For the first time in my life, I can see my future before me, and it doesn't scare me senseless.

I can see everything that's supposed to happen, that's going to happen.

I'm going to get married, and have a family, and grow old, and it's okay.

It's more than okay.

It's great.

My future is standing right in front of me, looking at me with shock and more than a little joy in her eyes.

Monica.

It's always been Monica. It always will be.

I love this woman more than anything. Being with her is right, like it's the way things were supposed to happen.

"What did you just say?" she asks me, her eyes wide, her voice filled with so many more questions and just a little bit of hope.

I just grin at her, suddenly completely sure. "You roll another hard eight, and we get married here tonight."

A smile tugs at her lips even as she fights it. "Are you serious?"

For once in my life, yes. Dead serious. "Yes; I love you." I run my hand gently down the side of her face, and she looks at me with such love. "I've never loved anybody as much as I love you." And I never will.

"I've never loved anybody as much as I love you," she tells me, her voice soft, her smile so very sweet, and I feel myself fall in love with her even more.

"Okay. So, if an eight comes up, we take it as a sign and we do it. What do you say?" Please say yes, please say yes, please say…

"Okay!"

My heart leaps into my throat as I cheer her on, encouraging her winning streak. She turns and looks at me for a second, grinning from ear to ear, before tossing the dice the down the table. I hear them clunk but can only see one.

"Okay—that's a four! And where's the other one?" I scan the entire table, prepared to toss about as many cards and chips as I need to; my life is literally on the line right now.

"It went under the table," one of the gamblers slurs drunkenly.

"Nobody move!" Monica shouts, and even I freeze for a moment, waiting. She points off to the side, looking more than a little anxious. "Okay, you look that way, I'll look this way."

Immediately, I drop to my knees, searching around the clusters of feet; I realize it's not a large object, but it couldn't have just disappeared.

I crawl to the opposite end of the table, running into Monica and spotting the die at the same time. "Here it is! Here it is!"

We look at it at the same time; it's wedged against the leg of the table on an edge, two different numbers equally as visible. One number holds the key to my future, and the other…well, that's a direction I'm not sure I want to go in.

"That could be a four or a five," Monica says, looking up at me earnestly. "It's your call."

I know what she's doing—she's trying to give me an out, to let me know that I don't have to do this.

I know I don't have to do this; I know that I want to do it, though.

I look at her and smile, feeling complete. Finally, I'm whole, and it's all because of this tiny little woman before me. This tiny, beautiful, crazy, scary, strong, perfect woman.

"It's a four."

If a person can melt, then that's exactly what Monica does. Her smile grows wider and she almost looks like she could burst. "I think so, too."

I grin at her like an idiot—I don't know what else to do.

I'm getting married. To Monica.

Oh, my God.

She leans toward me and I meet her halfway, pressing my lips against hers; she can barely kiss me around her smile.

I'm not doing much better myself.

I feel a foot nudge against me and I lurch into Monica a little, our little moment broken. I shift onto one knee, moving to help her stand, when she grabs my hands. "We're getting married," she whispers as she bites her lip a little, her eyes huge. I just grin at her and pull her up with me. The people standing around the craps table are staring at us, waiting.

Even the dealer looks interested.

"We're getting married!" she exclaims, jumping up and down a little, and a drunken cheer of congratulations erupts from the crowd. We run back to the other side of the table to collect our winnings, then hurry off, hand-in-hand.

"Where should we go to do this?" she asks, her fingers tightly threaded through mine, and I just give her a look.

"Honey, we're in Vegas. All we have to do is walk outside, spin around a few times, and start walking. There are chapels everywhere."

She comes to a sudden stop, almost yanking my arm out of the socket in the process. "Oooh, wait!"

"Hey, ow!"

She scrunches her nose at me and starts pulling me toward the gift shop, leading me down the short flight of stairs into the small room.

"I can't get married until I have something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue."

If it gets her down the aisle faster, I'll do whatever she says. I glance around, my eyes landing on a pile of shirts and hats on a table. I pick up one and present it to her gallantly. "Okay—here's something blue and new."

She smiles at me fondly, almost proudly. "You are so efficient! I love you." She grabs my face and kisses me briefly, and I head to the register.

"Okay, let's go." I'm so ready to get this show on the road, but she grabs my arm.

"No, wait! We need something old."

I can't help but wonder just how specific this set of items is—is there some sort of guideline, or can it literally be anything? "Uh, okay," I say, racking my brain for something, anything. "I have a condom in my wallet that I've had since I was twelve."

Surprisingly, her entire face lights up. "That'll work!"

Doubtful. I grimace a little. "I don't think so."

That doesn't seem to slow her down, though. "Okay. Now we just need something borrowed."

