Author's Note: So the characters aren't mine, the plot's not mine, and I'm guessing that with 5K other stories on the site, someone, somewhere has already had this idea, so that's not new either. Could this be any less original? However, once I realized how alike Sally and Monica were and though less alike, how Harry and Chandler had the same sense of humor, I couldn't NOT write this fic.
Takes place after college and assumes 1) C and M haven't met before, 2) They went to UC, and 3) Monica is still overweight. Enjoy!
"I love you, my little Bing-a-ling," she coos, breaking their kiss momentarily to profess her feelings.
"I love you more," he vows before pulling her mouth to his once more.
The two continue to make out passionately on the street corner, unaware, or at the very least unperturbed, by the station wagon that has pulled up alongside them and waits idling.
Monica takes in the very public display of affection in distaste. She hopes this idiot playing tonsil hockey on the curb isn't her brother's roommate whom she's agreed to drive with to New York, but the dufflebag and carton of records lying at his feet suggest otherwise. When Ross had proposed she share the 18-hour drive with his friend Chandler, she'd jumped at the chance, hoping to break up the driving and the monotony with some company. But after watching the nauseating display taking place outside her car window, she's beginning to have second thoughts. As the already ridiculously long kiss shows no sign of ending, she not so subtly leans on the car horn.
The abrupt sound serves its purpose and the couple jumps apart in alarm.
"Sorry," Monica offers noncommittally.
"Monica?" Chandler replies half in question and half in greeting.
"Yep," she confirms with a tight smile. "Back's open." She indicates to the trunk that she's popped to allow for him to load his things.
He moves to place his possessions into the trunk, the whole time shadowed by his girlfriend who, rather histrionically in Monica's opinion, bemoans their impending separation.
"I'll call you as soon as I get to New York," he promises.
"Call me from the road," she pleads.
"I'll call before that," he assures her nonsensically, pulling her in for another kiss.
Never one to be known for her patience, Monica lays on her horn once more.
"Oops," she shrugs ignoring the glare Chandler's girlfriend is sending her.
After what seems like hours, they've finally managed to leave behind the girlfriend, whom Monica learns is called Janice, and finally begin their journey.
"Alright," Monica begins primly hoping to get this road trip back on track, "I've got this all planned out. The trip is 18 hours, so I figure we'll split it into 3-hour shifts. That should keep each of us at optimum alertness when behind the wheel. We'll break each 6 hours for meals and I've got snacks in that cooler behind you, for when we need a boost but it isn't time to stop. Sound alright?"
Chandler, who has been taking this all in with equal parts admiration and trepidation, merely nods before realizing she's forgotten a crucial detail in her scheduling. "What about the bathroom?"
"Pardon?" She asks distractedly, momentarily occupied by merging the station wagon onto Lake Shore Drive.
"You know, the bathroom," he trails off hoping she won't make him elaborate on what one does in the bathroom.
She looks at him in confusion for a moment before catching on, "We'll use the bathroom during our scheduled breaks." She tells him as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and he's a moron for asking.
"But what if we have to go before a break?"
"We hold it," she tells him. Then taking in his raised eyebrows she adds, "You can't hold it for a few hours? What are you 9?"
"It's not that," Chandler admits. "I just could really use a cigarette and I don't think one every six hours is gonna cut it."
"Well, you're not smoking in my car," she tells him with finality. "So you'll just have to come up with something to distract yourself."
"Yeah, alright," Chandler agrees reluctantly. Already he can feel the tendrils of anxiety creeping up on him that seem only to be appeased by nicotine. He drums his fingers restlessly on the dashboard before catching Monica's disapproving glare. Placing his hands back in his lap and lacing his fingers, he searches desperately for some topic of conversation that can break up the awkward silence that's settled over the station wagon and that might distract him from his withdrawal symptoms.
"Well, we've got 18 hours to kill," he begins conversationally. "Why don't you tell me your life story?"
Monica laughs derisively at this. "My life story isn't even going to get us out of Chicago. Nothing's happened to me yet. That's why I'm going to New York."
