Scene Three: You Can't Always Get What You Want

There had been no answer to her knock. Rachel had taken a chance, tried the door and found it unlocked; so much for security, she thought, and let herself in. She observed with detached interest that the boys' room was actually tidier than theirs. Curiouser and curiouser - or maybe London just had a strange effect on everyone. She sat on the edge of the one of the beds and wondered idly if it were Chandler's she had chosen - drawn to it unconsciously.

It had to be his, she decided in the end: she was sitting on the one that didn't have crumbs on the comforter.

She was driven from it in the end, her nerves wound tight, jangling along her spine. She stood, paced the room, her fists opening, closing, opening, like a cat flexing its claws. In her head she rehearsed, again, the little speech she had prepared. And she imagined how he would look, what he would say, the relief and then the happiness - please, God, let it be happiness - and then he would hold her-

And he would hold her. And she would hold him and she would never let him go.

She started at the knock at the door.

For a moment Rachel stood in the middle of the room, then tweaked at her skirt and crossed the floor, smiling; she imagined Chandler, sheepish, without his keys-

'You really can't find yours?'

'Maybe they fell out somewhere en route.'

She stared at him in distress. 'How? How could they fall out? And how could you not notice?'

He blinked. 'Kinda had my hands full at the time.'

'Oh. Yeah.' She felt a flush spread through her body. She looked away from him and his still startlingly blue gaze. 'Ooh, we should look over here!' She wandered over to the area illumined by the street-lamp.

'Uh, why?'

'Because this is where the light is.'

He watched her for a moment, then shrugged. 'Yeah, okay.'

Heads close together, they examined the circle of light.

'Hey, don't you think that piece of gum looks like Elvis?'

'Nah, I'd say more Johnny Cash.'

'Huh... Yeah, actually, from that angle you're right.' A pause. 'I still can't see the keys, though.'

'Stupid keys.'

'Did you look in this pocket?'

'Which- Hey, Rach!'

-of course, it might be Joey but she disallowed that thought. If there were any justice it would have to be Chandler.

She started again when she opened the door and met Monica's face.

'H-h-hey.'

'Oh. Hi.' Monica pushed past her, unsteady. 'Is Joey here?'

'Joey? He- No, no, he isn't.'

'Oh.'

Monica's shoulders seemed to sag a little; her eyes were unhealthily glassy, Rachel decided - unfocused. Their gaze finished their circuit of the room and settled on Rachel.

'Are you here for him, too?'

Rachel frowned. 'Too?'

'Aren't you here for Joey?'

'No, I came to talk to Chandler.'

'Oh, Chand-' Monica's head tilted. 'Chandler...' She said it thoughtfully, drawing out the name, slurring it. And in a blur of seconds that felt like years, Rachel saw Monica happily in Chandler's arms, saw them finishing the crossword puzzle and each other's sentences, saw them with their house in the suburbs and their beautiful, ultra-organised, wise-cracking kids-

'But Joey!' Rachel clapped her hands together, beamed inanely at her friend. 'You came to see Joey. Right?'

A pause.

'Right?'

'Right.' Monica stared past her. 'Is that a mini-bar?'

ooOoo

Head bowed, Chandler studied the smooth surface of the bar-top; wavering parallel lines of wood grain, overlaid by a patina of rings. He imagined a legion of glasses coated with condensation, all without coasters, all leaving their mark, and imagined Monica's horrified expression.

The thought of it made him smile.

His head was still bent, the cigarette that he hadn't got around to lighting bobbing at the corner of his mouth; his forehead rested heavily in the cup of his hand. And he started violently when an ice-bucket, complete with Champagne bottle, landed beside him. Joey grinned at him, the smile rapidly morphing to a grimace when he saw Chandler's cigarette.

'Dude.'

'Hey, Joe.'

'Are you smoking? You cannot smoke.'

'Au contraire, my friend. Not only is there no smoking ban here, they're actually encouraging you to smoke.' He gestured at the near-by ashtray. 'See? They provide you with all the accessories. London is finally good for something.' Chandler glanced at the bar tender. 'No offence'.

The man shrugged. 'Nothing to me, mate, I'm from Manchester.' He finished polishing a glass, wandered to the other end of the bar. Chandler watched him curiously, shrugged it off.

And would have returned to the contemplation of the bar-top, but for Joey's eyes boring into him. He looked instead at the ice-bucket. 'Going somewhere nice?'

The grin worked its way back across Joey's face. 'Got a date with the hot bridesmaid. Felicity.' He aimed for an English accent, mauling both it and her name. 'I've got the Champagne, she's getting the strawberries. I figure we'll slide into the tub together and y'know, eat the strawberries, drink the Champagne - I call that London Style.'

One corner of Chandler's mouth turned up. 'Sounds nice.' He closed his eyes against it, against all of it, only vaguely aware that Joey still hadn't gone, that he was still watching him.

A rustling sound, the creak of leather; Joey had hauled himself up onto the neighbouring stool. 'Dude, what is up? Why are you so bummed?'

