A/N Thank you so much to everybody who read and commented on the last chapter!
This one is a bit of a transitional, emotionally-driven one, kind of moving into proper affair territory I guess. Not much Richard in this one and I'm not sure if that's good or bad... Pacing this is tricky, in terms of what's going on with him, but I definitely don't want to rush the evolution of Mondler, as let's face it, they're the main event.
Thanks again to anyone sticking with it!
Monica had spent a pleasant morning alone with her thoughts, strolling at a leisurely pace through the city, admiring the spectacularly adorned holiday window displays that brightened every street. New York was a city in love with Christmas, and it always felt that little bit more magical at this time of the year.
She had not actually shopped for gifts, just wandered and perused, but even so, it was hard not to be swept along with the atmosphere of festive cheer when faced with those twinkling glass-fronted cornucopias of nutcrackers and candy canes and twinkling lights, their sparkle and opulence a promise of joyful abundance to come.
Just a couple of weeks ago, there was no way she could have attempted to brave the hectic melee of pedestrians that swarmed Manhattan in December, but she was finally able to walk without the aid of crutches, and whilst she was having to take it slow, the abandonment of those cumbersome sticks felt tremendously liberating.
However, neither holiday spirit nor recovering ligaments were the reason for the hazy smile that was pasted on her face.
Monica was simply smitten.
Giddy with infatuation. Bursting with the greatest happiness she had ever known. Hopelessly, achingly, swooningly, head-over-heels in love.
She could not stop thinking about him. She was singularly fixated; so completely obsessed that her compulsive mind seemed capable of finding a way to insert him into any given thought process:
Something as simple as an eye-catching tree ornament could immediately spark a prolonged and detailed daydream of how this time next year they would spend Christmas together, decorating their own hand-picked tree; She conjured up idyllic wintery walks, the two of them hand-in-hand in the park, wrapped up snugly and huddled close; and she imagined taking pause, dragging him into her arms, kissing the snowflakes from his eyelashes;
When she spotted a sweater that she thought might make a good Christmas present for Steve or Ross, her eyes quickly misted over as she automatically considered how much better it would look on Chandler, picturing the way the blue cotton would bring out the ocean sparkle of his beautiful eyes; knowing how wonderful the warm solidity of his chest would feel contained within its threads, how she would like to press her face and body against it and breathe him in deep, absorbing every bit of him that she could.
Despite this frequent drift into dreamy preoccupation, Monica's morning of window-shopping had not been entirely unproductive. Like any good chef, she was a proficient multi-tasker, so while yearning for her lover, she had also managed to pay lip service to her supposed real life, creating a list in her head of gifts for almost every family member, Burke and Geller. She had even spotted a few potential items for her friends too, but she would actually only need to buy for one person this year, as the group had decided to do Secret Santa.
In fact, that was her next port of call. They had all arranged to meet at Central Perk at 3:00 pm to pick names and enjoy a quick coffee together, and after that, Monica was scheduled to reconvene with Richard, so that the two of them could visit FAO Schwartz to find gifts for Ben and for Richard's two grandchildren.
Monica had to suppress an ache of desperation when she briefly pictured herself and Chandler excitedly combing those magical toy-filled shelves for gifts from Santa Claus at some unspecified and as yet undiscussed point in the future.
It was only just past 2:00 pm now, but as was normal these days, a small amount of Chandler-related subterfuge was factored into Monica's day.
Weekends were more complicated than weekdays when it came to finding time to spend together, what with Richard being home, so any small opportunity was to be seized with both hands. The fact that both she and Chandler would arrive at Central Perk much earlier than anybody else in order to snatch a few precious moments of alone time was a foregone conclusion they had not even needed to verbalize.
Monica had shocked herself with how easily she had embraced dishonesty of late. She had always considered integrity a personal virtue, and could never have foreseen this rapid descent into routine deceit.
She could not help but worry that when the truth eventually came out, her friends and family might struggle to see past the apparent habitual liar she had become. Would this devious, cheating version of Monica replace the decent woman they all thought they knew, forever? Worse still, would Chandler himself look back on these days and feel he had cause to question her trustworthiness? Would she even doubt herself?
