IX

"...And so, I told her the truth about Monica. I did the right thing, right? You know what, I know I'm right. I'm right. Right?"

Well, the word was losing meaning now. He sighed, his elbows on the kitchen counter, his chin in his palms. The chick continued to peck and cry while the duck stood still on the stool, occasionally quacking, the only sincere listener of Chandler's long anecdote.

"Oh what d'you know, you're a duck."

He took the kettle of boiling milk off the gas and poured it into a mug, tore off a sachet of coffee and watched it settle at the bottom of the milk in defeat. He threw it all in the sink, and was about to get his jacket and walk down to the coffeehouse, when he heard a soft knock on the door.

"Rach?"

He found it rather alarming because Rachel never knocked. She stood at her door, her shoulders slouched and her arm weighed down with what looked like a heavy bag, hesitating to enter. Chandler ran up to her. "What happened?"

"D'you think Joey would let me live here?"

As taken aback as Chandler was, he knew he had to react fast. "Um, yeah, sure, why not, Rach. Come in."

She trotted in and slumped over on the barcalounger. By the looks of it, Chandler guessed she had another fight with Ross and left his place in a fit of rage. He sat on the arm of the recliner and rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, "Okay to talk about it?"

"I didn't mean to scream at him," she started the story midway, "we had words and he said I should be happy for him and Emily, and he's damn right I am! I'm happy. Don't I look happy?"

"Uh huh," he mumbled for the lack of an appropriate response.

"Of course I'm not happy! How can I be happy? It's Ross for God's sake. We break up, three months later get together again, break up again and months later begin to live together, and – and – I could feel we had feelings for each other – and then the Queen of England comes over and charms him in two weeks, and he throws away everything we had!"

She had broken into an angry sob by the end of it. His free arm closed in around her shoulder, as he asked in a low, sincere voice, "Why didn't you tell him about it?"

"I knowwww," she wailed in a pitched staccato, "I should've and I didn't. What do I do now?"

There wasn't much left to do, except to hope the couple broke up soon. He pouted, and raised his eyebrows, not wanting to throw the answer at her already devastated face. Almost a year ago everyone had believed Ross and Rachel belonged together, come whatever may. They were – as weird as it sounded to him – lobsters. He couldn't blame her for thinking the same, in fact, he was a little bitter at Ross – how could Ross be so oblivious to the obvious spark?

"It'll get better, Rach," he chimed in instead, and kissed the top of her head.

"It did get better for you, didn't it," she abruptly landed on a different note, rendered him a teasing lopsided smile, probably in an attempt to lighten herself, "I heard about the kiss."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, adjusting his collar and going along the subject if that made her feel better, "Was it Joey?"

"Yeah, who else. Surprising Monica didn't talk about it."

"Not that surprising when you think about it." He followed it with a self-deprecating laugh. As much as he hated it, Rachel pursed her lips into that typical face of slight pity.

"Meant nothing, eh?"

"Well, she said so."

She patted his hand that rested on her shoulder. "Hang in there."

He laughed again, a prolonged pinching in his chest, like an old prick of a needle, "Yeah well, you know the Gellers don't really get it."

She stared up at him with this subdued sigh, and fell against the recliner, punch-drunk, her googly eyes at the ceiling. "We both are losers you won't believe. But Chandler?"

"Yup?"

"She really kissed you? On the lips?"

He mock-glared at her even as she giggled into his shirt, play-acting to punch the side of her head. "Yes, why does everyone keep fixating on that?"

It was almost as if lightning struck her, as she sprang to her feet so fast that he had to ricochet out of her way like a rubber band. She had a wide, bordering-on-animated smile on her face. "You know what would be fun?"

Chandler thought he could take some guesses.

It was killing her that they still hadn't talked about it. If only it hadn't been that stupid promise she had made to Chandler about never asking about Kathy again. Last day, after half an hour of revelling around great-looking furniture and digesting Phoebe's lecture about conglomerate exploitation, they found him waiting for them outside the store. He was pensive, almost unreadable, hands in his pockets. They never brought it up again.

She wondered if there was any – news – Chandler wouldn't have been so mum about it. Maybe she had bogged him down, stood up like a big, pregnant block in his path to happiness. In all probability, he didn't want to break his promise of being the make-believe daddy.

"I have a surprise for you!"

Phoebe popped her head in all of a sudden through the gap of the door in a very accurate Jack Nicholson impression, even as Monica's wok fell to the floor in a loud clunk.

"What is it?" asked Monica flatly.

"Ta da!" cried Phoebe happily, as she dragged in through the door what looked like a humongous cutout of Evander Holyfield, "I stole it from a Foot Locker. Sexy, huh?"

