A/N I have a super busy week ahead so there is a chance my next update will be a little delayed, not majorly, I might just be a little bit slower than usual. I'm still not quite sure how many chapters there will be in total, obviously we're pretty close to a big unraveling now, but there are still a few twists and turns and quite a lot to unpick. I can't believe I've already broken 100K words, sorry this has turned into a bit of mammoth read! Anyway, I'll be back as soon as I can, and thanks so much to everyone sticking with it!
It was strange that something as fundamentally empty as a gaping void could feel so heavy, but Monica truly felt like she was carrying Chandler's absence from her life around with her like a burdensome lead weight.
She was finding being apart from him like this completely unbearable, and despite their promise to steer clear of one another until she had found an appropriate time to speak frankly with Richard, Monica had actually already cracked and attempted illicit contact on two occasions.
The first had occurred when she and Richard had returned Ben to his father's apartment after their ice-skating excursion.
When they had arrived back on Bedford Street there had been nowhere convenient to park, so it had just made good sense for Richard to hover outside in the car while Monica dashed upstairs to deposit the sleepy child in Ross's arms. She had not intended to linger, but after bidding her brother and nephew goodnight, she had found herself standing in the hallway for far longer than she should have, staring pensively at Chandler's front door, her eyes on fire.
She could not stop thinking about her unexpected encounter with him earlier that day, when he had walked into Ross's place, all handsome and brooding, gathering Ben up into his arms, unwittingly tantalizing her with that perfect little vision of everything she had ever wanted her whole life.
Her obsessive mind kept replaying it back to her, over and over again, like a favorite broken record, and she found herself so desperate for another small glimpse of him that she could not prevent herself from giving his door a light rap with anxious knuckles.
It was a risky move, she knew that. Joey might have been there, ready to grill her about the motivation for her visit, and it was not as though she had much time to spare anyway, considering Richard was right outside with the engine running. But even if a kiss or an embrace was out of the question, just seeing that face would have been something. By now she missed him so much would take whatever meager contact she could get.
Sadly, Apartment 19 had lain in dark silence, and nobody answered the door. She could only assume that Chandler was still out with his colleagues, so she had made her way downstairs shrouded in a thick cloud of gloom.
On Christmas Eve she and Richard had traveled with Ross and Ben to Long Island to have lunch with her parents, so there was no hope of accidentally running into Chandler then.
She had spent most of that day existing very much inside of her own head, distracted, solemn-faced, and somewhat lethargic, more evidence that she was malnourished, according to Judy. Funnily enough, on this occasion, her mother was not far wrong: Monica was indeed missing something vital.
When her dad took Richard and Ross to the garage to show them the new power washer he had just bought, and was inexplicably excited by, a surge of motivation had taken Monica by force. Left suddenly alone she had leapt into action, seizing the opportunity to steal away to the guest bedroom in search of the phone.
She needed to hear his voice so badly; just a few words would have been enough; enough to get her through Christmas, at least; but there was no reply, and she was left disappointed and watery-eyed once again.
She hoped the fact that Chandler was so hard to pin down meant that he was keeping himself busy and sociable, instead of moping around and feeling blue.
It was no secret that the holidays were a triggering time for Chandler; memories of familial togetherness are seldom rose-tinted with nostalgia when you grew up with parents who were constantly at each other's throats; and Monica hated to think of him stewing all alone.
She also hated to think of him being pawed at by hot Australian dancers, but that was her own issue, and something she knew she was just going to have to push to the back of her mind.
When Christmas morning finally arrived, Monica was the first to wake, and she eased herself carefully from the sheets to avoid waking Richard.
It was strange, but even though she faced another sorrowful day of being cruelly parted from Chandler, and despite the depressing knowledge that Christmas would be spent tolerating Richard's family, while they barely tolerated her, as Monica tiptoed from the bedroom and settled by her elegantly decorated Christmas tree, with her dog at her side and a mug of piping hot coffee warming her hands, she still felt the tiniest unwilling fizz of festive excitement.
She did not know if it was the evocative fragrance of the pine, or that rare blanket of quiet that only ever managed to mute the thrum of the city on the most special days of the year, but against all odds, an indefinable shred of Christmas magic lingered somewhere deep inside of her. A hangover from a childhood of holidays well spent, she supposed.
Monica's formative years might have presented their own special brand of parental challenges, but she had never had to force down turkey and candied yams in the middle of a bitterly toxic field of conflict like Chandler had.
Another surge of yearning pulsed hard through her core.
She rolled the pendant of her necklace between her thumb and her index finger and wished so hard that she could hold him tight, tell him how much she loved him, and make him believe that all of his holidays from here on in would be every bit as merry and bright as he deserved. She wished he could feel how unyielding, and ferocious, and powerful her love for him was, and she squeezed her eyes closed in concentration, just in case she had telepathic capabilities that lay as yet undiscovered, imagining his face when the heat of her devotion coursed through his chest without warning.
Her hand moved from her necklace and she reached for the phone.
Screw Joey and his suspicions, there was nothing untoward about one friend calling another friend on Christmas Day.
"Merry Christmas honey!"
She jumped as a hair-covered forearm suddenly encircled her from behind, a hand sliding across her chest and gripping her by shoulder, and she felt the prickle of a mustached kiss land on the top of her head.
"God Richard! Don't sneak up on me like that!" she chastised with a gasp, steadying the mug of coffee that had come dangerously close to sloshing all over her lap.
"I'm sorry," he chuckled, cuddling her tighter still, and moving his kiss to her cheek, "Who are you calling?"
"Oh.. just Ross" she lied, retracting her hand from the phone.
"It's a little early isn't it?" he pointed out, as he glanced down at his watch.
