A/N: Originally written and posted for Yuletide on AO3 (so, a month ago, because I'm a vicious procrastinator).

A year after the inauguration, the president hosted a ball to celebrate one year of a new government, a new world order, a new hope. There had been threats in that time, of course, warlords and gang leaders who didn't want to give up the power they'd wrested, but society and the economy were stable enough to call civilization once more.

Chandler had spent nearly the entire year in St. Louis in his new role as naval overseer, establishing a home base for his children and working with the president to ensure the cure continued to spread. Like an equal and opposite force, Rachel had spent nearly the entire year everywhere else, and he hadn't seen or spoken to her in months.

The ball had doubled or tripled in size, a reunion of everyone who'd attended the inauguration and a gathering of all the new members of government and public office. Chandler brought his children, as did Tex and most everyone who had some, and they ran off almost immediately, joining the rest of their classmates doing whatever children do at a ball.

There was a certain amount of backslapping and manly hugs, greeting the sailors who'd continued sailing while Chandler was landlocked, but he was distracted. He made his way gradually around the outside of the room, once, twice, before stumbling entirely by chance across a door, hidden in an alcove, to a small balcony.

Through the glass panels of the door he saw her, standing at the rail with her back to him, looking so much the same as the last time he saw her in a place like this that his breath caught in his chest. There was only enough moonlight to make out her form, but he knew it was her, opened the door immediately and stepped outside.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled, looking back out over the gardens as he walked up to stand at her side. He thought he should say something—hello, perhaps, or how are you—but he couldn't seem to form the words, couldn't seem to force his throat to produce them. He stood there beside her for what felt an eternity before turning his body to face her.

She remained where she was a moment longer, staring forward and inhaling deeply before finally turning to meet him head-on. He scanned her eyes, her face—she looked so the same; or were her eyes a little softer?

"How are you?" he said finally, and she smiled.

"I'm well," she said, "and you?"

He didn't answer, his eyes narrowing a little, and her smile faltered. She glanced to the side, toward the gardens again, and then turned over her hand to reveal the plastic key card held in her palm. She met his eyes, inquisitively, and he stared back for a moment before reaching out with one hand to curl his fingers around her wrist, his other hand taking the key and slipping it into the pocket of his jacket.

He kept ahold of her wrist, his eyes still staring into hers, and she said softly, "Room fifty-seven." She blinked, her mouth dropping open enough to draw a breath, and then turned sharply and walked back inside. He didn't move for a minute except to put his hand back in his pocket and feel the edges of the card, staring into space. He only wondered for a second if she would have rejoined the party, if this invitation was for later, but he knew deep down that she was already heading back upstairs.

Walking back into the party, he quickly honed in on the group of current and former sailors being rowdy near the bar, finding Tex and Jed among them. He pulled Jed aside, making sure he had both room keys and letting him know he might not be returning that night. Tex watched the exchange, eyebrows raising over a knowing look, and he gave Tom a strong pat on the shoulder, practically shoving him out of the room and toward the elevators.

When Chandler pushed open the door to room fifty-seven, he saw Rachel's back again, as she stood at the window looking out over the city. He stopped inside the door, slipping the key back into his pocket, and she looked up to meet his eyes in the reflection in the window as she swayed forward slightly and braced her hands on the windowsill.

He crossed the room slowly, removing his suit jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and as he approached she tipped her head down, reaching one hand up to move her hair over one shoulder, exposing the zipper on the back of her dress. He came up behind her and sought her eyes in the reflection again, resting his hands on her shoulders and then holding her gaze as he eased the zipper down and smoothed his hands over her bare shoulders under the dress.

She rolled her neck slightly, and he leaned down to kiss the curve of it, along her shoulder to the slightly puckered scar where a bullet had passed through it exactly one year ago. Pushing the dress to the side as his hand rounded her shoulder, he pressed his lips to the scar, lingering there as she hummed in appreciation, the sound vibrating through her skin and into his.

He turned her around then, wanting to see her face properly, and she swayed again toward the window, her eyelids drooping a bit, and his stomach sank as he took in her flushed cheeks and her slightly unfocused pupils.

"Rachel… how much have you had to drink?"

