It was Valentine's Day, not the one on the calendar, but their very own one, the day they had agreed on for the postponed celebration, and Monica was in the kitchen to finish her preparations. She had taken care of everything, from the cake in the oven to wine and snacks in the fridge and enough assorted groceries to enable her to whip up anything that Chandler might fancy in the course of their celebration. She had made the bed with sheets and covers reserved for special occasions, stocked up on condoms, muted the phone and turned the answering machine on, and moreover told everybody not to disturb them that evening. Seeing as they were all busy with their own projects – Joey with trying to trick his way into a well-paying medical project and Rachel and Phoebe trying to show Ross what Unagi was all about – she could be reasonably sure they would be left alone. So everything was ready, except for one thing.

Her Valentine's present. The one that was to be all the more special than any ordinary gift because she hadn't bought it, but made it herself, because that would tell Chandler much better how much she cared for him than anything bought could ever do. The one she had created on her own, positively inspired and suffused with her love for him while she had gone about it.

Except she hadn't.

It had seemed so easy at first. When the subject of presents had come up (again), and Chandler had voiced his concerns how easily the amount of gifts and spending could get out of hand (again) she had suggested that they should each make a gift for the other by themselves. A simple, handmade gift, all the more precious because they were not bought, but created by investing time and effort. It had seemed the perfect solution at the time. Make a gift? Of course she could make a gift, nothing easier than that. Just sit down and put something together, create something from nothing that would express her feelings much better than anything bought could ever do – and would save so much time and money too. And of course it would be the best gift ever, the one Chandler would prize above all others because she had made it herself, skillfully and lovingly. In fact she hadn't foreseen a single problem with that concept, right until the day they had agreed on to celebrate their postponed Valentine's Day and she realized to her utter dismay that she hadn't actually made anything, not even thought about what exactly she could make that would meet the requirements of being a perfect gift and that Chandler would love. Until now the wonderful self-made gift had only existed in her imagination and never actually made it into reality.

It was so utterly vexing. Not only had she failed to accomplish what had been her own idea, but even worse, had been forced in her despair to confide in Phoebe and Rachel and thus admit her failure. She, Monica, who always strove to set a shining example of how to be the best at everything she wanted to do had had to admit that she had failed at such a simple task. It hadn't even occurred to her to knock something together from some odds and ends from her sewing basket (not that there were any odds and ends in there) like Phoebe always did, and now here she was, on their postponed Valentine's Day with nothing more to offer than this idiotic hand-puppet thing that Phoebe had cobbled together from some old socks, with wool rests and buttons for eyes and whiskers. That it looked so makeshift and simple wasn't even the worst thing about it. It was the fact that it had been made by Phoebe and not by herself. If it had been, Monica would at least be able to offer it as a genuine self-made gift to Chandler with a clear conscience, even if she would forever be ashamed that she hadn't been able to think of something more worthy. But no, she was stuck now with this as substitute, and a poor one at that, and even worse, one she had had to beg off Phoebe even though she had hated it almost right away.

And all of it just because she had been too busy and caught up in other projects to find the time to create something she could give Chandler on their Valentine's Day.

Monica loved setting herself tasks. For as long she could remember there had always been something that someone said she couldn't do until she proved them wrong. When after some time people stopped challenging her she found she'd gotten so used to have to work toward some unattainable goal that she started challenging herself, if only to prove to herself she could do it. After all she had the will. And the stamina. And the determination. Everything else was – negligible. All she needed to do was put herself under pressure.

Pressure was good. Pressure kept you on your toes, kept you alert, didn't let you flag and slacken in your efforts. Except when you forgot it was there and let yourself be diverted, lost your focus. Then it would overtake you and leave you behind knowing you had failed. And while it went by you more often than not it would bite you in the ass.

This tended to happen more often when she was working on several self-appointed tasks at once. Like right now when she was trying to meet her personal maximum requirements in so many areas of her life – at work where she aimed to be the best chef ever, the best head chef, the best boss: with her parents, where she had been trying to achieve the ultimate goal of being the perfect daughter of all time, the one her mother would boast of to her friends, for as long as she could remember (true, her prospects there hadn't really improved much lately. But of course this was no reason to give up on that particular challenge – quite on the contrary); and with her friends, of always being the one person they couldn't do without, that they relied upon to manage their lives for them and would prefer to everyone else. And last, but absolutely not least, in her relationship with Chandler, which was probably the most important challenge of all, and which also touched and combined so many of the other tasks as well. She needed it to be the best relationship possible, the happiest, most harmonious, self-reliant and strong there was, the relationship everyone else dreamed of and wanted for themselves. She wanted to set an example with it, something everyone should try to emulate and for that she needed to demonstrate that to everybody in such a way that no doubts could possibly be left.

However, she wasn't quite ready to give up yet – that was never an option, not until the very last moment – but she had to admit to herself that her prospects of winning were dwindling, to say the least. True, she had her substitute present that would (probably) serve to get one up Chandler when it would turn out that he hadn't made anything either. If he hadn't. She was almost sure that he hadn't – the way he had asked her earlier if the entire thing had to be self-made, shifting and squirming and unable to meet her eyes as he did told her loud and clear that he had forgotten it too. He had left in quite a hurry soon after while mumbling something about having to pick it up, looking quite desperate and shamefaced as he did so. And now he was still rummaging around in their bedroom, stalling and postponing the moment he had to face her and admit his defeat - if she was right. Then she would show him her gift and enjoy her triumph. Of course she would have preferred it if her gift to him was so wonderful and perfect that it would humble him all the more and enable her to forgive him even more graciously and earn his everlasting gratitude for it, and somehow the stupid sockbunny didn't really come up to these expectations. But it was the sockbunny or nothing, so she put it in the nicest box she could find, hoping despite better knowledge that a nice box would somehow make it look less stupid while she waited for him in the kitchen.

