Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, locations etc. mentioned in this fanfic. Hooray!

Author's Note: I'm really flattered by all the lovely reviews I've been getting – thank you so much, everybody! They really inspire me to keep writing more! I had a lot of fun with this chapter, as I was able to really start moving the story forward, and to bring some of the other characters into it. Please let me know what you thought!

Here's my review responses:

mondlerlove: Thanks! I agree with you, it isn't right – you'll have to wait and see until the end of the story to find out whether I'll switch them back or not, hehe!

mika: Thank you – it was fun writing the end of the chapter! I'm really glad you enjoyed it!

Venused: Thanks so much for your in-depth comments! Really glad that the interaction was believable – that means a lot to me. Glad you enjoyed the edits to Chapter One as well! I hope you enjoy this next instalment.

SqutternutBosh: I love your username! Thanks so much for your kind review! I'm so glad that they were believable as the characters – this is my first Friends fanfic so it's a bit difficult to try and capture their voices! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

DrKerryWeaver: Thanks, I'm so glad you think it's a fun fic! I'm having a lot of fun writing it, that's for sure!

Matthew Albie: Thank you very much! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Kate56: Thank you! This chapter focuses a bit more on Chandler's perspective, but I already have a scene planned where we'll get to explore Joey's side of things a bit more! Hope you enjoy!

sn0zb0z: Thank you for saying they're all in-character – that really means a lot to me, as I consider that very important! Hope you enjoy this next part!

Setting: AU, at the beginning of Season Five during Monica and Chandler's secret relationship, just after The One Hundredth but before TOW The Kips (Joey has not found out about them yet). Mainly Chandler & Joey friendship (not slash), and a little mushy CM.

-Reflections-

A Friends Fan Fiction

Chapter Three

"Look," said Joey. "You want to pass for me, right?"

"I know," Chandler replied, grabbing a jacket. "But I just don't see how knowing your top ten sandwich fillings is going to help me."

Together, they walked out of the apartment for the first time that afternoon. Chandler turned the key in the lock, and slipped it into his pocket. Joey had picked out for him a chequered shirt – after all, the one thing he could do was ensure he looked his best – and a pair of dark blue jeans, slightly faded around the knees. They were rather tight, and quite unlike the baggy pants Chandler was used to. Still, sacrifices had to be made, and he kept his complaints to himself.

As they headed for the staircase, Chandler noticed Joey looking at him, an amused expression on his face.

"What?"

"You're not going to walk like that, are you?"

Chandler stared at him for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said. "Are you not supposed to put one foot in front of the other?"

Joey folded his arms. "Look, if you're going to be Joey Tribbiani, you have to walk like Joey Tribbiani."

"Well as long as I don't have to think like him," said Chandler, rolling his eyes.

"Hey," said Joey. "I've been perfecting this walk since high school. This walk," he continued proudly, "has got me more girls than you could possibly imagine."

At this, Chandler's cynical expression vanished, and he raised his hand to his chin. "Tell me more."

"Okay – well first, you have to puff your chest out a little. And you don't step, you stride." He stood back as Chandler assumed the posture. "Put your chin forward a bit. There. You see?"

Chandler stood, jaw jutted out, chest forward, fists clenched by his sides. "I look like an imbecile," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Hey, thanks buddy!" Joey patted him on the back. "I told you it looked good, didn't I?"

"Another espresso please, Gunther," said Ross from the couch. The coffee house was so full of customers, world-weary city workers enjoying the weekend, that it was hard to contend with the noise. The air was ripe with conversation, a busy urban buzz that would have normally been quite pleasant. Now, however, it grated in Ross's ears like a thousand chainsaws.

"How many of those have you had?" asked Phoebe, who was sitting beside him, her arm dangling lazily over the back of the couch.

"Enough to keep me awake for the last forty-eight hours," Ross replied, slapping his palms rhythmically against his lap. He twitched. "Where is that coffee?"

"Still no news from Emily, huh?" asked Monica, sitting forward in her armchair. She rubbed a hand over the sleeve of his shirt.

"None," he said. "I sat by the phone for twelve hours yesterday hoping she would call, but nothing. Only somebody trying to sell me insurance, and when he heard how excited I sounded when I answered the phone, it made him hang up. Man, where is that coffee?"