Monica raised a nonplussed eyebrow. "What in God's name are we gonna do with it?"

"It's for your hormone thing," she replied innocently, even as Monica shoved her knuckles into her mouth to keep up a serious face. "Also," continued Phoebe, "we are going on a road trip around the city. We'll see strippers, meet nice guys and maybe have some ice cream on the way back. I've got my grandmother's cab waiting downstairs."

"That sounds ridiculous, Pheebs."

"You got a better thing to do?" she asked sharply.

Monica pouted in surrender. Phoebe was right; ever since she had been on maternity she was perpetually pissed at her inability to do most of the usual stuff. A lot of food smells made her nauseous, and all she could do was scrub and clean, and unfortunately, there was a limit to that. But strippers and flings? Why not movies and laundry?

"So, you're coming," Phoebe jumped in excitement.

"Hey," Rachel walked into their conversation with the unusually sad greeting, passed by them and settled on the couch, grabbing a magazine.

"You're early," Monica turned to her, arms akimbo.

"Well, I'm earlier than you'd ever imagine," she mumbled, her eyes never leaving the glossy pages, "I had a huge-ass fight with Ross at the crack of the dawn and moved out."

Phoebe gasped. "My god, Rach, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she drawled out, "if it hadn't been for that pedicure I probably wouldn't have been, but I'm good. Ross is with Emily now, it would've happened sooner or later, plus I'm staying over at Joey's so I'm having fun."

"You wanna go on a road trip?"

Rachel considered for a moment. "Uh, you know, I just had my nails done, and I gotta shift my stuff... boots and dust torture, I don't think so."

Still, Monica paced towards her, hand on her shoulder. Usually she could see through Rachel, and she could tell Rachel didn't look all that upset – more like, confused and preoccupied. She threw an awkward glance at Phoebe, not sure what to do, then half-muttered an excuse, "Umm, I can't leave the apartment on its own... didn't even tell Chandler, he never reads notes and I've lost track of him since the morning –"

"Hey, this reminds me," Rachel jumped upright, throwing the magazine aside, "Guess who we bumped into in the parlour."

Phoebe laughed. "You took Chandler to the parlour?"

"He was curious," Rachel explained in a terrible impression of him, "he was all like, ooh how couldcha pay a fortune for scrubbing your toenails, so I dragged him there. And guess who we bumped into – Janice!"

Ah, Janice and her great big habit of popping in and out of Chandler's life, and tattering it with her machine gun-fire laughter. Monica sighed comically. "So he's off with Janice now?"

"She literally jumped on him like a mountaineer, and just – clung on to him. Poor guy's probably roaming around the city, trying to fend her off."

"Wow," Phoebe stared at the ceiling, as if impressed, "Suddenly it's like hermit man's having all the ladies."

"Phoebe, I'm not getting a good feeling about this."

"Oh, Mon, would you relax?"

Phoebe grinned widely into the flashing neon lights and did a little jig to what Monica thought was mind-numbingly loud music, before they headed on to the bar counter. Monica wasn't even sure what she was doing there; she had tried a hundred excuses but there was no stopping the Phoebe machine.

"Ladies?" the bartender ushered them as they climbed onto the stools.

"One peppermint margarita for me," said Phoebe, "and a virgin for her."

"I shouldn't have let you talk me into this," Monica grumbled under her breath.

"Why not? You're pretty and you have raging hormones. You might as well take some advantage out of it."

"I'm carrying a baby!"

"So what?" Phoebe looked at her incredulously, an expression that complimented her crazy braided bun and strands sticking out at odd angles too well, "Your bump is big enough. Any man that comes to you will know it's part of the deal!"

The music was loud enough, so Monica pretended not to hear a word of what she said. The drinks arrived, and she turned a slight angle away, sipping quietly, hoping that would pass the time. Then arrived another tap. She glanced at Phoebe over her shoulder.

"That guy's been staring at you for quite a while now," she pointed towards the end of the counter. A young man with gelled blond hair and the tuxedo winked and raised his glass. She nudged her teasingly, "So, what d'you think?"

"Uh, I don't think so."

"Why not? Look, Monica, you have to get on your feet again. It's not simple, but you gotta begin somewhere. I know you're not ready for a massive commitment... but this kind of loneliness is not good for the baby."

"I'm not lonely, Phoebe." She had a roommate. And a pretty good one if she might say so.

"I understand, Mon. When my mom died –"

"Pheebs, it's not that. I'm just not attracted to the guy."

Phoebe squinted as if she were hard of vision, and then gave out a loud derisive laugh, "Are you kidding me? Look at his cheekbones, they can cut glass! By the way, you're the one telling me you're attracted to everything right now. Then an insanely attractive guy likes you and you say you're not interested? What is up with you?"