I look around the gift shop again, my eyes landing on the blue sweatshirt in my hands and gesture toward her. "Here—just take this."

She looks at me in alarm. "That's stealing."

Oh, Monica. "We'll bring it back," I assure her, looking over my shoulder quickly to see if anyone's watching. "Just put it under your dress."

She must be really excited to get married, too, because she glances around for a moment before balling up the shirt and tucking it under her dress. I look around as casually as I can to make sure we're still in the clear, and when I look back, she has her arms wrapped around the ball the sweatshirt makes, which looks alarmingly like a pregnant belly.

"Awwww," she says, one hand coming to rest on top of the bundle, and I'm sure I make some sort of face at her.

"Okay; one thing at a time." I grab her shoulders and steer her out of the shop, glancing over my shoulder as we go, though it's probably pointless. Either there are cameras all over this part of the building, too, and security will be swarming us any moment, or the gift shop is such a non-entity in a place like this that no one pays it a lot of attention.

We take a few careful steps as we walk toward the exit of the hotel, and when nothing happens, we walk a little faster. I glance down at her; she has her arms gently wrapped around the bundle beneath her dress, and she really does look pregnant. Enough so that a few people smile at her as we hurry through the casino, probably thinking she's the world's most adorable pregnant woman.

I hate to say it, but if that's what she'd look like pregnant, then it's absolutely true.

I feel a few cold fingers of panic clutch at my heart for a few seconds at that thought.

Not ready for kids. Not ready for kids. Not ready for kids.

We burst through the lobby doors into the cool Las Vegas night; I look around us as she pulls the sweatshirt out, tugging it on a few seconds later. Her hand finds mine and I point across the street—A Little White Chapel. "That work for you?"

She bounces up and down a little, the smile on her face huge. "Yes! Oh, my God, yes!"

We wait for a break in traffic and dart across the street, running into the neon building. "Hello!" I call out as we barrel through the doors. "One marriage, please!"

"Yep," Monica agrees enthusiastically. "We wanna get married."

Naturally, there's a ceremony in progress and we're asked to wait.

Dozens of wedding chapels in Las Vegas, and we had to find one that's already in use.

We sit down on a bench, and I hum what I think is the "Wedding March," but, as Monica tells me, is actually "Pomp and Circumstance."

I'm an idiot, though I'm saved from further humiliation when I hear the recessional start up. I stand up slowly, my heart racing, and I turn to Monica, who suddenly looks a little shell-shocked.

"Okay—this is it! We're gonna get married."

Monica grabs my arm gently, a smile tugging at her lips. "Are you sure you wanna do this?"

Before I can answer, the chapel doors burst open, and I hear the laughter moments before I see anyone emerge.

Oh. My. GOD.

It's Ross and Rachel, arm-in-arm, faces covered in marker or ink, laughing hysterically. I think my jaw hits the floor.

"Hello, Mrs. Ross!" Ross exclaims, tossing a handful of rice that Rachel ducks to get under.

"Well, hello, Mr. Rachel!" she answers, tossing her own handful of rice in return, both still in hysterics.

Oh, they're hammered.

Oh, wow.

They don't even notice us as they run out of the building, going their separate ways to, my guess, puke.

Monica and I stare at each other, her fingers digging into my arm, our mouths open in shock.

"Whoa," she breathes.

"Oh, my God," I answer. I don't seem to be able to say anything else. My brain is still trying to process this. It happened so fast that it doesn't seem real.

What the hell is happening here?

Before I can open my mouth again, Phoebe and Joey come crashing through the doors, running right past us to go into the chapel.

Somehow, my jaw drops further.

"Oh, my God! Is everybody getting married?" I ask; Monica just stands next to me, flabbergasted.

The pair of them emerge from the chapel, scolded by the attendant for running in the building. Phoebe's face contorts as she takes on her genuinely scary persona.

"Hey! Don't you give me any of your—" I guess our flapping jaws grabs her attention because her mood shifts swiftly as she sees us, a smile spreading across her face. "Hey!"

"What are you guys doing here?" Monica asks, and I feel waves of doubt washing over me.

What the hell are we doing?

"Ross and Rachel left us a message saying they were getting married," Joey exclaims, then pauses, looking confused. "Isn't that why you guys are here?"

Monica and I look at each other uncomfortably as we try to play this off like we weren't just about to get married. For whatever reason, it never occurs to our friends that the couple in the loving, committed relationship might have considered marriage; instead, they focus on Ross and Rachel.

Fine by me.

I'm now panicking.

I was just about to marry Monica.

In Vegas of all places.

That's not how I want to do this, is it?

Do I genuinely even want to do this?