"Don't worry, Ross," said Phoebe. "My friend had the exact same thing happen to her."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Oh, except she had shot a man, and the guy she'd married was on the run from the law and probably didn't want to use a phone. But apart from that, it's pretty much the same story."

Ross looked at her, his voice decidedly deadpan. "Thanks, Pheebs. I feel so much better now." His attention was suddenly diverted as Gunther emerged from behind the counter with his espresso. Ross seized it with shaking hands and downed it in less than a second. Gunther rolled his eyes and walked off, taking the empty cup with him.

"They should make them bigger. Why don't they make them bigger?" Ross whispered as he watched him go, his voice frantic, juddering, as if the earth were moving beneath his feet.

Monica looked down at her watch.

"Mon, are you okay?" asked Phoebe. "That's the fifth time I've seen you do that in ten minutes."

"What?" Monica seemed distracted. "Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking about something. It's nothing, don't worry about it."

Phoebe smiled. "If it's something, it can't be nothing, can it?"

Monica glanced at her nails. "No, really, it's fine."

"Well, okay," said Phoebe. "But you mustn't keep things bottled up inside. I did that with my mother's suicide, and now I can barely talk about it without becoming a total wreck."

Monica looked bewildered. "Phoebe, you sang a song about it the other day."

"Oh, wait!" Phoebe said, nodding. "You're right, it wasn't that. Ooh, you know what it was? That kitten in the commercial who couldn't reach the—" She let out a squeak and trailed off, cupping her hands over her mouth.

"What? You mean that pet food commercial?" asked Monica. "With the cat, and the—"

Phoebe's voice became worryingly close to a shriek. "For the love of God, Monica, don't make it worse!" At the sound, several customers at the counter turned to look. Monica flashed them a weak, embarrassed smile, then quickly looked down at her lap.

Ross barely seemed to notice. "Well, if you guys don't mind," he said, standing with some difficulty from the couch, "I'm going to go mope in my apartment for a while."

"Alright. You let me know if you hear anything, okay?" said Monica, patting his arm sympathetically.

Nodding, Ross picked up his jacket. He was trembling so much that one arm missed as he struggled to get it into the sleeve. It took four agitated attempts before he managed it. The bags under his eyes were deep and pronounced, and he seemed to struggle even to keep his eyelids open.

As he left the coffee house, Monica picked at her fingernails, scratching off a piece of stubborn nail varnish in an attempt to distract herself. She bit her lip. She had never said it to Ross – the hopeless romantic in her wouldn't have allowed it – but she knew deep down that it had all happened too fast, and now he was paying the price for it. Part of her felt responsible for the whole affair. She'd played the puppeteer, urging him to go to the airport after the woman he loved, in the naïve hope that life would, for once, be perfect. And when it all seemed to be unfolding just as she'd imagined, she realised that there were some things in life that she couldn't control.

Ross's mouth was one of them.

"It's not your fault." At the voice, Monica glanced up to find Phoebe looking at her, a warm expression on her face. Phoebe, always intuitive. "You only wanted the best for him."

Monica managed a feeble smile in return. "Thanks."

Grinning to herself, Phoebe lay back on the couch and picked up a magazine from the table. She licked the tip of her finger and was just about to flick through it when, out of the corner of her eye, her attention was drawn to the door. "Hey!" she said, letting the magazine fall limply into her lap. "Where have you guys been?"

Monica followed her gaze. There, standing in the entrance, were Joey and Chandler. Chandler and Joey. Seeing the two of them together was, as it had been that same morning, surreal. But at the same time, she was relieved they were there. For a brief moment, their gazes met. They both looked rather tired, their eyes carrying a certain weight – and neither looked particularly comfortable.

"The…uh…the duck got sick," said Joey, sitting down on the orange couch. "In the entertainment center. Mess everywhere." Chandler took a seat beside him.

"Again?" asked Phoebe. "What did it eat this time?"

"Uh…" Joey's eyes darted wildly before he shot Chandler a desperate glance. "What was it again, Joe?"

Chandler took a moment to react. "Oh! Yeah, it was, uh…" He racked his brain for a word, any word, but nothing came. He began to stutter as he looked about for some inspiration. Panicking, his eyes fell on a woman by the window with a buggy, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Uh…baby…baby wipes." Oh God. What was that?!

"Oh?" Phoebe made no attempt to hide her amusement. "Why do you have baby wipes in your apartment?"

Chandler looked across at Joey. Two can play at this game. He nudged him in the side. "Chandler?"