"Trust me, I don't know," Monica mumbled almost inaudibly, before she yelled over the music, "Hey, maybe the hormone thing is phasing out!"

"Mon, we talked yesterday. You had kissed Chandler for crying out loud."

God knew why that particular comment touched on a vein of annoyance. She asked sharply, "You don't think Chandler can be attractive?"

Phoebe laughed again. "C'mon, it's Chandler."

"What, you don't like tall, cute, blue-eyed guys?" Monica wanted to sound curious, but it probably came out a little fiercer and defensive than needed.

"Doesn't matter, the guy's been our friend since Eve ate the apple. He's friend-zoned."

Monica chuckled at that. "Okay."

"And he knows you guys since – since Ross had that fluffy prom tape afro."

"Oh, you should've seen his. They used to look like partners in crime –"

"Hello," it was the blond man again, taking on the stool beside Monica's. Phoebe not-so-subtly scrunched her face up in victory, while Monica inwardly groaned as his gazed lingered on her, "Have I seen you anywhere before?"

"Nah, I don't think so," she smiled politely.

"Hi, I'm Phoebe," came the thankful interruption, "You are gorgeous but I have to go to the bathroom right now." And with it, she pranced out of the sight, leaving Monica alone and embarrassed in the much-abhorred spotlight.

"My friend's a bit crazy," she shook her head and faked a laugh.

"So you're expecting?"

"No, I thought it'd be a great idea to shoplift a football on the way."

The guy raised his eyebrows. She faked another laugh and sipped on the drink, the extent of the damage slowly coming to light. Boy, those were literally Chandler's words slipping through her lips, and when it came to dating, that could never mean a good thing. The guy began to speak, and whatever focus she had fizzed away – everything came in as a lovechild of random babbling and throbbing music.

In fact, she was a little worried. What would Chandler make of the fact she went gallivanting on a road trip, what with the sole purpose of looking for a fling? Not that he had a business to mind there... Even if she did hook up with someone, what was he to do with it? It still came off as a little guilty. She should've told him, and not pass off the message through Rachel and an Evander Holyfield cutout.

As horny as she was, she didn't want a fling. She had been flung far and far more often than she'd like to admit, on chance meetings like these.

"...And then, my wife suddenly says she wants a divorce. Isn't that ridiculous?"

"Uh huh," she nodded sympathetically.

"So, what about your husband?"

"Oh, no. I'm not married. My fiancé had a car accident on my wedding day. He didn't survive." She was a little surprised at how much it still hurt.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the guy brought in the most pitiful look his facial muscles could morph into, "Definitely worse than my divorce."

You'd think. She tore her gaze away and rolled her eyes. "So, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, shoot."

"If your wife bumps into you, say, in a supermarket, she cries and you hug her, what kind of a signal are you sending off to your friends who were eavesdropping the conversation?"

"Um, what?"

She smirked sheepishly. "Just... a hypothetical situation. So?"

He raised his eyebrows again, to make sure he'd really have to go through it. Monica didn't budge, stared at him with expectant eyes and a sugary smile.

"Uh, do I know that my friends are eavesdropping?"

"No, no."

"Why are they eavesdropping?"

"They're eavesdropping because they care. Now, would you?"

"I don't know, maybe we wanna get back together."

"Now that is the most obvious thing to happen. What else?"

"Uh..."

"Well, there you have a perfectly adequate answer."

He grinned a bit, "You know, it's funny because in college people called me the perfectly-adequate Hansen."

"Wow," she nodded, "in college people called me the anal girl."

The guy stroked his perfectly gelled hair, half-opened his mouth with a possible reply, lost it midway, climbed down his stool and chugged his drink at one go, and shook her hand – all in a matter if thirty seconds. "Nice to meet you. I'm Tom. I just noticed my friend calling me."

"... Because I was very – clean – and organised," she pushed it out somehow, hardly able to suppress the massive giggle, watching him hurtle his way into the dancing crowd and disappear. She called after him, "Neat as a Nazi!"

It was well worth a try though. With Phoebe in, this could be a fun day trolling.

The clock kept ticking.

Monica strutted to and fro across the living room. She looked up at it the umpteenth time - it was 11:30 already, and Chandler wasn't home. She had expected to be the one subject to questioning today, what with the abrupt road trip and disaster dating and cool blackjack money and all, but apparently no one had heard of Chandler since the debacle of a pedicure in the morning.

Still with Janice? It was a queer, no – almost an impossible story to stomach. Just couldn't be.

Maybe she should call Janice. She searched around for his phone book, rushed to his room; there was something odd about the place, it looked... emptyish. There were some stashes of bubble wrap on the floor, and some of the drawers - pulled out and empty. It felt fishy; what was going on and how come nobody knew?