But really, it was not that duplicity came naturally, or felt good, it was just a necessity. Her blossoming relationship with Chandler was everything to Monica, all she had ever wanted, and she would do anything to keep him close. He was every bit as essential to her as the water she drank and the air in her lungs.
She just needed to find an appropriate time to break it to Richard. And she would. Soon.
There had been times when she thought that perhaps she ought to have done things differently; tried harder to resist. When she initially expressed an unwillingness to have an affair, she almost made the foolhardy suggestion that she and Chandler set some physical boundaries while she waited for an opportune moment to end her marriage, thinking they might be able to maintain some semblance of moral rectitude.
But this idea had been both weak and insincere, and really, it was glaringly obvious that theirs was a passion so obliteratingly powerful, it would quickly shove guilt and morality to one side, no matter what they tried to do.
And right now, as she contemplated the warm, homely glow of the coffee house's facade, guilt could not touch her. There was simply no room inside her for that. She was full to the brim, overflowing with thoughts of Chandler. He had infiltrated every pore, the only thing on her mind.
As she approached the door, she was gripped by a heady rush of nervous energy. Whenever they had met in a public place, it had been meticulously selected and rigorously risk-assessed for safety and privacy: An anonymous little cafe in some remote street in Brooklyn, or a forgotten and secluded corner of the park.
So this felt new.
Central Perk was the most familiar of territories, a place where any one of their closest friends might appear at any moment, where even the staff knew their names and their business. The idea of attempting closeness here represented a whole new level of danger that neither of them really knew how to handle.
However, the vague sense of looming consequence was nothing compared to the rapture of this budding romance, and as her eyes came to rest on Chandler's keen, handsome face, Monica fully intended to make the most of this small window of relative privacy, no matter how risky it was.
"Hi"
Finding sufficient breath in her lungs to form even the most rudimentary of greetings was hard work, such was the level of her excitement.
She slowly lowered herself into the armchair, almost a meter away from where he was settled with his coffee and an unread newspaper. Her body was tense and twitchy, clenched like a fist, and the urgent fire in his eyes told her that the physical distance between them was as wholly unacceptable to him as it was to her.
In fact, he was looking at her as if he wanted to eat her alive, and as she stared back at him, stirred and riveted, she felt suddenly very aware of the rapid rise and fall of her chest. A surge of oxygen was feeding wild corners of her mind, stimulating rampant nerve endings to dizzying effect.
When his febrile eyes finally left hers, it was to scan their vicinity, and she knew that he was seeking any potential opportunity for intimacy, no matter how meager or fleeting, so Monica began to do the same.
A fizz of anticipation skimmed her spine when she looked back at him and discerned a flare of wily inspiration in his gaze.
Whatever he was about to suggest, she would be game. That much was certain.
Desire had officially eclipsed any sense of caution.
"You know, all the times I've been here, I don't think I've ever seen inside of that closet."
He nodded towards an inconspicuous door in the corner of the coffeehouse.
His casually delivered observation was anything but benign, and a thrilling darkness pooled in the depth of his eyes.
The smallest hint of a smirk tugged at Monica's lips as she demurely crossed her legs and returned a devilishly nonchalant response, another tingle of excitement rippling across her back.
"I think it's just for cleaning stuff. Maybe you could ask Gunther to show you inside? I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
The lilt of teasing in her tone proved to be every bit as provocative as she had intended, and the look on his face told her that she had successfully ignited a potent urge to wipe the wicked smile from her face in gloriously unholy ways.
"Gunther's taking out the trash. So I thought maybe you could show me."
Chandler's graveled reply reverberated right through her core like an earthquake.
She chewed her lip ponderously, before rising to her feet, unhurried, taunting his smoldering eyes with the arch of an eyebrow and another lightly amused pout.
She sauntered slowly towards the closet, pausing with hands on hips, to examine a framed poster that hung against exposed brickwork on the adjacent wall. Old habits die hard, and her punctilious eyes spotted that it was slightly askew, so she took a little more time to adjust the angle of the frame with exacting fingers, all the while cripplingly aware of the burn of his frustrated gaze, which was trained on her with predatory precision.