"Well, uh…" After a short pause for thought, Joey looked down and scratched his neck. "Sometimes…sometimes I have…you know, accidents."

What?!

Chandler's eyes widened to twice their normal size, and it was all he could do to keep from crying out. He stared, open-mouthed, at his roommate, who wisely kept his head down.

"Well good luck with that," Phoebe giggled, covering her mouth. "Oh, that reminds me – I promised Frank and Alice I'd go and see the triplets today. They don't want me to feel left out of anything. Hey, Chandler!" She tried to hold back her smirk. "Do you want me to pick you up anything whilst I'm there?"

"He'll be fine, thank you," Chandler sneered, looking up at her.

"Well, alright." Phoebe could no longer contain her grin. "I'll see you guys later then." She put back the magazine, stood up and brushed down her skirt.

"Bye Pheebs."

When she had left, Chandler elbowed Joey in the ribs. "What the hell was that?!"

"Hey!" Joey frowned, rubbing his side. Strangely, it hurt a lot more than it usually would – but then again, Chandler did bruise more easily. "It was all I could think of!"

"Do me a favour," said Chandler. "Never go into improvisation."

"Guys, come on," urged Monica. "We have to stick together here. Maybe…maybe there's a way we can switch you back. I don't know…how about pinching yourselves?" She certainly didn't feel like a hallucination, but it was worth a shot.

Joey and Chandler rolled up their sleeves to reveal large red marks on their arms.

"Okay, well we can scratch that idea," Monica sighed. "Let's think about this. There has to be a logical explanation for what's happening. Can you think of anything that might have caused it?"

Chandler shrugged. "The universe getting revenge on Joey for leaving the toilet seat up?" He levelled a glare at him.

If that were true, Monica thought to herself, it would have happened to half the population of North America. She raised an eyebrow, ignoring his remark. "What I mean is…last night. Did you do anything unusual?"

They thought for a moment. "I don't think so," Joey said eventually, his brow furrowed. "Played some foos, watched TV…normal sort of thing."

Monica frowned. "Well there must be something," she said. "You think about it, okay?"

She fell back into her seat and ran her hand through her hair. As she mused over the situation – how implausible and ridiculous it was – her thoughts drifted to her ongoing relationship. It was the first time she'd allowed herself to think about it since this had happened; the first time she'd been still enough to let it enter her mind. Before, they had been happy thoughts, unexplored, exciting; now, they were tainted with a sense of worry and confusion.

Where could this possibly be going?

She was suddenly startled by the touch of a hand on her arm. "Hey." As she pushed her hair from her face, she caught Chandler's gaze. For a moment, she could almost see him sitting there, as if the cloak that shrouded him had briefly been pulled away. It was only for a split-second, a fleeting glimpse - but it told her everything she'd needed to know.

"You know," said Joey, staring intently at Phoebe's Chandler-doll, "if you look at this for long enough, it starts to look like Bob Saget."

Chandler grunted, and flicked over another page of his book. It was late evening, and there had still been no discernable change in their situation. Joey lay sprawled out on his barcalounger, legs splayed apart, his socks half-off his feet.

"Dude, you haven't said anything for fifteen minutes," he said, sitting up. "What's wrong?"

Chandler peered at him from over the pages. "Do you really have to ask?"

"Well I know that," said Joey. "But come on, man. Being miserable isn't going to help anything. Like you said, we have to get used to it."

"Yeah, I know, it's just…" Chandler paused, and moved the book back over his face. "Look, don't worry, okay?"

He hadn't told Joey, but in the time he'd been reading, he'd flicked through fifty pages and not a single word had stayed in his mind. He brought his legs up into his chair and squeezed his toes against the leather seat. This was, quite literally, the last place he wanted to be right now, and as much as he wanted to, he could not conceal the fact.

Joey grimaced. "Why do I keep getting the feeling you're hiding something from me?"

"I'm not," Chandler said from behind his book. As the words left his lips, he felt a pang of guilt surge through his body. He hated lying to Joey. If there was one thing about this relationship he disliked, it was the lies. The cover-ups, the sneaking around. He knew they weren't ready to reveal it yet, but at the same time he wished they could. Joey was, for all his flaws, persistently honest; and it killed Chandler that he couldn't be the same to him.

"Then what's with all the secrecy?"

"Look, Joe, I told you." Chandler's voice came out rather more firmly than he would have liked. "It's nothing."