Her eyes snapped up to his and she shook her head. "Not much. I mean…" She pressed a hand to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. "I might have underestimated my tolerance." She stared at him as he eyed her doubtfully, and then rolled her eyes, gesturing for him to turn around. He did, closed his eyes, and covered them with his hand for good measure, while she rustled around and said, "It's not like I generally have time to drink, Tom. I just thought, one or two to loosen me up, but I suppose my low body mass index combined with the fact that I haven't consumed spirits in a significant period of time—you're good, by the way—may have resulted in an unexpected degree of…"

When he opened his eyes and turned back around, she was standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, dressed in leggings and a tank top, and she frowned at him. "I didn't do it on purpose."

He laughed and shook his head. "Okay, but you know I can't—"

She closed her eyes again, tipped her head back, and blew a frustrated breath past her lips at the ceiling. "Do you—" she started, "I understand if you have to—" She stopped, and looked directly at him, and said, "This obviously isn't what I intended."

He started toward her again at a slow and steady pace, leaving about a foot between them when he said, "If it's any consolation, you got me here."

She smiled a little, swaying again but toward him this time, before she pulled herself back. "Can you stay? Just a little while?"

"I…" He hesitated, and she reached out for his hand. "I can stay as long as you like."

She tugged him toward the bed, just to sit on the edge, and leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. "What if I sober up?"

"Well…"

"Not that I'm drunk. Slightly tipsy."

"We'll see how you feel in an hour."

"Too bad you don't have a breathalyzer, hmm? Gonna make me walk a straight line?"

She had a point, but waiting an hour was a start. He doubted she'd had more than three drinks, and it was probably already an hour or more since. "Want some water?"

"Yeah," she said, "but I can get it," standing up and walking around the side of the bed to where her backpack was propped against a wall. She pulled out a litre bottle and shook it, then climbed back onto the bed at its head, curling up against the pillows with the blankets over her knees. He watched from his perch, before getting up and walking to the other side.

"When do you fly out again?" he asked, sitting up against the headboard a few feet away from her.

"Oh," she said, glancing over at him. "I'm going to be in town, actually. For a few months, at least. Paperwork."

"Of course." A strange rush of nerves twisted in his gut. "The paperwork always gets you." He stared across the room, his hand tracing patterns on the blanket at his side. He tried to remember the last time they'd actually been in contact. An email here or there, the sort of message that was closer to business than personal. Had she been that busy, or had it been him?

They'd kind of left it that way, hadn't they? Their lives took them different places, in different directions, and he'd said when you get back. Why had he said that?

"Funny," he said, out of nowhere, and she looked sideways at him. "We traded lives, I guess, you running all over the world and me stuck in one place."

"How's that been?" she asked quietly, watching him as he continued to stare at the opposite wall.

"Good," he said, looking over at her. "Strange. I guess it's all strange, isn't it?"

"Mmhmm." She looked down at her hands. "Yeah, it's all been pretty strange."

"You must have been happy to get off the ship, even if you couldn't stay in one place."

She stared at him then, stared hard for long enough that he grew uncomfortable, confused. He looked over at her again, the confusion reflected in his eyes, and stared back for a minute. She looked at him like he was supposed to know something, like it was supposed to be obvious, and then she shook her head and looked back down at her hands.

"I don't think I'll ever willingly book a cruise, I'll say that much," was all she finally said, and he knew that wasn't all of it but he didn't know how to ask. Probably shouldn't.

She brought a hand up to cover her mouth as she yawned, then chugged a little water and screwed the lid back on, laying the bottle down beside her as she shuffled down to rest her head on the pillows and yawned again.

"Gonna take a nap?" Chandler asked, amused, and she nodded with her eyes closed. Keeping her eyes closed, she snuggled further into the bed, somehow managing to close a few inches of the gap between them at the same time. Chandler watched as she squinted her eyes open and then closed them again, shuffling closer yet, and then a little closer, until her forehead bumped into his elbow.

"Oops," she mumbled, and he moved his elbow out of the way, which left a gap for her to slide into, slipping under his arm and nestling her cheek against his shirt. "Oh, how did that happen." She wrapped her arm around his waist, settling in. "I'm just so sleepy..."

He smirked up at the ceiling, letting his arm fall naturally to curve around her shoulders, and said, "Go to sleep, then."

"Mmkay," she hummed in response, and fell silent for a moment as her body began to go limp and her breathing slowed and steadied even more than it already had. "For the record, though," she said sleepily, "I made the plan before I had the drinks."

He honestly wasn't sure what she was talking about, or if it was just sleepy nonsense. "What?"