"So what's going to happen to you in New York?" Chandler asks barely concealing his amusement. Could this girl be anymore cliché?
"I'm going to make it as a chef," she tells him with so much pluck he thinks she may actually be a cartoon character rather than flesh and blood.
"'Kay," he smirks.
"What?" She asks defensively. "You don't think I have what it takes to make it?"
"It's not that," Chandler replies. "You could be the greatest chef ever. I don't know. But 'making it' in New York," he tells her, fashioning quotations marks with his fingers, "isn't really about how talented you are. It's more about luck than anything else."
"And you think I'm going to be unlucky," she accuses.
"Well yeah, probably," he agrees. Then taking in her angry stare he adds, "It's not personal. If it makes you feel any better I'm betting I'll probably be just as unlucky as you. I'll probably end up as one of those guys who live all alone in his cluttered New York apartment with his numerous pet snakes. 'Crazy snake guy', they'll call me."
Monica snickers at his imagined future despite herself. "What about Janice back there who was sucking your face off? Don't you think she'll rescue you from becoming 'crazy snake guy'? You seemed pretty in love to me." Monica retorts, her face scrunching up distastefully at the words 'in love'.
He shrugs at this, "I don't know. Maybe. But relationships don't really work out for me so I'm not holding out too much hope. I've got a feeling I'm destined to die alone, you know?"
"Ross mentioned you had a dark side," she tells him.
"He did?" Chandler asks surprised. Then after some consideration he adds, "Yeah, I guess I do."
Finally, finally, Chandler pulls the station wagon into the parking lot of the roadside diner. It's been a long six hours, which it turns out is quite a bit of Monica. He barely waits for the engine to cut before fleeing from the car and lighting up a smoke. He ignores the looks of distaste his companion is giving him and takes a series of long consecutive drags from his cigarette. The rush of nicotine after the many hours of abstinence leaves him feeling giddy so he leans against the hood of the car waiting for the feeling to pass.
For a moment he thinks Monica will leave him behind to get a table in the diner, but she surprises him by joining him against the hood.
"Those things are going to kill you," she tells him, effectively ruining the comraderie he thought might be springing up between them.
"Something's got to," he replies darkly.
She just stares sideways at him for a moment, the silence and her gaze making him feel slightly uncomfortable, before she asks, "Why'd you ever start in the first place?"
"I don't know," he admits. "I started really young, when I was a kid. My parents were splitting up and I wanted to rebel, piss them off. I don't know," he repeats.
He thinks she may be about to question him some more about the details of his childhood angst so he abruptly changes the topic, "So do you think this diner's going to be able to meet the standards of New York's next great chef?"
"Probably not," she laughs. She seems to consider something for a moment before adding, "But Richard always tells me that you've got to try lots of different foods in order to be sure what you're cooking up is unique."
"Richard?" Chandler asks, not having heard of a 'Richard' over the course of the last 6 hours.
"He's a friend," Monica answers not meeting his eye and pushing off the car to head toward the diner's entrance. "My parent's friend, actually," she adds. Chandler can tell that while Monica is trying to appear disinterested in this Richard character she is in fact anything but. "He's going to help me get my start in New York."
Chandler stubs out his cigarette, a few puffs prematurely, in order to follow her into the diner and waits till they are seated to press her for more details about this Richard person. There is something about her obvious attempts to downplay her relationship with him that has Chandler interested.
Once seated he's about to bring him up again when they're interrupted by the waitress who greets them with a bored and emotionless rendition of the daily specials.
"I'll have the grilled cheese," Chandler tells her, foregoing a look at the menu trusting the diner staple will be available.
"White or wheat?" The server, whose name appears to be 'Debra' if the name tag she's sporting is to be believed, asks in her signature deadpan manner.
"Surprise me," Chandler tells her with a eye-roll which causes Monica to snicker. She quickly does her best to convert the sound to a cough as Debra turns her attention towards Monica to take her order. Nothing on the menu looks particularly tasty, but Monica thinks one of the salads may just be edible with a few adjustments.