"Yeah, I guess it is. I hadn't noticed the time," she conceded, trying to temper her panic when he swept her hair to one side and pressed a series of disconcertingly hungry, moist kisses against her neck.
"So early, that maybe we should just head back to bed for a while?" he suggested between nuzzles, his hand drifting from her shoulder and finding its way to fondle her breast, a low hum of desire resonating in his throat when his thumb grazed over her nipple.
She squirmed free of his grasp as her flesh turned immediately to ice.
"I really don't have time. I still have to wrap Steve's present, and I offered to bring a dessert over to Michelle's, so I need to sort that out" she excused, tightening the belt of her robe more securely, well aware that the words were spilling from her mouth in a frenetic ramble, "And I need to wash my hair... "
He sat down next to her, exhaling slowly as he attempted to disguise his frustration.
"Do you have time to open your Christmas presents? Or is your festive schedule too packed for that too? " he asked in a soft, sad voice.
"Of course not" she breathed, with a somewhat stiff smile, "That would be nice. I'll find yours too".
She scrabbled hastily away from the sofa and began rummaging through the gifts stacked beneath the tree in search of the presents she had brought for Richard.
Her eagerness might have appeared excited and childlike, but in reality, Monica's haste was solely driven by her desire to escape her husband's unforeseen amorous advances.
In general, ceasing all physical relations with Richard had been easier and had caused fewer issues than she might have imagined. The injuries she had sustained back in the fall had enforced a natural sexual hiatus that began long before she and Chandler had even come close to falling into each other's arms, and since then, Monica had become something of an expert at making her way to bed with lightening speed and stealth, ensuring that she was always tucked up tight, and feigning realistic-looking sleep by the time Richard joined her in the bedroom.
There had been a few mornings where she had woken with a start, his body spooning hers, and his hands beginning to wander, but on those occasions it had been easy enough to find an excuse to dissuade his advances, and slip away to the locked sanctuary of the bathroom.
Over the past few days, however, Richard had unexpectedly upped the ante. Talk of resuming their attempts to start a family had made her feel decidedly uneasy, and she had noticed that the amount of physical affection he had been bestowing upon her had really ramped up a notch, and Monica just could not bear it.
Her bond with Chandler was so complete, so all-encompassing, that it was increasingly difficult for her to tolerate even the most benign of Richard's touches now, it all felt so very wrong. It was wrong. And it was becoming ever more obvious that she had to put an urgent end to this whole charade.
She handed Richard his stack of presents and watched patiently as he opened them. They were gifts of a practical nature; a new shirt, some expensive golf shoes he had asked for, his favorite cologne; but she still wondered if he would be able to keep them. Guilt soured her stomach as she silently imagined that over the coming weeks he would most likely seek to purge himself of all worldly goods that reminded him of his cheating ex-wife.
"Are they the right ones?" she asked of the golf shoes, "I took advice from Dad, so you can blame him if not".
"They're exactly what I wanted. Thank you honey."
His delight appeared genuine and she ensured that her eyes and lips were closed tight as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her in thanks.
Tilly had grabbed a piece of wrapping paper from Richard's lap and was shredding it with comical enthusiasm, so they both paused to chuckle at her antics before Monica began the shameful business of opening her gifts, desperately hoping that there would be nothing too meaningful or sentimental amongst them.
It started off well with some fancy shower gel and body cream, but Monica felt incredibly guilty when she unwrapped a box from one of her favorite jewelry stores. Concealed within were some classic gold hoop earrings: simple; understated; something she definitely would have worn. She felt duly terrible.
"They're really lovely, Richard. Thank you." she managed to choke, keeping her face lowered as he pulled her close before handing her a final gift.
She peeled away the wrapping paper with trembling fingers. This one was worse than the earrings.
The mere sight of the branding of a well-known lingerie designer provoked a ripple of nausea, and that ripple turned into a tidal wave when she opened the box and examined the lacy crimson basque and thong that Richard had picked out for her. What a statement of intent.
She could feel his eyes boring into her, demanding the reaction she was trying so hard to keep interred. She knew that she had to say something, but she had no idea what.
"It's uh... really pretty".
Was that OK? Probably not.
"I can't wait to see you in it..."
His lips found her neck, and she gasped when she felt his teeth brush her skin.
"Do you think you might wear it today?"
She stood up and took a step away, with an awkward chuckle.
"No? Would you like to eat a huge Christmas dinner at your in-laws place, whilst wearing a corset?"
He returned an amused smirk as he rose to his feet, sliding her body flush against his own with arms that might have been tender, but that to Monica, felt like restraints. Somehow the room was being stripped of oxygen, and her chest seemed to be compressing. Her ribcage heaved in panicked response.
"Well later then? Or better yet you could go put it on right now?"
His mouth was all over her, his fingers tugging her robe from her shoulders with passionate determination.
"I don't want to, Richard! I already told you, I don't have time!"
Monica's voice was loud and shrill, the push to his chest was firm, and Richard leapt back from her as if she had burst into flames.
She felt like she had.
The air between them was so brittle it might shatter with a single utterance, so neither spoke a word, each staring back into the other's wide, stricken eyes, temporarily mute.
Monica's lips parted.
It almost burst out.
All of it.
It's over between us.
I don't love you anymore.
I'm leaving and I want a divorce.
But she couldn't do it. Not like this. She couldn't shout it in his face, in a fit of panic, on Christmas morning, like some shiny-lipped, bouncy blow-dried super-bitch from "Days of Our Lives".
One more day.
She just had to get through today.
In the end it was Richard who spoke first.
"Do you think you'll ever want to?" he asked.
His voice was eerily calm but a wildness lingered in his eyes.
"It's been months, Monica ..."
Their unblinking gazes were still fused together.