She took one final, cursory glance around the oblivious hum of the cafe before pulling the door of the closet ajar, just wide enough to allow her to slip neatly and stealthily into the darkness within.
She eased the door closed behind her and assessed her unglamorous surroundings. The space was cramped but well ordered, containing a small shelving unit neatly stacked with unopened packets of napkins, cleaning cloths and bottles of counter-spray, as well as some larger boxes piled in towers on the floor.
There was a small, dust-smothered window high up, at the rear of the closet that provided just enough light for her to avoid clattering into the mop and bucket that stood near the door, and to be able to find a strip of available wall space among the piles of heavy boxes, resting her back against it as she awaited his arrival, her core alive with an exhilaration of butterflies.
She smiled when she saw the careful, silent shift of the door handle, fervor roiling in her chest.
Chandler's eyes adjusted to the low light as he snuck inside to join her, and for one heart-stopping second, they froze, scanning each other from head to toe with fevered eyes before their bodies collided and their lips met with a desperate passion she had never before dreamed possible.
Monica had foolishly thought that one breathtaking clinch would be enough, that holding him close, dissolving into his kiss, would be sufficient to sustain them through this group coffee date, and until their next opportunity to be together properly.
But this was a kiss that was gaining powerful momentum, there was something dangerous and dominating in the way his lips claimed hers that told her that Chandler had more in mind.
When she felt one of his hands gripping her rear, the other forcing its way between their bodies, tugging open the button of her jeans and sliding beneath the waistband, it became apparent that an escalation was imminent, and a rush of pure excitement emerged as a low moan into his kiss.
His left hand moved to lift and drag at the frustrating layers of fabric that kept him from her flesh, and his lips descended, first delighting the warm, sensitive skin on her neck, then moving to her breast.
The smooth glide of his finger, right down her center, drew a sharp gasp and a shudder, and the closet and the coffee shop completely vanished from her mind, her awareness narrowing to nothing more than the circling glissade of his light fingers, his soft but adamant lips, the heat of his body pressed solidly against hers.
She began to writhe under the mesmeric skill of his fingertips, struggling and arching against him, and he broke away just enough to be able to gaze upon the exquisite contortions of her face; watching in fascination through the dim light as she reacted to every stroke and fondle, enraptured by the way she moved in synchrony with the rhythm of his hand.
He found her pleasure utterly hypnotic and when his finger slipped inside of her and her eyes drifted closed, he heard his own breath hitch along with hers.
"God, you're beautiful" he murmured, his teeth grazing her neck, "I love you so much."
The fact that she was already too lost and incoherent to respond pleased him more than reciprocal words of endearment ever could.
The movement of her hips signaled a demand for more, and when she felt the curl of a second finger, electricity surged through her veins.
As she pushed desperately against his palm he looked deeply into her eyes, his own face relaxing in blissful satisfaction as he savored the eventual glaze of her eyes, the clench of her thighs around his wrist, and the ecstatic flood of heat at his fingertips. Suddenly remembering where they were, he moved his ardent lips quickly back to hers to absorb her accompanying cry.
The arms she threw around his neck were as adoring as they were in need of support, and he felt her body become slack against his chest, her breath hard and hot at his ear.
"Oh my God, Chandler. How do you do this to me?"
Those masterful fingers became chaste and nurturing; taming her tousled hair and adjusting the disorder of her clothes as he peppered tender kisses across her damp brow.
"Do you want to go out there first?" he whispered, bright-eyed and invigorated, "Or shall I?"
She pulled back and fixed him with a glinting smile.
"Whoa, not so fast Bing!" she hissed back, capturing his lips with renewed vigor "We're not going anywhere. What about you?"
The insistent palm that massaged its way up his thigh elicited a gasp that made her lips curl in gratification.
He looked nervously towards the door of the closet, suddenly anxious about their continuing recklessness, worried that by staying any longer they were pushing their luck.
Monica sensed his hesitation but was undeterred, her deft fingers continuing their ministrations, unzipping his fly and seeking to free him from his denim prison.
"Mon! We shouldn't stay here too long. What if the others arrived already?"