Chandler straightened up, pulled the cigarette from his mouth, wincing as the filter took most of the skin from his lip, and made himself meet the dark eyes. 'It's nothing.'

'No, it's not. C'mon, man, I know you - something is up. You've been acting all weird the whole time we've been here.'

'I-' He stopped, shrugged. 'I'm just not all that crazy about London. Looking forward to going home.'

'Yeah...' Joey's gaze shifted past him, softening, homesickness written all over his open, honest face. He shook his head sharply. 'No, it's not that. It's more than that. You can tell me - we're best buds. Remember?'

The bracelet (or rather, bracelets) made forgetting an impossibility.

That and a host of other things.

And the need to tell just one other living person, finally, came on him like a tornado.

'Okay. Okay, but you have to promise me, promise me that you will never repeat this to anyone, ever. I mean it, Joe! This is like, not even revealed on your deathbed stuff.'

Joey's eyes were wide. 'Yeah, yeah, okay, I promise.'

Chandler took a breath, steadied himself. 'I slept with Rachel.'

'What?'

Chandler glared at him threateningly.

'It's cool, I'm cool.' A pause. 'Dude! When?'

'When I got back from Yemen-'

'From Yemen?'

The bartender was staring in their direction.

'What did I say about not repeating this to anyone?'

'But-but- This is huge! I gotta go tell somebody-'

Chandler made a grab for his arm, heaving him back onto the stool. 'You promised me!'

'But I didn't know it would be this!'

They stared each other down, Chandler still gripping Joey's arm. Joey sighed, deflated.

'Are you going to be cool?'

'Yeah.'

Chandler removed his fingers one by one, watched Joey apprehensively.

'Okay,' Joey said conversationally. 'So, you slept with Rachel. That's ... not a big deal. Not at all.'

This, Chandler identified, was the soap version of nonchalant.

'And this was like a one-time thing?'

'That time. And one other. When Ross and Emily got engaged.'

'Du-' Joey cut himself off, took a moment, leant forward, both hands clasped together on the bar-top.

'So, are you guys together now?'

'No.' Chandler let out a breath of laughter, humourless. 'We are definitely not together. She's still in love with Ross.'

'But- But he's married now; and if you and she-'

'No! Look, I'm just the guy she goes with when she's either drunk or depressed, or both, but she doesn't want me. She's made that really clear, believe me. And yeah, I know, I shouldn't be moaning, I still got to sleep with a really hot chick. I should just be grateful for that.'

'No, Chandler...' Joey's voice was soft. 'This is Rachel. You can't be that way with her.'

Chandler looked at him. There was a knot he'd been carrying around in his chest for weeks, and under the sympathy from Joey's dark eyes it loosened slightly. 'Thanks, man. It's just- It's killing me not being with her. And I am glad that you got that audition and I am so happy that you got the part, but I really, really wish that you were the one who'd picked me up from the airport.'

The pause stretched into silence. 'I'm really sorry,' Joey said, his voice still soft.

More silence.

Chandler sat up straighter, forced his mouth to curl into an approximation of a smile. 'You should go. Uh, Felicity will be waiting.'

Joey hesitated, shrugged. 'Eh... I mean, she's hot, but y'know, you've had one bridesmaid...'

Chandler laughed slightly. 'You're a real romantic.'

Joey smiled happily. 'Hey, you want some Champagne?'

'Oh, yeah, 'cos that won't make us look gay at all.'

'Do you want some or not?'

'Yeah, okay.'

Joey rested a hand roughly on his shoulder for a moment, then reached for the bottle.

ooOoo

Rachel checked her watch again, sighed, eased herself up from the bed. 'Mon. Hey, Mon, sweetie, I think we should-' She stopped. 'Where did you get that?'

The brunette looked at her, defensive and slightly unfocused. She clutched the bottle of whisky. 'Chandler's suitcase.'

Rachel sighed. 'I think it's time we went.' Monica pouted at her, but put the bottle down on the table. Carefully. And a question that had formed somewhere at the back of Rachel's mind over an hour ago finally made its way to the fore. 'Why did you want to see Joey, anyway?'

A mumble, eyes cast down.

'What?'

Another mumble, Monica addressing a patch of carpet.

'Sweetie, I can't understand a word.'

Monica's head tossed back, her eyes blazing. 'I just wanted to feel to good about myself, okay? Is that too much to ask?'

Rachel's frown slowly cleared. 'You mean-'

'Yes! I know we're friends, but this is Joey, it wouldn't get all messed up.'

'Oh, Mon...' Rachel stared at her, horrified. 'Okay, that's it, we're getting you back to your room and you're going straight to bed.'

'But-'

'No! The last thing you need right now is to make some drunken mistake that you'll only end up regret-' She bit down on her lip. Monica looked at her expectantly.

'What?'

'Nothing.' She took hold of Monica's arm and tugged her, unresisting, out of the room.