"I'll have the Chef's salad," she begins. Debra makes to head back to the kitchen so Monica hastily draws her back. "I'm not finished. I'll have the Chef's salad, but with the dressing on the side. Also, I'll substitute the croutons for a dinner roll, but only if its wheat. If it isn't wheat than, nothing."
"Nothing, like no roll or like no croutons?" Debra asks finally allowing some emotion to seep into her speech. To Chandler's mortification that emotion seems to be frustration.
"No, just no roll. I'll still have the croutons, but on the side."
"Right," Debra replies in a tone that makes Chandler rather doubtful Monica's order is going to come out quite to her satisfaction.
Monica, oblivious to Debra's hostility or Chandler's wonderment, simply sets about unrolling her silverware and polishing it neatly with her napkin not really trusting the dishwashing standards of their current dining establishment. Finally noticing Chandler is continuing to gape at her, she nervously ceases her activities. "What?" She asks defensively.
"Nothing," he replies shaking his head a bit. He's never quite met anyone like Ross' sister before and he can't quite figure out if he finds her idiosyncrasies charming or annoying. It's probably a bit of both he decides. She continues to look at him for some kind of explanation so he decides now is a good time to bring the conversation back to the mysterious Richard character she'd mentioned in the parking lot. "So tell me more about this friend of your parents who's going to help you out in New York."
After a rambling ten minutes or so, two things are pretty apparent to Chandler. One, Monica is way more interested in this Richard than she cares to let on, and two, he's pretty certain Richard's interest in Monica's cooking career has more to do with sleeping with her than any culinary appreciation.
"You know that guy just wants to get with you, right?" He blurts out in the middle of one of her explanations of how Richard is working to put her into contact with all the right people once she gets to Manhattan.
He's not quite sure why he decides to call her out on this point- typically Chandler is all for lying to yourself - but he tells himself he's doing her a favor. There's no point in Monica pretending this big move to New York is all about 'making it' if its really all about some guy.
"He is not!" She answers angrily, her porcelain skin turning a furious pink almost instantaneously.
"Ah yeah, he is," Chandler tells her stubbornly.
"No, he is not," Monica insists. Though after a moment she adds uncertainly, "He really isn't. But why do you think that anyhow?"
"Monica," Chandler begins in a patronizing tone that reignites Monica's anger in an instant. "The only reason a guy would go through all that trouble for someone that you've been describing would be to sleep with her."
"That's not true," she retorts. "He's doing all this for me because he's my friend."
"It is true," he insists.
"Well, that's pathetic."
"Also, true," he concedes.
"I think you're wrong," she tells him finally. "Richard isn't like that," she argues somewhat unconvincingly and then adds with much more certainly, "Anyway he wouldn't be that way about me." She gestures to her self dismissively, all the earlier bravado from her demeanor vanishing instantly.
"What? You don't think he wants to sleep with you just because your fa-" Chandler's question dies in his throat as he realizes what he was about to say. Chandler's an idiot. He knows this for a fact. Which is why he's usually so much better at policing himself around other people. But for whatever reason this girl's gotten under his skin and in the heat of arguing with her he's gone and done one of the stupider things of his long and storied history of being stupid. "Monica, I am so sorry," he apologizes effusively.
"It's fine," she bites back. Her face is like stone work and when he goes to apologize anew she cuts him off harshly, "Just let it lie, Chandler."
He complies and the two finish their meals and the remaining 12 hours to New York in as near to silence as possible. When they finally reach Manhattan and Monica is dropping him off at Washington Square Park, she strings together the first multi-word sentence she's spoken to him since they'd left the diner in Ohio. "Well, it was nice knowing you, Chandler."
"Yeah," he nods climbing out of the passenger side and leaning on the open door for a moment. "Guess we're not going to be friends then, huh?"
"Guess not," she agrees. "Bye," she tosses out waiting for him to close the door before driving away.
"That's too bad," he tells himself, watching the station wagon retreat into the distance, "because you were the only person I knew in New York."