"They won't be here yet" she assured, her voice like honey and her kisses just as sweet. "Come on baby. We'll be quick. I promise. "
She shot him a dimpled, shimmer-eyed grin through the darkness before sinking steadily to her knees. His own almost buckled when he felt the rolling low hum of her lips engulfing him slowly and deliberately in heavenly heat. As his head fell back, and a guttural groan erupted from his throat, he did not doubt her words for an instant.
"Never done that before"
"Nope"
Pleasantly spent, she took the liberty of swigging back the last of Chandler's coffee that sat unfinished on the table. She didn't think he would mind. They sat apart, projecting as much casual indifference towards one another as their considerable dishevelment allowed, until they could be confident that their closeted passion had gone unnoticed by both coffeehouse patrons and staff, at which point Chandler shuffled from the armchair to join her on the sofa.
Monica offered a smirk of lazy satisfaction, her eyes soft and her cheeks radiating a rosy glow.
"My God, Mon. That was amazing" he murmured, still somewhat breathless as he descended slowly from his unbound euphoria, and having to fight a terrifyingly strong urge to cuddle her close, cover her in kisses and smooth the slight muss of her hair. "You're amazing."
"I'm going to get more coffee" she told him with a fond smile "Do you want anything?"
"I'll get you a coffee," he objected. "In fact, I'll get you anything you want. Muffin? All the muffins?"
His over-awed bliss drew a chuckle of amusement, and she took a surreptitious glance over her shoulder before landing a brief soft kiss against his adorably flustered lips. It was an unnecessary risk, but she just could not stop herself. All she really wanted to do was throw herself into his arms, wholly and honestly, paying no heed to the rest of the world.
"I love you" she whispered, eyes serious, suddenly sobered by this potent yearning for more than stolen moments.
He took her hand in his, threading their digits and squeezing with gentle desperation "I love you too. More than anything."
Without warning, his fingers loosened their grip on hers and his hand peeled away as he gave a tristful nod towards the window, and told her gently "Phoebe's here."
They parted, slowly and sadly, before summoning sufficiently enthusiastic smiles to greet their friend. The rest of the group were not far behind, filtering into the coffeehouse one at a time, and when everybody was finally assembled and settled, and implausibly immune to the thick cloud of tension and longing that hung around them like fog, Phoebe eagerly suggested that they should get on with drawing names for Secret Santa.
Monica and Rachel shared an indulgent grin when their blonde friend reached into her bag and presented them with an elaborate red velvet hat that neither of them had ever seen her wear, apparently acquired for the specific purpose of this ceremonial name-picking. The girls never quite knew what obscure items Phoebe might produce from the depths of her bag; Monica always thought she was rather like Mary Poppins in that respect.
Rachel hastily tore up some old sales slips and scrawled each of their names on the back before depositing them into Phoebe's hat for the anonymous draw.
Monica was the last to pick, so by the time her fingers roamed the silk lining of the hat there was just one scrap of paper remaining, destined for her.
Her lips curved and she felt a little skip in her heart when she unfurled the paper and saw Chandler's name.
"We should fix a date to give out these gifts, since we won't all see each other on Christmas Day," Phoebe proposed "When do you leave for Vail, Rach?"
"The 23rd," Rachel confirmed, her face lighting up with an excited grin at the reminder of her family's upcoming ski trip. "What's everybody else doing for Christmas? Where will you and Richard be, Mon?"
Monica's eyes automatically flitted across to Chandler, hating that he had to defer to the public coupling of her and Richard like this, hating even more that they would be apart on Christmas Day, and feeling inwardly determined that she would find a way to see him, even if only for half an hour.
He looked down at his lap where his restless fingers fidgeted uncomfortably with his Secret Santa slip, and it made her want to weep.
"We're spending the day at Michelle and Steve's" she replied glumly.
"I won't be around either; my mom's planning a big family Christmas this year. We have a couple of relatives over from Italy." Joey interjected.
"I'm going to Carol and Susan's to watch Ben open his presents in the morning, and I said that I might see Sophie later on." Ross pondered with a shrug "What about you, Chandler?"
"I don't really have any plans"
Monica stiffened and squirmed in her seat as he mumbled his reply. She was not sure if she was projecting her own sadness onto him, but her chest panged hard just the same.