She rubbed her chest to relieve some of the tension bubbling underneath, jumped at the suddenness of the sound of the knock at the door. Against all expectations, it was Joey.

"Heard anything?" she breathed.

"No, nothin'," he replied, "I'm guessin' he's hooked up with Janice."

"Okay, that didn't happen. That's borderline crazy."

He scoffed, "Tell me about it."

"Where did he go? D'you have Janice's number?"

Joey jerked his head, "I don't even know where she lives. No reason to," he thought for a moment before breaking into a triumphant grin, like a lightbulb flicked on, "Hey, but I do have Kathy's."

"What if this has nothing to do with his little black book of girlfriends? What if he's in trouble again?"

"Still worth a try," he said, and darted back to his apartment.

Kathy. This ambiguity with curious brown eyes and a burgundy bob hadn't stopped hovering over their (her?) heads since yesterday. Monica swallowed down a dry lump. She tried to draw a probable situation - Chandler, in order to get rid of Janice, ended up at Kathy's and just... stayed there, without any information? Her jaw tightened in anger. No, no, wait. It was unlikely. It wasn't a Chandler-like thing to do.

She instinctively threw her arm across to retrieve her jacket. Dropping at Kathy's at midnight? If, if Chandler were there, they must have made love and gone to bed already. She flexed her knuckles, trying to shake it off.

"Hey," Joey slowly trotted back to the hallway, the phone in his hand, a little dazed as if he weren't sure what was happening, "I'm not sure what she said... but it definitely sounded like, 'hop in, it's a ball out here!' I think there's a party goin' on."

"You think Chandler's gonna be there?"

"Well, if he is, he's gonna get a piece of my mind," yelled Joey, grabbing a jacket, scrunching its sleeves and storming down the stairs, "See ya!"

Monica took a deep breath, a nail drilling in her chest. Well, he'd better be with Kathy than in some kind of trouble again. She exhaled, pushed the door ajar and walked over to the couch dejectedly. Her mind zoomed in on the night he had knocked on the door pale and bleeding, passed out in front of her... when Joey had told her those terrifying stories and asked for help...

"Frankly I had rushed up here expecting so much worse, Mon."...

She was shaken out of the trance by the ringing of the phone. A quick glance at the clock - it was five minutes to midnight, who would call now? There was no way in hell Joey had reached Kathy's this fast and was calling back. Her heart thumped in her chest, the dread escalated in her throat so fast she had to bite her lips together to not send out a sharp yelp, even as she reached out for the receiver with a trembling hand.

"H- hello?"

"Hello, Mon?"

It was Chandler. He sounded okay. The dread fizzed like air out of a punctured balloon. She blew out a giant breath of relief.

"Mon?"

With the relief came a nasty bout of anger. She almost screamed into the phone, "Dammit Chandler, where the hell are you?"

"I'm in Yemen."

"You – what?"

"Yeah, my flight just landed."

"Come again?"

"I'm in Yemen and my flight just landed."

Monica wasn't even sure how to react. His words certainly didn't have the sarcastic after-tone, even so before she considered the truth in them, she must clarify.

"Is this a joke?"

"No, no," he replied urgently, "Look, I'm an idiot, I just – hey, you wait for you chance, I'm on the payphone now, lemme finish! – sorry, where was I – yes, I'm an idiot. I told Janice that my company shifted me to Yemen."

Telling was one thing, going right through it was another. She hummed, "Okay..."

"I had to. There wasn't any way I could get rid of her."

"Well, couldn't you have come up with something better than the most outrageous idea ever?"

She could hear him flipping out on the other end. "Well, my ears were bleeding so bad from that laugh... she literally jumped on me! What'd you have done anyway?"

"I dunno, maybe you could've said something like – like, we are a couple now, and you got me pregnant, and we're getting married – or something."

He didn't speak for a minute. She held back a giggle. Then he groaned in a low, defeated tone, "Yeah you're right. I could've done that."

"When are you coming back?"

"Right now. Any moment I can get a flight back. This rabbi guy has been staring at me since an hour now. I'll call you as soon as I get a plane. Bye Mon."

"Bye, honey." The term of endearment just slipped out without warning.

She didn't mind though. A silly smile etched on her face, she crumbled along the length of the couch, the phone at the head, near enough to alarm her awake. It felt nice to think at least she'd be getting a good night's sleep.

i AM SO SORRY FOR THIS DULL ASS CHAPTER I PROMISE I SO SO PROMISE I WILL MAKE IT UP TO YOU WITH THE NEXT ONE COMING REALLY REALLY SOON. Also, I stole two lines right out of a movie. :P