"Maybe later"
"I've just been tired"
"Things have just been a little crazy lately"
An array of appeasements and placations flitted through her mind, but Monica had neither the energy nor the inclination for another lie.
"I know." She eventually croaked, tying her robe with numb fingers as she dashed from the room.
Ross had set an early alarm so that he could dash over to Carol and Susan's place and spend an hour or two soaking in the magic of his son's festive excitement, before leaving the three of them to enjoy the rest of their day.
As he locked up his apartment he did not even bother to knock on Joey and Chandler's door, there was no sign of life, and Ross knew full well that it would be a much slower start to Christmas Day in Apartment 19.
Just as Ross had assumed, Joey was still sleeping soundly, the gentle rattle of his soft, rhythmic snore was the only sound that could be heard in the whole place, apart from the constant electronic hum of the refrigerator.
Chandler, although quiet, had been resting rather more fretfully, waking at half hourly intervals since around 7:00 am. Frustratingly, his body was so used to being roused at that time by his work alarm it was actually a bit of a challenge for him to sleep in these days, but he gallantly persisted and managed to drift in and out of tense, dreamless half-slumber until around 10:30 am, before giving up entirely.
He would have slept for far longer if he could have. In fact, in an ideal world, he would have slept his way through the entire festive period, hibernating like a weary bear, only waking when he could be sure that both Christmas, and Monica's marriage were all done and dusted.
He hated that they had not seen or heard from one another at all on Christmas Eve, and he knew he would hate not seeing her today even more.
Chandler had endured some pretty crappy holidays in his time; in fact, he was well-renowned for his resolutely unthankful approach to Thanksgiving; but he was beginning to think that the way he was feeling right now, this had the potential to be his most miserable Christmas yet.
The only holidays in living memory that Chandler had ever come close to enjoying, had been those spent huddled around Monica's kitchen table with their friends.
All of those golden years she had quietly soothed and indulged him, providing company and warmth, cooking him his own special, non-Thanksgiving meal, with neither fanfare nor complaint, and in doing so, she had shown him more love and consideration than anybody else ever had. And that was before they were even in a relationship. God, he loved her so much it made his whole body ache, and he wanted to cry into his pillow.
Even the worst holiday spent with Monica was a thousand times better than any he had spent without her. Hell, he'd probably let her slice off another one of his toes, right here, right now, if it meant he got to see her face.
He threw his arms behind his head and gave a loud sigh, his eyes glazing over as he stared listlessly up at the ceiling.
He did have the videotape they had made, of course.
Thinking about it, Monica had explicitly prescribed it as Christmas Day viewing, and he would not want to go against her wishes.
Part of him wondered, momentarily, if he could even face watching it, wondering if it might just make him miss her even more. But he came to the conclusion that he would probably risk it.
Joey was yet to leave for his parents' place, and Chandler could hear him clattering around in the kitchen, so the movie premiere would have to wait, but it was all right there in Chandler's head now, so he decided to stay in bed a while longer and imagine up a little preview.
Even this little foray into fantasy offered only temporary reprieve from his doldrums, and when he finally plodded from his room, and found Joey already showered and changed, ready to leave for his big family lunch, Chandler was still full of pessimism; sullen and slumped.
"Happy Christmas!"
Joey's megawatt smile did nothing to lift Chandler's mood.
"Is it?" he replied, grouchiness personified.
Joey raised his eyebrows, and after a long sigh Chandler eventually managed to return a more reasonable, but still rather grumpy "Merry Christmas, Joe".
"I'm heading out soon" Joey confirmed, "I'll see you and Pheebs at the bar at around 5:30 / 6:00ish."
Chandler nodded, dead-eyed, as he grabbed an almost empty carton of juice from the fridge and poured its entire contents into his mouth.
"What are your plans until then?" Joey asked, his face growing a little stern in the face of Chandler's foul-temper.
"Nothing. I'll probably just watch a movie or something" he muttered, stalking over to his lounger, ready to collapse.
"What's Monica doing?" Joey asked neutrally.
Chandler turned to face him with a scowl. "Why are you asking me that?"
He knew exactly why Joey was asking him that, and his friend's smug shrug only fueled Chandler's irritation.
"I think she and Richard are going to his daughter's place" he informed his roommate "But..you know... she'll probably call round here first".
Joey had not really expected to receive any kind of admission of a Christmas liaison, and his head whipped round, suitably startled, but then Chandler continued sarcastically,
"Yeah, it'll be perfect, you know? Richard can drink tea and exchange holiday cards with Ross, while Monica and I go at it like a couple of bunny rabbits on the kitchen counter..."
Joey rolled his eyes "Yeah, ha ha, very funny man. Joke all ya want, but I know there's something you're not telling me".
Chandler's only response was to scoff and turn on the TV.
Joey observed him from the corner of his eye.
"Anyway, since you're not seeing Stacey anymore, and since there's definitely nothing going on between you and Monica, I'm guessing you'll be working your magic on those dancer girls at the bar later on, huh?"
"Yeah, now who's funny..." Chandler grumbled.
A sudden flash of excitement crossed Joey's face as he skipped off to his bedroom, "Oh, I almost forgot! I got you a little somethin'!"
He returned with a wide beam and thrust a crudely wrapped gift into Chandler's hands.
"Merry Christmas dude!"
Chandler held the parcel close to his ear and gave it a theatrical shake. "Let me guess...is it... a baseball cap with mistletoe on it?"
Joey's jaw dropped in utter astonishment "Yes!" he confirmed delightedly.
"Just what I always wanted," Chandler remarked, a hint of wry amusement tugging at his lips, and his eyes softening somewhat.
"Thanks Joe".