"Oh, well then you should hang out with me!" Phoebe suggested with an exuberant beam "I'm volunteering at a homeless shelter in the morning, but my friend Jenny is having a party later on, you should totally come along! Her sister's part of an Australian dance company, and they're here on tour, so we're all hanging out for cocktails. Jenny said I could bring people, and from the stories she told me, these dancers sound like really fun girls!"
Monica had to swallow back a vehemently jealous objection, and it manifested as a tense spasm in her spine.
"Thanks, Pheebs" Chandler returned a grateful smile.
"Woah! Hold on!" Joey looked suddenly stricken at the idea of missing out. "A party with hot Australian dancers? I'm there!"
Monica narrowed her eyes, in annoyance as she snapped "You just said you had plans with your family!"
"Not as good as Phoebe's plans!" Joey's nut brown eyes glistened with excitement, "I'll be there, OK Pheebs? I'll have dinner with my folks and then I'll meet you guys straight after."
Monica pursed her lips as she watched Joey jab a conspiratorial elbow against Chandler's ribs.
"Hot, Australian dancers!" he mused, high-pitched with lascivious glee, "Best Christmas ever!"
Rachel rolled her eyes, "Who said they're hot?"
"Oh, they are."
Phoebe's matter-of-fact confirmation elicited another squeak of excitement from Joey, while Monica shifted somewhat huffily in her seat.
When she looked up, she immediately locked eyes with Chandler, who was regarding her pensively.
She was confused when his expression suddenly darkened to a slight scowl, and he quickly looked away, but all became clear when she heard Richard's voice from just behind her and felt his lips plant a greeting kiss on top of her head.
His mildly affectionate touch felt somehow obscene, and she was unable to drag her pained eyes from Chandler's discomfort, a teary lump forming in her throat.
She hated this.
The clandestine nature of their relationship was thrilling beyond belief when it was just the two of them, planning secret meetings, devouring each other in closets, grabbing any opportunity for surreptitious romance. But any outside intervention proved emotionally ruinous.
The discomposure on Chandler's sweet face as Richard's intruding hands massaged her shoulders made her heart hurt, and she could not pretend that Phoebe's blasé promise to dangle sexy dancers under Chandler's nose was anything less than excruciating.
She was completely exhausted by the endlessly erratic oscillation of her mood. The gamut of feeling she had covered in the space of an hour felt impossible: soaring high in the throws of ecstasy in Chandler's arms one moment, then battling bitter feelings of despair the next; contemplating a miserable Christmas without him, being given the cold-shoulder by her husband's family, all the while knowing that her lover would be sipping cocktails with a tribe of beguiling antipodean supermodels.
"What are they talking about?"
Phoebe's query interrupted Monica mid-grimace, as she continued to imagine Chandler, incapacitated by margaritas and surrounded by a circle of flirtatious, supple-limbed dancers; a pod of bewitching sirens, all of whom wanted nothing more for Christmas than to seduce him and steal him away.
She followed Phoebe's curious eyes towards the counter where Rachel and Richard appeared to be deep in hushed conversation. Monica had not even noticed them slip away.
"No idea." She shrugged troubled and sickened, barely managing to feign even the vaguest shred of interest.
Chandler seemed to have absorbed himself in his newspaper now, presumably to avoid any interaction with Richard, and Monica shot him a mournful glance before standing and approaching her husband, suggesting that they leave immediately for the toy store. She was suddenly desperate to get out of there, finding the whole situation nothing short of torturous.
Ross had other places to be too, and as the three of them ambled towards the door, Monica turned to Chandler one last time. He finally met her eyes with a small wistful smile of goodbye that prompted another dreadful stab of pining in her chest.
Chandler was similarly pained. He could not quite believe how much it hurt to watch her leave with Richard, and he flinched as his eyes honed in on those jarring, possessive fingertips grazing her back, as he ushered her through the door. He wanted to roar, and lash out, and wrench that stupid, discordant arm away. This was all just so wrong.
His injured eyes were still following them down the street when he heard Phoebe begin to interrogate Rachel.