"The plan," she said again, "to seduce you. It wasn't..." She sighed, and her voice slowed and softened; he was certain she was almost fully asleep. "I made the plan sober. I just messed it up a little."

Good to know, he thought, staring up at the ceiling with widened eyes. He didn't bother to speak, just listened to her breathing as she quickly passed out altogether.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up to a strange sensation. It almost felt like someone had a finger pressed to the tip of his nose, but why on earth would that be the case? His brow furrowed before his eyes opened and he was startled awake by the sight of Rachel's eyes inches away from his own.

"Holy shit," he hissed, jumping a little, and she straightened up, giggling a bit madly. She was kneeling beside him on the bed, and she'd pressed their noses together to wake him up, which she clearly thought was the best joke ever, as she couldn't stop laughing.

"Sorry," she said, her grin taking up half her face, "I didn't mean to startle you." But she didn't stop giggling, either, so he didn't quite buy it.

He glanced around, finding he'd fallen asleep sitting mostly upright, and looked for a clock. "What time is it?"

She waved her hand at the window, which showed full daylight, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Which means you're sober, right?"

Her giggling had slowed to an occasional chuckle, and she raised an eyebrow at him. "I resent your implication. I'm just in a good mood." She grinned, tilting her head to the side, and he grinned back.

"No hangover?"

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Tom, I had maybe three drinks. Even with an apparently nonexistent tolerance, I think it would be physically impossible to get hungover from three damn drinks."

He stood up to stretch and work out the kinks in his neck and back, and she watched him carefully, only looking away when he sat back down. It was his turn to eye her as he said, "Are you mad at me?"

Still looking away, she laughed, though he couldn't read it. "For what? Ruining my night? Or being so honorable that you'll shoot your own self in the foot?" She turned back, her eyes soft, and smiled. "No. If you'd left..." She held her hand out flat and rocked it from side to side, her smile twisting slightly. "But you stayed. Though maybe I just got lucky when you fell asleep..."

"I said I'd stay."

"Yeah. You did." She looked at him with that soft smile, not moving, and he just looked back at her for a minute.

Then he glanced away and said, "How about your plan?"

She hesitated. "Excuse me?"

He tried not to smirk. "Your plan? The one you told me about?"

"Did I?" she asked faintly, and he grinned.

"Just wondering if that's still on the table, or..."

She stared at him, and he watched her shoulders rise and fall on a long, slow breath; watched and waited for her to make a decision, for her to make a move. When she finally did, it was simply to reach out for him with both hands, and he reached back, wrapping his hands around her waist and lifting her onto his lap.

She wrapped her arms tight around his neck and kissed him hard, kneeling on either side of his legs, her chest pressed up against his as he held her just as tight around the waist. The kiss was bruising in force and intensity, satisfying a need that had been aching within each of them for far too long. Chandler was usually an expert at kissing and breathing at the same time, but here he had to break the kiss, turn his face and pant against her cheek.

She laughed, or whimpered, or a mix of the two, resettling herself on his lap and pressing her face into his neck, one of her arms smoothing down his back and then back up into his hair. "Can I say it now?"

"What?"

"I missed you," she laughed, or sobbed, or a mix of the two, and he turned his face to press his lips to the spot below her ear, staying there and breathing her in.

"I missed you too," he said.

She turned into his neck slightly before pulling away and straightening up to press down on his shoulders, pressing him down onto the bed and following him there, kissing him and holding his face in her hands. She shifted down his torso until her hips were over his, out of reach of his mouth now but leaning her forehead against his chest as she ground her hips down on the bulge in his pants, his hands stroking up her back as he squeezed his eyes shut and arched up into her.

Picking up her head, she glanced around the room, kissing him and then climbing off the bed and walking over to her suitcase. She pulled something out of a side pocket, hiding it in her palm as she walked back over to the side of the bed and eyed him for a second with her hands at her waistband. She took a shaking breath in through her open mouth, then pulled her leggings off in one motion, keeping her head down as she reached for his belt, undoing his pants just enough to pull him out and put the condom on.

She glanced up at him, shy, and he could watch everything but that, the look on her face shooting straight to his groin and making him squeeze his eyes shut again.