"Wow honey, that was all just fantastic!" Richard complimented his daughter with a satisfied grin, dabbing at his mouth with his holly-patterned napkin as he leaned back in his chair.
Michelle met the general murmur of agreement that reverberated around the festively decorated, candlelit dining table with a modest smile.
Monica rose instinctively from her chair to assist Barbara, who had begun to clear the table, making neat stacks of gravy streaked plates.
"We have dessert to come yet," Michelle reminded her father, placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder, and telling him with an indulgent smile "Mom made her famous chocolate mousse".
Another appreciative hum enlivened the room.
"Oh, I didn't think I could manage another thing, but I can always find room for Barbara's mousse!" remarked Richard's sister, Carol, throwing her former sister-in-law the fondest of smiles.
Carol and her always silent, constantly overlooked husband Keith, were a late addition to this Burke family gathering, and when Monica had found out they were coming, her enthusiasm for Christmas had plummeted to a whole new level of grimness.
Richard's sister had about as much time for Monica as his children did, and the dour-mouthed woman had resolutely ignored her from the moment she had walked through the door.
In stark contrast, she had greeted Barbara with a prolonged, teary-eyed embrace, telling her over and over how much she was missed, and the foul glance that briefly landed on Monica was a strong, if unspoken, indication that she was held in some way responsible for Barbara's absence from the Burke family fold.
Michelle always acted in the exact same way, and the crucial detail that Richard's marriage to Barbara had ended long before he and Monica had even crossed paths, seemed to be roundly dismissed as completely irrelevant.
When Barbara and Monica returned from the kitchen and took their seats at the cleared table, Michelle proudly presented the mousse her mother had made, while Steve made his way around the room, handing out bowls and spoons.
"Oh wait" he suddenly paused and pondered, "Didn't Monica make that tart thing too? Will we need plates and forks for that?"
Monica's awkward gaze dropped down to her lap. She was not sure if Michelle had forgotten about the dessert she had made, or deliberately neglected to offer it as an option, but either way, Monica had no intention of drawing attention to it.
"Oh... yeah..."
The trace of spite in the glare Michelle directed at her husband confirmed her intent.
Steve trotted obliviously towards the kitchen to retrieve the alternative dessert and suitable crockery, and when he returned and placed it on the table Barbara examined Monica's creation with an admiration that appeared genuine.
"What is this, Monica? It looks delicious."
Monica responded with a grateful smile.
"It's an Italian lemon tart called "Torta della Nonna". My friend's mom gave me the recipe."
Joey might have been a thorn in Monica's side this week, but just picturing his face made her eyes prickle with emotional tears. In that moment, she would have given anything to have been back in her old kitchen, exhausted from hosting, but completely at ease, sharing laughter and wine with her favorite people in the world.
"Lemon tart? That's an interesting choice for Christmas. It sounds rather summery." Carol remarked, her grey eyes lofty, and her nose in the air.
Michelle had already served her father a bowl of Barbara's mousse; Monica hadn't heard her give him a choice, but he didn't object; though when she began to spoon some out for her mother, Barbara placed a hand on Michelle's arm.
"I think I'll try some tart, please honey. I like the idea of something citrussy after a rich meal."
Monica tried to control a wobble in her chin. She had always liked Mrs Burke, ever since the day she had wrapped her teary, eight year old self in a towel, and lavished her with hugs and candy, when she had taken a kick to the face and a lungful of water in the Burke family swimming pool.
Michelle's eyes narrowed as she sliced into the tart.
"I know you'll want some mousse," She addressed her husband, as she began to spoon a healthy portion into his bowl.
"Oh yes indeed! I never say no to Barbara's mousse!" Steve enthused, stretching his arms, then rubbing at his belly, as he prepared to tackle his dessert, "And stick a slice of Mon's tart in there too, please."
"In the same bowl?" Michelle asked haughtily, her nose wrinkled with disapproval.
"Yeah why not? It's all going down the same pipe" Steve shot Monica a cheeky grin, ignoring the roll of his wife's eyes and the venom barely contained by her tightly pursed lips.
Chandler's mind had been going constantly back and forth: The longer his solitary Christmas of sweatpants, and trashy TV, and potato chips, and endlessly rewinding homemade porn, had perpetuated, the less inclined he felt to shower and change and drag his sad, pathetic bones to a bar to watch a bunch of happy people enjoying themselves.
He had so nearly called the Tribbiani residence on a number of occasions, ready to tell Joey that he was going to stay home and give the party a miss, but ultimately, Phoebe had been kind enough to extend her Christmas Day plans to him, and he did not want to disappoint her.
Abandoned by her father, before her mother took her own life, and then forced to live on the streets by the tender age of fourteen, Phoebe was the one person in their group who had endured a childhood of holidays that were indisputably more traumatic than Chandler's own, and she had even fewer and even less stable remaining close family links.
There may have been parallels to be drawn between their chaotic childhoods, but fundamentally Chandler knew that his own story paled into the trope of the "poor little rich boy" when compared with what Phoebe had lived through, and yet she remained one of the most positive humans he knew.
Chandler was constantly in awe of her resilience, and that was what ultimately shamed him into getting himself washed and dressed, ready to venture out into the cold, and wander awkwardly into the dimly lit, sticky-floored bar full of strangers that was to host Phoebe's friend's Christmas party.
As his eyes scanned the room, he could not help but smirk: Joey really was going to think all of his Christmases had come at once when he arrived and saw this crowd. It was at least 80 percent female and 100 percent lithe-limbed, well-toned and graceful of posture. Well, until Chandler walked in, at least.
He heaved a sigh of relief when Phoebe's blonde head shone out to him like a beacon of light through this sea of intimidating physical perfection, and he jostled his way through the melee of athletic bodies to get to her.