"What were you and Richard talking about?"
Rachel's eyes glimmered and she lowered her voice as she angled her body confidentially towards Phoebe.
"He just wanted advice on a Christmas present for Monica. He'd seen some lingerie he wanted to get for her but he wasn't sure she would like it in red."
Chandler had been pretending not to listen but he felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly and he astonished himself by interrupting their private conversation.
"Kind of gross isn't it? Asking for advice on your wife's sex clothes?" his facial expression remained staunchly dispassionate, and he kept his stinging eyes glued firmly to his newspaper, but he could taste the bitter venom in his own voice, and hoped that the girls had not noticed the hint of an emotional crack.
Phoebe and Rachel turned around, surprised by his crude interjection.
"Chandler!" Rachel tutted with an outraged glare "It wasn't like that. It was actually really sweet, he was all embarrassed and ... earnest about it. He just wants to get it right for her."
Well he can't! Nothing about him is right for her!
Rachel and Phoebe were exchanging the kind of doe-eyed looks one might give when discussing the adorable antics of a cute puppy, and Chandler swallowed down another grim clod of nausea.
"Red's a great color on Mon. And Richard has good taste. I'm sure she'll like whatever he picks out. " Phoebe remarked.
"Yeah, that's what I told him" Rachel concurred.
Chandler folded his newspaper and stood up, trying hard not to allow his briskness to betray his internal anguish.
"I'm going home," he declared as he stumbled blind and dejected towards the door.
When the cool air hit his face and the street gifted him solitude, he sought support from the wall, leaning back against it with an agonized exhale.
He had poured a significant amount of effort into not allowing himself to consider the possibility that, in order to avoid arousing suspicion, Monica might be continuing to share a physical relationship with her husband. He had not dared to ask her about it, worried that her response might tear him apart, but this planned Christmas gift from Richard seemed to confirm his fears.
In his soul, Chandler already belonged to her, completely and unconditionally. He had bonded himself to her with his whole heart and with every future dream, and the harder he fell, the more devastating the idea of sharing her, in any capacity, became.
But beyond pure jealousy existed another unspoken dread. One that caused his ribcage to flood with panic whenever it prowled the periphery of his mind.
Chandler knew that Monica and Richard had been actively trying to get pregnant for well over a year, and he was convinced that if the unthinkable happened, if the gods of fate were feeling particularly cruel, and Monica and Richard finally conceived at this, the very worst of times, no matter what Monica felt for Chandler, that would spell the end. A baby would pull her moribund marriage back from the brink.
"It's me"
He had known it was her before he answered the call.
"Are you home alone? Can I come over? I really want to be with you."
Urgent, breathless, husky. Her voice sent a frisson of anticipation over Chandler's flesh. He had not thought that he would be able to see her again quite so soon.
"Yeah, Joey's out" Chandler quickly confirmed, "Where's Richard?"
"He's helping Tim out with something. A car issue, I think" she explained hurriedly, she had not really heard much of what Richard had said before he left; she tended to develop rapid tunnel vision when presented with a potential opportunity to see Chandler.
"He'll be gone for an hour or so, I think. I'm gonna come right over. OK?"
His formerly dour face immediately relaxed into a besotted grin.
Being forced to confront that brief snapshot of Monica's continuing domesticity with Richard yesterday, had brought Chandler crashing brutally back down to earth from the unearthly euphoria of their liaison in the cleaning closet, and he had landed right in a pit, where he had remained, stewing and full of bile, for the rest of Saturday.
But apparently a twenty second telephone conversation was all it took to erase those hours of pain and anxiety. The promise of seeing her was magical elixir for his soul, and Chandler was transformed. His fears and worries lost all significance. He was floating. Walking on air.
That was what she did to him.
He wondered for a moment if she realized her own power? If she knew that his heart sat exposed and unguarded in the palm of her hand?
But all that really mattered to him now was that she was on her way over. His fingers would soon be raking through her hair, her body would be wrapped up in his, and with just one kiss, all would be right with the world.
"Joey?"
Chandler took a cursory scan of the silent apartment as he stuck his tousled head through his bedroom door. Monica was lurking furtively behind him, her hands resting lightly on his hips, a sated grin on her swollen lips.