Joey wrinkled his brow. "Fine," he said, his voice tinged with anger. "But you know – I'm not too sure I believe you." He walked over to the counter and picked up the phone.

"Who are you calling?" Chandler put down his book.

"Pizza place," Joey said, dialling the number. "Why, do they know something I don't know?"

Chandler sighed. "Joe, I'm sorry—"

"Hello? Yeah, can I have two cheese pizzas with extra anchovies, and a coke?" Joey rested the phone on his shoulder. "Hang on a sec." He looked solemnly at Chandler. "You want anything?"

Chandler glanced down at his lap. "No thanks," he said. "I'm not hungry."

"Yeah, that'll be all," Joey continued, turning away. "Okay, thanks. Bye." He hung up the phone.

"Joe—"

"Look, you don't have to explain yourself to me," Joey waved him off. "Everybody's allowed to have secrets."

Chandler cringed at the derision in his voice. Part of him was bursting to tell Joey the news; after all, he wasn't usually the one to boast about getting the girl. But it was more than that; he was his best friend, and best friends shared everything. The other half of him, however, was afraid; how would Joey react? Would he be supportive? Angry? Chandler could only hazard a guess, and this was a frightening prospect.

Choosing to say nothing, he gave Joey an awkward nod, picked up his book and pretended to read.

"Ugh," Rachel growled as she stormed into Apartment 20. "That was the worst day ever." She took off her coat and threw it onto the couch.

Monica stood at the kitchen worktop, slicing onions. "Bad day at work, huh?" she smiled, brushing the chopped vegetables into a pot. She was doubly pleased to be in the kitchen - it took her mind off the current events, and gave her an excuse to use up those extra ingredients she'd had for a while. Yes, this was efficient cooking - and for Monica, that was the best kind.

"Don't get me started," Rachel fumed. "This couple came in wanting to try on outfits together. Let me tell you, Mon, they were all over each other. I couldn't get a word in edgeways. Mind you, neither could they, what with all the kissing." She slammed herself down into a chair.

"I'm sorry sweetie," said Monica. "I wish that date had gone better last night, too."

Rachel looked at her for a moment. "Excuse me?" she said. "He went with me, didn't he? I got a free dinner at an expensive restaurant, didn't I? That's got to count for something." She said nothing for a few seconds. "So…how's Ross?"

Monica turned on the cooker. "Still no news," she said, placing the pot over the heat. "He's pretty crushed."

"Well," Rachel said glumly, "at least he can be thankful that he didn't have to spend the afternoon in a room filled with invisible mistletoe."

"Believe me, I think he'd rather be anywhere else right now," said Monica, stirring the pot. An aroma of sweet stew began to fill the kitchen. "I haven't seen him this miserable since—" She trailed off.

"Since what?"

"Oh," Monica turned away, "nothing. Just…be gentle with him, okay?"

"Yeah, well…" Rachel sighed, narrowing her eyes. She began to play with her fingernails. "So what's going on with you?"

Monica thought for a second before answering. If I told you, you'd think I was mad. She grabbed the pepper mill and ground some into the mixture. "Oh, nothing much," she lied. "I, uh, cleaned up your magazine stack and organised them into alphabetical order for you."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Mon, be honest; that was for you."

"I couldn't help it," Monica winced. "They were driving me crazy!"

Suddenly and without warning, the door flung open. Chandler stumbled into the apartment, clearly rather panicked, his head darting from side to side. He noticed Rachel at the table and gave her a quick nod. "Hey Rach." He turned to Monica. "Mon, can I see you for a minute?"

"Sure," Monica said hesitantly. She put down her spoon. "Rachel, would you mind manning this pot for a sec?" She paused, realising what she had asked, and turned off the heat. "On second thought," she said, "don't worry about it." Wiping her hands with a cloth, she walked out the door after Chandler.

When it closed behind her, she turned to him. "What is it?"

"Promise me you won't be mad."

Monica frowned. "I can't promise anything until you tell me what it is."

Chandler raised a hand to his forehead, and Monica could see that he was purposely avoiding her gaze. "Okay, uh…" he muttered, "well, it's…Joey."

"What about him?" Monica asked suspiciously, folding the dishcloth.

"Let's just say," Chandler said with a weak smile, "I think I need your help."

A/N: Okay, we're done for this chapter! I really hope you liked it – please let me know what you thought!