"Hey Chandler!" she dragged him into a warm hug before introducing him to the people she was standing with.
Chandler was focusing so hard on trying not to look socially inept or weird, as he greeted the three women with what was hopefully an easy and affable smile, that he instantly forgot all of their names.
That immediate failure left him feeling already a little daunted by the idea of small-talk, so he quickly offered to buy a round of drinks, looking forward to the relative solitude he would be afforded by standing at the bar, but privately acknowledging that if that was the only survival mechanism he could come up with, this was going to turn into an expensive night.
It came as something of a relief when two of the women declined his offer, and he sloped off to buy drinks for himself, Phoebe, and the girl with red hair. Hayley, maybe? Or Kayley?
He took his time, queuing with patience, and zoning out, the thud of the non-descript music competing with the babble of faintly Australian-twanged chatter, and it all melded to white noise in his head.
He began to wonder what Monica was doing right now, but then Richard's face appeared in his mind, and his lungs felt crushed, so instead, he just tried to imagine what it would be like if she was here with him.
Better.
Immeasurably so.
If Monica was here, she would have acted as the necessary bridge between him and the rest of this crowd. Nowhere was too intimidating for Monica, she could fit in anywhere she needed to with that beautiful face, and her easy charm, and her sophisticated conversational skills, but he knew that she would have happily hung back in a corner with him, observing, finding humor, and they could have entertained one another for hours on end with their sarcastic witticisms. He sighed through an aching pain in his ribcage. He loved to make her laugh. He loved every last inch of her.
A hand on his shoulder took him by surprise and he turned to see Joey's predictably exhilarated face. Even as he began speaking with Chandler, his brown eyes were roaming the room, moving from pretty dancer to pretty dancer, fraught with the overwhelmed panic of a child in a candy store who has been told they are allowed to buy just one thing.
Chandler added a beer for Joey to his drinks order and the two of them navigated their way back towards Phoebe, Joey managing to instigate smouldering eye contact with at least three different women en route.
Hayley / Kayley had taken a seat, so Chandler placed her vodka diet coke on the table in front of her with a polite smile, and went to stand with his friends.
"I can't believe I forgot my hat!" Joey wailed, looking genuinely devastated as he addressed Chandler, "Did you remember yours?"
Chandler gave an exaggerated sigh and brought a palm to his forehead "Ah shoot! I knew there was something!"
If Monica had been here, that would have made her smirk, and he would have glanced towards her all ready to catch the wry twinkle in her cobalt eyes.
"You're doing alright without your hat!" Phoebe interjected with a pointed grin.
Chandler assumed she was talking to Joey, and twitched with astonishment when he realized she was looking at him.
"Hayley, thinks you're really cute!"
Still might have been Kayley; the music in here was too loud.
Phoebe pointed out the redhead to a curious Joey, who looked duly impressed, and they were all forced to grace the woman with an awkward smile when she sensed their mutual gaze and looked up.
She smiled back, her amber eyes flickering around the group, landing heavily on Chandler before dropping demurely to her drink. She looked back at him again as she wrapped her plush lips around the duo of tiny black straws that poked from her glass.
Chandler felt his cheeks grow warm as Joey regarded him with interest.
"She's pretty!" he remarked "You should go talk to her!"
Chandler's stutter and headshake was willfully ignored.
"Come on, Chandler. You have to put the whole "Stacey" thing behind you, I mean, she's married! That's never going to end well."
"Stacey's married?" Phoebe's jaw dropped as she looked at Chandler with incredulity.
"Yes. But it's all over with her now anyway." Chandler dismissed, keen to avoid another Stacey related discussion, or any romantic discussion at all really.
"Oh wait!" Joey interrupted smugly, pleased to be able to expose a flaw in Chandler's ever more complicated narrative. "She's not actually married, is she? Remember? You told me she was engaged..."
"Well, yeah... Engaged to be married" Chandler fumbled, looking away as he took a quick swig of his beer.
"Huh...Must have been thinking about somebody else... " Joey arched an eyebrow, flexing his cunning powers of deduction with the cool, self-satisfaction of a TV detective on the cusp of solving a crime.
"So, let's go sit down!" Phoebe suggested, placing a hand on Chandler's elbow ready to steer him towards Hayley / Kayley.
"I don't think so." Chandler met Phoebe's assertive gaze with nervous eyes.
"Why not?"
"Yeah, why not, Chandler?" Joey pushed harder.
Because I'm in love with Monica!
He was hardly going to crack and shout it out in the middle of a bar was he. Who the hell did Joey think he was?
The two men stared obstinately at each other until Phoebe gave an impatient roll of her eyes.
"Oh come on, Chandler! Don't worry, I've already warned her about the whole "funny" thing!" Phoebe actually made air quotes, "And she's totally fine with it".
That would have made Monica smirk too.
"Are you sure Michelle won't mind her being in here?" Monica asked doubtfully as Steve led an excitable Tilly into the kids' playroom by her collar.
As soon as dinner had finished, Monica had wasted no time in escaping the dining room with Steve and the children to help Henry to set up his new Scalextric set, leaving the other adults to drink coffee and brandy next door. Tilly had been locked in the laundry room throughout dinner and her sad whines had become just too much for Steve to bear.
The little dog bounced around the room, delighted to be freed from her lengthy solitary confinement, giving everything in her path an exploratory sniff, leaping all over Monica and Steve, and eliciting a sunny squeal from Henry as she greeted him with a lick to the ear.
"Do you want anything to eat?" asked Steve, "I'm gonna get a little more dessert"
"No thanks!" Monica laughed in amazement and gave a disbelieving shake of her head. Steve was the only person she had ever met who had an appetite that could rival Joey's, and she had no idea how he managed to stay so lean and lanky.