Confident that they still had the place to themselves, she slung both arms around his waist and tilted her chin towards him for another languid kiss as they meandered slowly towards the kitchen, their speed and efficiency significantly impeded by their inability to keep their hands off each other.
He grabbed them each a chilled bottle of iced tea from the refrigerator and leaned back against the countertop, drawing her into a hug, both of them dreamy-eyed and lackadaisical from their blissful Sunday morning exertions.
"Who'd you get for Secret Santa?" he suddenly asked.
"I'm not telling! It's supposed to be a secret! The clue's in the name!" she scolded, cracking open her drink.
"I got Rachel" he revealed, undeterred "She was complaining that she lost her gloves this week, so I thought I might get her some new ones. What do you think? I never really know what she'll like."
"Good idea", Monica nodded and took a long, thirsty swig of her tea, "Rachel's easy really; she's happy with anything, just so long as you make sure it can be exchanged for store credit".
Chandler returned a knowing smirk and Monica tiptoed to land a gentle peck of a kiss on the tip of his nose.
"What about you, anyway?" she asked with a coy grin, adjusting the collar of his hastily thrown on tshirt, "What are you asking Santa for this year?"
"You." He told her a little gruffly. "All to myself, all day long."
He brought his soft lips to her suddenly sad smile.
"But I guess I'll have to wait until next year."
He looked suddenly glum." I'm dreading Christmas, to be honest."
She frowned sadly as she wrapped her arms tightly around his middle and buried her face against his chest.
"Come on. It's not all bad. At least you'll have Phoebe's hot dancers for company... I'm sure they'll ease the pain".
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
The streak of resentment barely concealed within her remark did not pass unnoticed, and the tender hands that had been soothing her back suddenly paused their soft strokes and dropped to her waist.
"Seriously?" he asked, leaning back to examine her face. His tone was gentle but she could tell he was peeved. "What does that mean? Do you have a problem with me going to the party?"
"I'd just hoped we might find some time to see each other on Christmas Day, that's all", she explained, a little stiffly.
"I can see you whenever you want, Monica. You just tell me where and when, and I'll be there. OK? Come on, name your time and place!"
There was a hint of a challenge in his eyes now.
"Well, I don't know when I'll be able to get away yet, do I..." she began, taking a step away and folding defensive arms across her chest
"Right. So, you'd rather I spend the day all alone? You want me sitting around here, pining, keeping my fingers crossed that you might be able to spare five minutes for me, between your big turkey dinner and modelling your Christmas underwear for Richard?"
"Modelling my what?" Monica's indignance matched her complete bafflement.
"You sleep in his bed every night, Monica! Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to watch you walk out of here, knowing that? Imagine how you feel about me spending Christmas with Phoebe's hot dancers, multiply it by a million, and you might be almost a quarter of the way there!"
Her jaw clenched and her eyes glistened with hot tears as she paused to consider his words.
"The whole time I'm not with you, I'm just sitting around, wishing that I was. That's all I do". she told him quietly, placing her hands tentatively on his shoulders "And I'm sorry, OK? I know I shouldn't be jealous about the party. I'm trying not to be. Of course I don't want you to spend Christmas alone."
She gave a sad shrug of her shoulders and her face began to crumple.
"I just really wish that I could spend it with you. I hate that we're not going to be together. I hate myself for being so weak, and not finishing things with Richard. This is all really hard, and I know that it's all my fault, and I'm sorry".
He pressed his eyes closed and sighed deeply before pulling her into a fierce hug and kissing the top of her woeful head.
"You know, the only reason I'm going to that party is because I'm hoping that spending the afternoon with Phoebe might distract me from missing you, just a tiny little bit. I would have said yes even if she was partying with... naked male mud-wrestlers".
A wry smirk curled Monica's lips and she raised a dubious eyebrow.
"I'm glad she's not though..." he clarified, the mental imagery provoking an uncomfortable grimace.
"I wouldn't put it past her!" Monica remarked with a rueful chuckle. "Although, I'm not sure Joey would have been quite so quick to invite himself along!"
She gave him another tight squeeze before framing his face with gentle fingers.