"Please," he said desperately, and she climbed back on top of him, shoving his pants down a little further and then lowering herself onto him, her own eyes closing and her head falling back. He held his hands steady on her thighs, anchoring her in place until she was ready to move, and then she leaned forward just enough for him to tug her tank top off over her head and he moaned, low and deep, as her hair fell down around her bare chest and he could run his hands up from her hips to her breasts.

She braced her hands on his chest, then frowned at the fact that it was still covered by his dress shirt, grunting her displeasure and beginning to meticulously unbutton it.

"For my pride," he said, voice tight as she sat there on top of him and placed all her focus on those damn buttons, "I have to inform you that those dramatic button-ripping scenes in movies are fake. Those buggers—" She leaned forward as she moved up the shirt, shifting on top of him, and he had to take a second. "—um, they're sewn on really good. And, you know—" She tugged on the unbuttoned halves until he sat up slightly so she could draw his arms out of the sleeves and pull his undershirt off as well, and he could barely breathe. "—um, made by the Navy. So."

He dropped back to the bed, finally shirtless, and had to plant his hands back on her thighs, holding her in place. "Give me a second?" he asked, breathless, and a slow grin bloomed on her face as she tried her hardest to be still. She looked down, tracing the muscles of his abdomen with a featherlight touch, her mouth dropping open slightly, and he closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath.

"Okay," he said, sliding his hands up her hips, and she met his eyes again, leaning forward and bracing her hands on his chest.

"Mmm," she hummed. "That's better." Her hair fell around her, tickling his skin, and she dropped her chin closer to her chest as she started to move on top of him.

It was exquisite torture, allowing her to control the pace, trying to contain the way his hips instinctively jerked upwards, his hands flexing against her skin. Whenever he caught a glimpse of her face, she was smiling, and he just knew she was reveling in this, her power over him. He couldn't blame her. It was sexy as hell.

When she nudged him to turn over, he did so gladly, rolling them both so Rachel's back was to the bed, and then she wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him deeper in, throwing her head back on a sharp inhale, and he groaned aloud.

She dropped her feet back to the mattress and pulled his head down, saying into his ear, "Harder," and he groaned again, pulling out most of the way and then thrusting back in, establishing a new rhythm when she moaned, and it wasn't long before her skin was slick with sweat, her hair plastered to her chest. He moved it out of the way to taste her skin, maintaining his rhythm, and soon she was tightening around him, gripping tight to his shoulders as she came, with him following close behind.

They were both sticky with dried sweat, and Rachel lay splayed out on her back, staring up at the ceiling and murmuring, "Gonna shower," without moving a muscle. Lying on his side, unable to stop touching her, Chandler kept a hand on her belly, sometimes tracing shapes with a fingertip and other times simply stroking his palm over her skin.

After a while, she turned her head to look at him and said, "I'm sorry."

"What? " he said a bit too loudly, completely taken by surprise. "What are you sorry for?"

"Last night," she said, laying a hand over his on her belly and moving her face forward until their foreheads were touching. "I really didn't do it on purpose."

He huffed a laugh, raising a hand to her face and stroking back her hair, resting his hand on her cheek. "Sweetheart, I know. Consider yourself absolved, completely. You never have to think about it again."

"Can I tell you something else?"

"Anything."

She moved her head back a little so she could look in his eyes, mirroring his position as she raised her hand to his cheek. She took in a breath and let it out through her mouth, and said, "I came back…" She stopped, and stared at him, and he stared back openly, his brow slightly furrowed in question. She closed her eyes, and whispered, "I came back for you."

"Thank you," he said simply, his first instinct, and she opened her eyes and looked at him with a question of her own. "Thank you for coming back. You have no idea… or maybe you do." He moved in to kiss her, relaxed and slow, as her hand moved around behind his head and she kissed him back, just as deep. He pulled back and rested his forehead on hers, his eyes closed, and breathed out, "I need you here. If—"

She cut him off. "I'm here."

He pulled back again, to stare into her eyes, and this open, intimate eye contact was like a tangible connection between them, links in a chain. Their eyes didn't shift, didn't hide anything, and finally he smiled and stroked the side of her face. "You're here. Thank you."

She brought her forehead to his again and they lay still, exchanging air.

A/N: Soundtrack for this fic, if you like that sort of thing, is Adele's 25, mostly Sweetest Devotion (I wasn't ready then, I'm ready now, I'm heading straight for you) and I Miss You (let me fall into your gravity, then kiss me back to life to see your body standing over me).