Henry handed Monica a controller so that they could begin another race.
"Can I please have the Porsche this time?" she asked him teasingly, knowing that there was absolutely no way Henry would relinquish his favorite car under any circumstance.
"No way!" he giggled, slotting the slightly inferior Mercedes onto her portion of the track "I'm sorry, but Santa said that one was just mine!"
As Monica had feared, the whizzing and whirring of the toy cars sent Tilly crazy, and she chased around the track, yapping and attempting the occasional snap at the offending vehicles. Monica was about to apologize on her pet's behalf and suggest re-imprisoning her, but both Henry and baby Leah, who had settled on Steve's lap, began to roar with laughter, highly appreciative of the little dog's antics.
"We have another fan of your lemon tart here," Steve remarked to Monica, as Leah opened her mouth wide, a silent instruction for her father to spoon in more of the dessert. She was only 15 months old but she took after her father in both looks and appetite.
As the racing continued, Monica and Steve became ever more competitive, the dog and the children grew wilder, and the laughter and barks got louder. Leah eventually began to imitate Tilly, crawling around the track and attempting to grab at the cars with her chubby, dimpled hands, while Henry shrieked at both baby and dog.
Monica nearly rolled her eyes when Michelle walked in with a surly pout, they were all having too much fun and it was inevitable that Michelle would find it necessary to object to such exuberance.
"Steve, can you please put the dog back in the laundry room?" she asked, hands on hips, refusing to look at Monica but making it quite clear that most of her disapproval was firmly directed at her, "It's only a matter of time before one of the kids gets scratched or bitten with it running around all excited like that."
"Oh come on babe! They're having fun! She's a spaniel, not a doberman!" Steve assuaged with a relaxed grin that had no effect at all on his wife.
"It's fine, I'll take her back out there, I'm going to walk her soon anyway", Monica muttered, handing her controller over to Henry.
As she reached for Tilly's collar, she noticed that Leah had come to a stop and looked suddenly red-cheeked and a little unwell, her pudgy hands balled into fists as she rubbed furiously at her eyes. Monica dipped her head in concern, observing the child more closely "Is Leah OK?" she asked turning to Steve, "She looks like she might be getting sick..."
Steve picked the baby up by her armpits and peered into her face.
"Yeah, her eyes are all red and she sounds a little wheezy," he agreed "She seems a little... allergic."
Monica's heart sank. It was bound to be Tilly.
Michelle whipped her daughter from Steve's arms and inspected her closely, pulling up the sleeves of her sweater.
"She's covered in hives!" she told him accusingly.
"I'll go get the antihistamine" Steve mumbled, examining the little girl's arms in concern.
"Has she eaten anything new?" demanded Michelle "This is how she looks when she's eaten eggs!"
Monica swallowed hard and she winced.
"Steve, she ate some of the tart didn't she? That has egg in it..."
"Oh shit." Steve groaned, "I'll go get the medicine."
Michelle's eyes were incandescent and her cheeks hollowed with anger. Monica pulled the dog onto her lap and kept her gaze low, just waiting for the eruption.
"Why the hell would you feed her that?" Michelle demanded of her husband.
"I didn't know it had egg in it! But you're right, I should have checked. I'm sorry baby girl" he ran an apologetic hand over his daughter's blonde curls.
"I cannot believe this!" Michelle yanked the baby away from him and clasped her itchy little face to her breast, "Just go and get the medicine!"
"Alright, calm down!" Steve warned, "It's not like it's life-threatening is it! She'll be fine!"
"Yeah, I'll remind you of that when the puking starts! We have about ten minutes until she vomits up her entire lunch!" Michelle snapped.
"I'm really sorry, I totally forgot she was allergic, or I would have warned Steve," Monica eventually mumbled.
This was all the excuse Michelle needed to round on her, and Monica immediately regretted saying a word.
"Well, why would you remember?" she asked sarcastically, "It's not like you've ever shown the slightest bit of interest in her or Henry."
Monica rose to her feet, dusting off her dress, and she spoke calmly, very aware of Henry's wide eyes moving worriedly between them both.
"That's really unfair, Michelle," she said quietly, grateful to see Richard and Barbara appear at the door. She hoped that their arrival might diffuse their daughter's rage.
Sensing the tension in the room, Barbara quickly held out her hand to her grandson and gave him the kind of huge smile that adults always think will fool small children into believing that everything is OK, "Why don't you come with me, honey? We can read that book Santa gave to you".
Michelle continued to glower at Monica, apparently not even registering her parents' arrival in the room.
"Am I really being unfair, Monica? I mean, you take that nephew of yours out enough, skating, the movies... When do you ever offer to take my kids? Too embarrassed to be a Grandma in public?"
Michelle's eyes were vicious and mocking, and she continued to clasp the baby dramatically, angling Leah well away from Monica, as if she presented some sort of physical threat to the child.
"That's unfair and it's untrue! I would have loved to have taken Henry ice-skating, but there's no way you would have let me!" Monica's voice cracked with emotion, "You've always kept me at arms length, Michelle! You know you have! You never let me near those kids! I never even got to hold Leah until she was about 3 months old!"
"Well, now you know why! This just shows you can't be trusted. You have no idea when it comes to children, do you!"
Monica was determined that this spiteful woman was not going to make her cry, and she blinked back the heat that scorched the backs of her eyes, her gaze seeking out Richard, who continued to stand mute and grave-eyed in the corner.
Steve pushed his way back into the room and he began to spoon medicine into Leah's reluctant lips, before taking the baby into his arms. He was such a jovial man by nature that it was quite unsettling to see him so stony-faced, and Monica was glad that Henry was nowhere near.