"As soon as Christmas is done, I'll end things with Richard. I promise I will. I love you so much Chandler, and I can't wait for us to be together."
Her eyes widened questioningly when his face turned somber and his gaze dropped uneasily to the floor with another heavy sigh. She could feel his lack of faith and it pained her.
"Chandler! I mean it! I'm not stringing you along here! I want this more than anything. You know I do!"
There was a hint of panic in her vehement reaffirmation.
"It's not that I don't believe you, Mon.. I'm just not sure you should make promises you might not be able to keep. I sometimes feel... like there's a lot that could go wrong..." he told her quietly.
"What do you mean? Like what?" her eyes searched his face, frightened and bewildered.
"Well... what if Barbara gets bad news after her tests? You'll probably want to delay things if that happens..."
Her brow furrowed as she considered this possibility, while Chandler swallowed hard and gathered sufficient courage to address his big fear.
"And what happens if.." he could barely speak the words, "If you get pregnant..."
Her sapphire eyes clouded over with confusion "Why would I get pregnant? We're being careful.."
"You and I are being careful." He corrected her hoarsely, "And listen, I really don't want any gory details here, OK? I mean, the idea of you and him... I just can't - "
He ran a stressed palm over his face and took a shaky breath before continuing.
"Look, what I'm trying to say is, I know how long you and Richard have been trying for a baby, and I'm guessing that he might get suspicious if you suddenly pulled out a condom. So, I suppose I'm just really scared about what would happen if -"
"Chandler!" she put a firm stop to his frenetic rambling mid-sentence, "I'm not having sex with Richard!"
Her eyes were soft but incredulous as they bore deeply into his. In her heart she had all but married herself to him, right there in the magical darkness of the back row of the Bacchus Playhouse, and at first she could not quite believe that he had thought it possible that she could bear the touch of another man. But then, why wouldn't he think that? Apparently, even a marriage that was legally-bindng was of little consequence to a woman like Monica. She gulped uselessly at a knot of self-loathing in her throat.
"You're not?"
"Of course not! I love you. Just you. I don't want anybody else, Chandler, not ever..."
His shoulders relaxed, he exhaled slowly and then kissed her forehead.
But Monica looked suddenly nauseous.
"I know that what I'm doing to Richard is awful" she murmured shamefully, "But I need you to know that you can trust me. You do know that, right? I mean, I know it sounds stupid given what we're doing, but lying and cheating; it's not who I am, you know? Not deep down. I'd never hurt you, Chandler..."
He brought his face close to hers and regarded her tenderly.
"Of course I trust you! That's not what I meant! I'm sorry, I should have just asked you about this sooner. I suppose I just thought you might be keeping things as normal as possible with him...I mean, you are married... I don't know...I guess, I just don't really know how affairs work..."
He felt her flinch and her quiet response sounded hurt and brittle "Neither do I.."
"I know that too," he assured her apologetically "I didn't mean anything by that either, I'm sorry..."
"That's not what this is, Chandler" She whispered, her eyes watery and desperate, "It's not "an affair". Not to me. Me and you, we're not just some temporary, meaningless fling! It's not...sordid.. or wrong. It's real."
He brushed the back of his finger tenderly across her cheek, nodding his understanding as he regarded her with an intensity that took her breath away.
"It's everything."
He cupped her face with reverent hands as his lips drew hers into a sublimely gentle caress that felt brand new. This was not a desperate kiss of infatuation, lust or fervor; it was soft and true, a deep and intimate connection that felt like a promise of years. It felt like everything.
Her want for him surged and clutched at her heart once more, just as visceral and poignant as ever before, but somehow different too; less frantic, less urgent. She needed to absorb every last inch of him, slowly, and sincerely. She needed him to know what she knew; to feel what she felt.
"Can we please go back to bed now?"
She barely drew back as she made her whisper of a suggestion, nose, breath and lips featherlight against his cheek.
"Don't you need to get back?" he reluctantly reminded her, gently tucking her hair behind her ears between tender kisses.
She caught his bottom lip between hers, her arms drawing him in close and secure, lingering for as long as she could breathe before telling him,
"I don't care".