stretchy vest top. She found Chandler languishing on the king size bed he had insisted should be designated hers, flicking through TV channels.
"Do you want me to head to my room? Are you tired?" he checked, secretly hoping that he would not be confined to his tiny child-sized bed just yet.
She shook her head and bounced up onto the bed next to him.
"What do you wanna watch?" he asked as he continued to channel surf.
"Ooh! Casablanca!" cried Monica as the black and white perfection of Ingrid Bergman's face appeared suddenly on the screen.
"Never seen it" Chandler admitted.
"Really?" Monica was incredulous "God, I love that movie. It's so romantic. I must have watched it at least twenty times with my Grandmother when I was a kid: She was completely in love with Humphrey Bogart, and she cried every single time we watched it. I always wondered if it was because she'd had a love like that. One that got away..."
Chandler smiled gently at her wistful reminiscence and compliantly placed the TV remote on the bedside table, happy to accept her recommendation.
She settled her body comfortably against his and he wrapped an affectionate arm around her shoulder.
As much as he tried to concentrate on the movie, it was not long before the combination of his well-fed stomach; the sedative effect of the glass of red wine Monica had insisted he order, so she could at least smell it as she enjoyed her steak; and the comforting warmth and solidity of her body against his, overwhelmed him, and he could feel his eyelids becoming ever heavier.
"Chandler!" he eventually awoke with a start to the sound of her voice, accompanied by La Marseillaise playing in the background as the end credits of Casablanca began to roll.
He took a deep inhale, "Well I'm glad I finally saw that" he remarked sleepily, "It's always good to watch the classics"
Monica sniggered and he felt her arms tighten a little around him. It was only now that he noticed that throughout the course of the movie she had gravitated closer, and was now nestled firmly against his chest, her arms wrapped about his middle.
He glanced down at her face and noticed that she looked a little emotional, guessing that her moist eyes must have been somehow caused by Humphrey Bogart.
"Chandler..." she said quietly, her face pressed against his chest, "I just wanted to say thank you... for tonight. And for the whole weekend away..."
"Thank you for agreeing to come with me" he murmured into her hair.
He felt her body tense up as she continued shakily, "And thank you for being so wonderful about the baby... and for being so kind to me... and so... forgiving... about what I did."
Her voice had a distinct tremor now and he felt her shoulders hitch in distress.
He frowned as he stroked her arm soothingly.
"Mon, I'm not really sure what it is you think you need forgiving for.." he eventually responded softly.
She looked up at him now, disbelief in her watery eyes.
"I mean, of course I know what you're referring to" he corrected himself, Monica's palpable guilt and regret surrounding her relationship with Dan had been recurrently alluded to in their conversations, ever since she had announced her pregnancy, "But you really need to let that go. You didn't actually do anything wrong, Monica. We both agreed together that we weren't going to take things any further between us after London. We both decided that we didn't want to risk our friendship, and that we were going to move on."
He could hear her stifle a sob against his chest "But it was wrong, and I knew it. I never felt anything for him and I should never have got involved with him." she whispered painfully.
"Look. I'm not going to say that it didn't hurt to see you with Dan" he told her honestly "Do I wish you'd have stopped it? Of course I do. But I also wish I'd done things differently myself. I wish I'd been honest enough to just tell you how I felt. I wish I'd never told you that London meant nothing to me. And I wish I'd been brave enough to just ask you not to go through with that date, instead of acting like I didn't care, like some proud idiot. I swear I never blamed you for any of it, Mon. We decided together that we weren't going to be together: It's not like you cheated on me."
She pulled herself out of his embrace and knelt on the bed, staring directly into his face.
"But that's how it felt." she told him, the tears in her eyes glistening in light of the Casablanca credits, the achromatic tones picking out the highlights of her sculpted features against the shadows of the room in such a way that Chandler felt for a moment like he was gazing at her exquisite, timeless beauty on the silver screen.
"I never stopped thinking about you Chandler, not for a second. And I will never forgive myself for letting it happen."
He brought a tender hand to cup her face and told her gently "I don't want you to beat yourself up, Monica. Things aren't always straightforward. Look at Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart..."
"You didn't even watch the movie, Chandler" she responded with a mirthless scoff, "It's not the same thing at all. And it wasn't a happy ending for the two of them."
'Well... I wish you would forgive yourself. Because all of that is over now. And I might not know anything about Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart, but I do know that you and I... we have such an exciting future to look forward to, Monica" he dropped his hand tentatively to her stomach, finally daring to trace his fingers lightly across her blossoming bump.
She smiled and lowered her gaze to his fingers, a few teardrops escaping through her damp lashes. He leaned forward to place a soft kiss on her cheek, tasting the bitter salt of her tears.
As he drew back from her she was gazing back at him with a longing so intense it was almost frightening, the heavy rise and fall of her chest entirely visible.
"I should probably head to bed... Let you sleep" he murmured gruffly as his eyes dropped to her sultrily parted lips, knowing full well that he was just daring her to stop him.
"Do you have to?" she breathed, swallowing hard, the thump of her heart now deafening in her ears. Her ardent eyes searched his for permission to proceed.
His own breath was ragged now as he replied softly, "No. I don't have to."
She gave the faintest of nods as she made a sudden grab at his shirt, "Oh good" she managed to whisper before her lips collided with his.
He tried at first to calm her frenetic pace: He had dreamed of this moment so many times during those tumultuous months that followed London, so many times he had longed to reacquaint himself with every inch of her, thoroughly and languidly, enjoying each caress and savoring every taste.
But it was highly apparent that was not at all what she needed from him here and now.
Her frantic hands tore at his clothes, and she discarded her own pajamas in seconds, hurling her body towards his at breakneck speed.
Her fingers raked desperately through his hair, tugging his head backwards as she moved her lips to blaze a trail of electricity down his neck, her teeth grazing his shoulder, as she brought her thighs to straddle his.
The passion with which she bombarded him soon provoked a matching urgency in Chandler as his hands and mouth sought to connect with any part of her he could.
Her fervent need took them both like a whirlwind, and before he knew it she had entirely enveloped him in her fiery warmth, groaning and throwing back her head as she dragged his lips towards the exposed creamy skin of her neck and chest.
He was worried momentarily that her frenzied velocity was going to leave him woefully embarrassed as he felt his climax already beginning to build, and she showed no sign of slowing; but then he felt her tremble in his arms, every part of her drawing him into her and clenching around him, holding him close with a vice like grip.
When he heard her gasp his name ecstatically against his ear, he allowed his own blindingly euphoric release, the sensation of her fingernails clawing desperately at his shoulders sending residual shock waves down his spine.
She whimpered as she brought her lips back to his with a series of spent and breathless kisses before whispering, "God, I have missed you so much" as she collapsed against his shoulder, the slick sheen of sweat that coated both of their bodies, cooling them pleasantly as they calmed themselves against each other.
He ran his fingers through her hair and rested his forehead against hers, connecting their eyes for a moment, and caressing her lips tenderly with his own, before burying his face in the dampness of her neck as he told her "God, I've missed you too".