"I'm so sorry about this, Monica" Steve said pointedly, turning away from Michelle to face her directly, "This was completely my fault, Leah is my kid, she's my responsibility, and I should have asked you if the tart contained eggs. None of this is on you, alright?"
Steve's robust defense only served to highlight the impotence of Richard's response to his daughter's bile, and Monica glanced towards him once more, but he continued to look at the floor.
"Don't apologize for me, Steve!" Michelle growled, "And you're both to blame for this! You're both as irresponsible as each other! We saw that at my brother's 30th birthday party, didn't we? Don't tell her it's not on her! I mean, who brings a dessert containing eggs over to a house where somebody is allergic? She's completely self-absorbed!"
"I'll bet your mom's mousse has eggs in it!" Monica fumed.
"Well, she didn't feed it to my baby, did she?"
"I didn't feed anything to your baby!"
Richard finally intervened "Right come on, I think everybody just needs to calm down a little bit."
"I'm going to take Leah upstairs," Steve mumbled as he sloped out of the room with the red-cheeked baby whimpering softly in his arms.
"Take a vomit bowl with you!" Michelle commanded furiously.
Richard approached his daughter and took her gently by the shoulders "Look sweetie, I know you've had a really busy, stressful day. Why don't you make yourself some tea and go sit with Mom and Henry for a while. Steve will take care of Leah. She'll be just fine, try not to worry".
Michelle's face crumpled and she swiped the tears from her eyes with a flamboyant sweep of her arm, her face full of martyrdom as she nodded her agreement to her father's words and headed towards the door.
She could not resist firing a petulant parting shot over her shoulder "Can we please get that dog out of here".
Richard turned to face his wife's fierce glare with a degree of trepidation.
"Don't worry. Me and the dog are both getting out of here." Monica's voice was low and dangerous.
"Come on, Monica, you can understand why she got upset..."
"What I can't understand, Richard, is how you could just stand there and let her speak to me that way! I mean, no matter what is going on between us, there is no way I would let a member of my family publicly humiliate you like that!"
She hated that red hot tears began to spill from her eyes as she spoke but she could not hold them back any longer.
"She wasn't trying to humiliate you," Richard continued in a patronizingly calm tone, "When you have kids and they get sick, you get so worried, it can make you act a little crazy...It's hard to understand what that's like until you have kids of your own."
His words were an invisible punch that landed right in her stomach and expelled all of the air from her body. She was gobsmacked that not only could he say such a thing, but worse, that even after his words had landed and wounded, he still seemed to see no problem with what he had just said. She was so astonished by his lack of sensitivity that she almost laughed, but instead she just gaped back at him, not making a sound.
"I'm leaving now", she finally managed to whisper, "I can't look at you any more. Do not come after me".
"Where are you going?" he sighed.
"I have no idea". She really didn't.
Richard shook his head and gave an incoherent murmur of complaint but he let her go without too much of a fight. She fumbled with her coat and the dog's lead, before opening the front door with trembling fingers, while he watched on in silence.
She clenched her teeth painfully as she stalked along the sidewalk with Tilly trotting at her feet, until her vision became so blurred by tears that she had to stop and lean against a wall.
The stillness of the streets, that had seemed faintly magical this morning, felt just plain eerie now, and the tears that streaked her cheeks made her feel more vulnerable still. And so very alone.
Chandler, Phoebe and Joey were all at some party, and she had no idea where it was. Ross was at Sophie's, and Monica had no clue where she lived either. Rachel was still skiing. And home did not feel like an option right now. In fact, it didn't even feel like home.
She looked down into the anxious eyes of her dog and a sob erupted from her throat.
Hayley / Kayley could really talk.
It was a good thing actually, because Phoebe and Joey had left her and Chandler to it, and her verbal onslaught meant that he could just sit, and drink beer, without having to offer anything much beyond the occasional smile or nod.
Joey had been casting frequent inquisitive glances in their direction at first, but as soon as he embroiled himself with a dancer of his own, his keen interest in Chandler's love life had drifted and then dropped off a cliff.
Chandler had learned that Hayley / Kayley had grown up on the outskirts of Sydney with three younger brothers, that she had discovered a love of contemporary dance as a teenager, after a childhood of learning ballet, and that her other great love was surfing. She adored the ocean, it was essential to her very soul, and she was finding it really hard being here in the city, away from the beach. She had heard that there were spots suitable for surfing off Long Island, and she would really love to head over to check it out one day, and maybe grab some lunch? Her wide amber eyes and coy smile had seemed to seek suggestions as to how she might achieve this, and Chandler had thought he was being helpful when he had given her the details of an efficient and reasonably-priced car hire company, and a little information on buses, but she had seemed disappointed by his response.
Things became less comfortable when she started to ask him about his own childhood, of course. He had given away the bare minimum, but still, it was impossible for Chandler to mention either his mother, his father, or his school without betraying a little of his residual trauma, and Hayley / Kayley had gazed back at him with large mournful eyes.
They really were quite extraordinary eyes. Chandler had never seen eyes quite that color before: a rich but pale amber, flecked with gold; they reminded him a little of a lion.
They were eyes that he imagined had probably beguiled many a man, but the only effect they had on Chandler was to set off a painful surge of pining; mainly because they were so startlingly different to Monica's.
Monica's eyes were the most beautiful eyes Chandler had ever seen; there was no doubt about that. Framed so perfectly, with her long lashes and well-shaped dark brows, he had never come across eyes so clear, and so intelligent, and he just loved that ready glimmer of impishness that danced never too far from the surface of those sapphire pools. They were kind eyes too, and he often found himself just gazing at her, wondering how it was possible that eyes of such astonishing glacial blue could hold such incredible warmth.