I keep looking at Monica out of the corner of my eye; I see her doing the same. I can only sort of focus on the conversation around me, though I hear my voice, so I know that I'm responding somehow.

But my heart is pounding in my ears.

Do I want to marry Monica?

Well…yeah. Someday. Probably.

If I ever get married, it will be to Monica-that much I know. She's the only one I would ever want to commit myself to like that.

But do I really want to marry her here, and now?

Now that it's not all on impulse, this doesn't seem like such a swell idea.

I tune back in to the conversation long enough to hear Phoebe express genuine surprise at the fact that marriage in Vegas is just like marriage in the rest of the country, though she only ponders that for a moment before shrugging that off.

I can only guess what that's supposed to mean.

"Shouldn't we check on them?" Joey asks as Phoebe starts to leave the building. "I mean, they were pretty drunk last time I saw them, too."

"Yeah, I guess," Phoebe answers; Monica and I remain silent as we walk out of the building. The pathway's well-lit and there are no people to be seen hiding in the shrubbery. We do manage to stumble across someone's puddle of vomit, which makes for a delightful cap on what has been, at the very least, the most eventful day I've had in a long time.

Talk about one hell of an anniversary.

Jesus—our anniversary.

We slowly follow Joey and Phoebe back to our hotel, the two of them chattering excitedly about our newly married friends, both seeming to think that this will be the start of the rest of their lives.

Not likely.

I look over at Monica again and her eyes meet mine for half a second, giving me a small, nervous smile before she turns her attention to the casino looming in front of us, the lights bright enough to pass for daylight.

This is our one-year anniversary, and I don't know that I could imagine a more hellacious day. This should have been a great day—I've never been able to celebrate something like this with a woman. A whole year. That's huge. Even more so for me, the guy who constantly resists commitment.

Except for this entire year, when I've done anything but resist it. All I've wanted is to belong to Monica, even after only being with her for a couple of weeks. The thought of her going on a date with some other guy drove me up a wall even then.

But since the beginning of "us," I've been the one to initiate a lot of the big things in our relationship, probably starting with still being on London Time; I asked her to exclusive, I went away with her on more than one weekend, I started keeping her clothes at my place…

I'm committed to this woman. There's no doubt about that.

But marriage…

That's really huge. I know technically, you can get out of it, but it's a lifelong commitment in my eyes. If I marry someone, I want to make damn sure it's the right thing to do, and not some kneejerk reaction to my girlfriend having lunch with her ex.

And there it is.

We ride up in the elevator, silently; Joey and Phoebe have barely given us a second glance as they plan out the number of kids Ross and Rachel are going to have, and their names. They manage to wish us a good night as we get off on our floor, but other than that, we're barely blips on their radars.

Still silent, we walk slowly to our room, and I pull the keycard out of my pocket, twiddling it between my fingers.

This…is weird.

I don't think that when I suggest we married it ever occurred to me that night would end like this.

If we'd gotten married a few minutes ago, would I still be having these thoughts? Would I be completely happy because Monica was suddenly legally bound to me? Or would I be freaking out because Monica was suddenly legally bound to me?

Was I really going to marry her because she had lunch with Richard yesterday?

I almost want to hang my head in shame.

Oh, God. I think I was.

I'm not ready to get married. I know Monica's been dreaming about a wedding her whole life, but I really don't think I'm ready.

I do love her. I love her more than anything or anyone. But marriage…that's a big step.

I unlock our door and hold it open for Monica, who slips past me, barely touching me.

I hope she's not furious with me. Even if this still seemed like a good idea, I don't know that I'd want to get married on the same day that two of our closest friends stumble down the aisle themselves.

What kind of place lets people who are that plowed get married? Shouldn't there be some sort of standard for an event that can change your life?

I don't want to hurt Monica, but wouldn't it be worse to marry her and have regrets?

She walks quietly into the bathroom and I can hear the water running as she brushes her teeth.

I'm such an idiot.

I was going to marry this woman just because she had lunch with her ex-boyfriend.

Well, not just any ex-boyfriend. The ex-boyfriend.

Richard.

The guy that left a giant, gaping hole in her heart. The guy she would be with today, and probably be married to right now, if he'd only wanted to have kids with her.

I feel a shiver of revulsion shoot down my spine at the thought of Monica still being with him. I would have missed out on the greatest thing in my life.

Glumly, I grab my pajamas and start changing, feeling depressed just at the thought of what could have been.

And I feel even worse that I wanted to marry her mostly just so I could make sure Richard knows to keep away.

I'm pathetic.

Just a few hours ago, she told me that I'm the love of her life—that should fill me with so much joy, and it does to a degree. But still…the shadow of Richard Burke looms over me, dwarfing everything I do.