Perhaps this yearning had made him look even more sad and wistful, because Hayley / Kayley began to touch him; resting occasional sympathetic fingertips on his thigh, or lightly stroking the back of his hand. This made him squirm with unease, and then the lion eyes had darkened and grown suddenly more intense, and Chandler knew he was out of his depth.
He made his excuses and headed away from her to get a drink.
It was getting more challenging to reach the bar now, the dancers had started dancing, and there was very little in the way of unoccupied floor space. As Chandler attempted to push his way through he felt a warm body pressing itself against his back, and when he turned in surprise, Hayley / Kayley slid her arms around his waist.
"Shall we have a dance?" she asked flirtatiously, flashing a perfect pearly white grin.
"Oh, I don't dance," Chandler assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder, and easing her gently away.
"Everybody should dance!" she objected, pushing her pelvis right up to his and looping her arms around his neck, her lion eyes and bright white smile moving far too close to his face. "Come on, don't be shy. I'll show you".
"Woah! Back off Missy!"
He surprised himself with that one. Missy? He wasn't used to this kind of thing.
She raised her eyebrows as he took a very obvious step back from her and edged away from the dancing. She followed him, looking a little stunned.
She clearly wasn't used to this kind of response from men either.
"Look, I know Phoebe probably told you I was single, but it's actually all pretty complicated for me right now, and I'm not looking for any kind of relationship" Chandler explained with careful diplomacy, that he hoped would not arouse suspicion if his words were relayed to Phoebe.
"Nobody told me you were single," she shrugged and flicked her glossy auburn locks over her shoulder, "My situation is actually a little complicated too... But nobody should be alone at Christmas..."
She chanced one last sultry gaze with those astonishing lion eyes.
"Yeah, it sucks to be alone at Christmas", Chandler agreed, an overwhelming sadness dragging at his heart, "But I guess sometimes that's just the way it has to be".
And with that, he was done fighting the alone. Because actually, being alone was infinitely better than being here without Monica.
"I'm gonna take off," he said decisively, "It was nice meeting you, Hayley. Good luck with the rest of the tour."
"It's Kayley." She growled back, with an offended scowl and another disparaging toss of her copper hair, and she prowled away.
Chandler trudged wearily up the stairs at Bedford Street, rummaging around in his pocket, able to hear the jangle of his keys long before his fingers managed to locate and retrieve them. It was a small thing, but it caused him undue frustration and he gave a stressed sigh. He could not stop thinking about Monica; he wanted to think about Monica; but he was simultaneously trying really hard not to wonder what she was doing right now.
The evenings were always the worst, knowing she was most likely home alone with Richard, but today was even harder than usual.
The memory of Rachel telling Phoebe about the Christmas lingerie Richard had bought had suddenly surfaced out of the blue, and was now gnawing at Chandler's mind. He was tying himself up in knots, fighting the endless images that were flitting through his head of Monica trying to fend Richard off, as he tirelessly pestered her to put on a show for him. All he wanted to do was just go over there and whisk her away.
He felt so thoroughly sick by the time he pushed his key into the lock, he had to wonder if solitude was such a good idea after all. Maybe he should have just stayed at the bar.
Suddenly he realized that he could hear soft music drifting quietly from his apartment, and he paused for a moment, frowning, before cautiously easing open the door, his mind instantly full of robbers and serial killers. Not that they tended to put on Christmas music to soundtrack their evil deeds.
He did not so much as breathe as he took a moment to scan the room, listening hard. Thankfully, the apartment seemed empty enough, and he realized that he must have just left the TV on. Some old movie or other was playing out in the darkness, a dewy-eyed, red-lipped Judy Garland mournfully crooning "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" to nobody in particular.
He stood still and watched her for a moment, absorbing her words and her loneliness, feeling a stab of sadness so huge and potent that he let out an anguished groan.
He moved towards the fridge to grab a beer when he heard another sound coming from one of the bedrooms. His eyes widened as the murderers reappeared in his head, and he scoured the kitchen surfaces for potential makeshift weapons, but before he could act, the door to his room slowly opened and Tilly emerged, scrabbling and yelping her way towards him as if he was the most exciting sight she had ever seen. As he stared back at those bright little eyes, right there in that moment, the feeling was entirely mutual.
His breath caught in his throat as an anxious and emotional Monica appeared, leaning against his door frame.
"Hi" she breathed, before bursting into a flood of tears.
He jumped over Tilly and flew across the room in a heartbeat, enveloping her tightly in his arms.
"Mon, what happened?"
"Nothing really." She knew he would think that she had finally done what was needed, "I haven't told him, not properly, we just had a big fight."
He ran a soothing hand through her hair and she dissolved a little more.
"I can't go back there, Chandler! I just can't! I can't do any of it anymore."
Her whole body melted into his, and it felt like she was unspooling in his arms, her high-pitched words wet and muffled against his chest.
"I know we said we wouldn't do this, until I told him. I'm sorry. But it's just been such a shitty day, and I didn't know where to go. And I just missed you so much. So much, Chandler, I can't even tell you..."
He held her as tight as he possibly could before bringing his fingers to her jaw and gently coaxing her face towards his, desperate to gaze into those beautiful blue eyes, and make her believe that it would all be OK. Because now that she was here, he knew that it would. He kissed her forehead first, and then her salt-stained cheeks, before using his thumbs to gently brush away the tears that continued to pool and spill freely.
"God, Monica. I'm so glad that you're here. And you don't have to go back there, honey. Not if you don't want to. Just stay here with me. Please stay here with me".
Maybe Richard, and Joey, and Ross, and everybody else would regain their significance at some point in time, but for now as his lips melded with hers, he didn't care about a single one of them. They could all walk in here right now and he wouldn't even pause for breath. Nothing else mattered in the whole world.