I believe Monica when she tells me that I'm the love her life, and she sure as hell is mine, but I can't help but feel incredibly insecure anyway. I don't want to, but it's there.

The bathroom door opens and we slide past each other, smiling at each other tentatively before I close the door behind, brushing my teeth distractedly.

Kids. Babies.

We haven't exactly talked about that, aside from a brief moment where I completely freaked out about marriage and children. All I got from that was that Monica didn't want any of that yet.

But I know she wants it. I know she wants a family.

Can I give that to her?

Will I give that to her?

I know for a fact that I'm nowhere ready to have kids yet. Does that mean I'll never be ready for it, though?

It's not as if Monica's been pressuring me for it.

I don't know that she ever asked Richard for it, truthfully. All I know is that is he said he didn't want to go through fatherhood again, so she ended it with him. It made sense—they didn't want the same things, and even if she knew that it'd be a few years before she wanted to start a family, why drag out a relationship that will ultimately go nowhere?

But…is that something I want, somewhere down the road?

I can't…definitively say "no."

That's something, especially for me.

But I force myself to really think about it; do I want kids with Monica? Someday, can I see myself being married to her and having babies and living happily ever after?

A smile spreads across my face.

I can see it, actually.

It's a little fuzzy at the moment, but I can see it happening. I can see Monica cradling our baby in her arms, completely radiant and happy beyond words.

I can see us moving into a house one day so we can raise our kids somewhere we could all spread out and have room to grow.

The more I think about it, the sharper that picture gets.

I don't think it'll happen tomorrow, but I think it could happen.

I know for a fact that I don't want her having any of that with someone else. I want to be the one to give that to her some day.

Yeah, it's a few years off, but…I can see it.

I realize I've been brushing my teeth for at least five minutes, so I rinse out my mouth and head back into the bedroom; Monica's already under the covers, propped up just a little, the only light coming from the lamp on my side of the bed.

I slide in next to her and switch off the light, turning to face her just a little. She looks over at me, her expression mostly hidden in the dark of the room. I know we'll have to talk about this. All of this. Not just that we almost got married and where do we go from here, but about things like the possibility of kids and marriage in the future.

If nothing else, I want her to know that this isn't a dead end relationship, and one day we'll have all that. Yes; marriage and kids are scary, but the thought of losing Monica is worse.

I don't think I'd recover.

I reach out and stroke her arm gently, and she slides across the bed to me, wrapping herself around me. I feel most of the tension immediately drain out of my body.

We still have this. We haven't lost this.

I don't know what tomorrow will be like. Will she still want to get married? Will a new day make her realize just how impulsive and, at least on my part, idiotic of an idea it was?

As long as she still wants to be with me, I can deal with anything else.

Because she is my future, even if I'm not ready for it yet. She's my endgame. I know it. And it does scare me a little, but it's kind of a good scared.

"I love you," I whisper, pulling her closer, resting my head on top of hers.

"I love you, too," she answers softly, giving me a little squeeze.

One year ago tonight, we were in a hotel room.

One year ago tonight was the eve of Ross's second wedding, and today was his third.

One year ago tonight, Monica showed up at my door and inexplicably threw herself at me, putting an unprecedented amount of faith in me catching her.

One year ago tonight, my life changed forever.

What I thought was a one-night-stand led to the best year of my life.

I don't know what I did to deserve this. I don't know how I got so lucky.

I fell in love with the most incredible woman ever to exist, and she loves me back. She loves me enough to put up with all of my stupid insecurities and issues. Even when I try to push her away, she comes back to me, waiting patiently for me to get my act together.

This is not someone I should ever let go. I need to grab onto her with both hands and hold on for dear life. I need to let her know that I wouldn't go anywhere without a fight.

She is worth fighting for. She was worth the wait, and I'll do anything I can to keep her.

Because I love her, and as long as she's foolish enough to love me back, there's no way in hell I'll ever give her up.

*A/N…I'm sorry if this is an anticlimactic ending to this story; I did the thing I hate, which is take a bunch of preexisting dialogue and use it in my story, but there was some stuff in between that we never got to see, and I think it's a nice segue to the next chapter of their story.

Yeah, like you guys thought there wouldn't be a continuation.

I just felt that The World Will Follow needed to come to an end at some point. The next story will probably be a little different because their relationship is different. Maybe less smut. I don't know what's going to happen. I never know what's going to happen when I sit down to write. I usually start with one line or one thought and type and it ends up in a completely different direct than I ever anticipated.

This is a little sad, though, because I've been working with this story for a few months now, and I'm pretty damn proud of a lot of it. Thank you so much for reading it and giving me so much feedback and I honestly hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have writing it.

Please stay tuned for the next part of their story.