Now their bedroom door opened and Chandler sidled through, with his hands on his back as if he was trying to hide something from view.

"Hey! Hi! You uh, ready to exchange gifts?"

Monica felt the first slight doubt creep in, but firmly suppressed it. "Sure! Okay, you go first."

"Okay, come here! Come here." They moved to the couch and Monica sat on the center table to face him.

"Now, it's not wrapped because I just, just finished it."

"Okay." Typical, when had there ever been a guy who took care to wrap a present – by himself that is and not by some shopkeeper?

Then he finally did hand her his present and Monica suddenly felt as if the floor was collapsing under her.

"But I made you a tape of what I think are all romantic songs."

Oh dear sweet heaven. Chandler had done it. He had bested her by creating a gift that was so ingeniously simple and yet so thoughtful and endearing that it couldn't be anything but perfect. Monica couldn't get over it. Why oh why hadn't she thought of it?

"Oh, what a great gift! Is The Way You Look Tonight on it?!"

Much later she would remember how shifty he had looked all of a sudden, hesitating just a fraction too long. But at that moment she didn't notice.

"Um, maybe we'll have to listen and see!"

"Oh, I love it! Thank you so much!" She threw her arms around him wildly in her joy and gratitude. Had there ever been anyone who had made something so wonderful for her? How could she have doubted him?

Chandler returned her hug perfunctorily and she remembered that it was her turn.

"Okay, you ready to open yours?"

His reaction to the thing in the box was rather unexpected. The best she had hoped for had been delight in something so cute. The next best would have been amusement, and the most realistic some gentle mocking, maybe even a sarcastic remark. But not this perplexed surprise on his face as he took it out and slipped his hand into it.

"It's a sockbunny ..!"

"Yeah-yeah, you remember how I call you bunny?" Monica tried. Oh please let him like it, please, please, please …

"Not really." Now he seemed completely confused and Monica felt herself losing ground.

"Well, I did one time, and-and I want to start doing it more. See that's what this is about."

Actually she now fervently wished she had made more of an effort to find a nickname for Chandler. But somehow nothing seemed to have stuck and she had never really liked pet names anyway.

"I see … You know umm, Phoebe makes sock bunnies." Chandler said quite offhandedly, his eyes still on the sockbunny.

Her first instinct of course was to deny everything. "No! No, she doesn't. Uh Phoebe, what she makes—that's uh—they're sock rabbits. They are completely different—"

But of course it was no use. Of course he knew the truth, he probably had seen it too, Phoebe must have shown it to him and hadn't told her …

"Okay! Okay! Okay! I didn't make it! I'm sorry! I totally forgot about tonight and the fact that we're supposed to make the presents!" Jumping up and almost hopping with agitation she was wailing and wringing her hands abjectly. How could she have let this happen and get so humiliated?

Chandler, bless him, actually tried to calm her. "Oh, it's okay. I don't …" Much later of course she would remember how he had tried to placate her and get a word in, an explanation, but of course she hadn't listened in her overwhelming remorse and determination to make up.

"No-no, it's not okay! It's not! I mean you were just… You're so incredible! You went through all this time and effort to make this tape for me! Y'know I'm just gonna—I, I am gonna make this up to you! I will!" Suddenly inspired she put on her most alluring and promising smile. "I - I am going to cook anything you want in here –" and she pointed to the kitchen "- and I am going to do anything you want in there!" And she pointed to the bedroom, her eyes shining with excitement and joy as she waited for his decision. There was a slight pause as he seemed to think it over, and later, much later of course she would remember how his expression had slowly changed, shifting from embarrassed conciliatoriness to calculating deliberation.

"Well, I did put a lot of thought in the tape," he finally agreed and all at once Monica felt as if on fire, the urge to make up for her failure and chastise herself for having doubted him, plus to reward him for his perfect gift combining with sudden delicious desire that she couldn't contain for even a minute longer. The gleam in his eyes as he got up to follow her into the bedroom and the way he grinned lecherously and even made a little skip and dance before rushing after her, the sockbunny still stuck on his hand, only served to fan the flames even more.

They came together at the foot of the bed where she had turned to welcome him into her arms, and even before they pressed together, mouths latching hungrily, hands grabbing and tearing at each other's clothes, thighs rubbing together and hips undulating against each other, she knew this time was going to be special. Of course, there had never been a time when it hadn't been special one way or the other, but even with all those good times there occasionally were peaks when it got more than good and satisfying and verged on the great and sublime. Add to this that they hadn't had sex in five days due to her period and you got the infallible formula for a truly glorious experience. The one she would range in her personal top ten at least, if not top five.

It got even better – if that was at all possible – when they had climbed on the bed, butt-naked and hot and giggling helplessly with lust and exhilaration, and Chandler got her to turn on all fours so they could do it doggy-style – or rather bunny-style as he called it, the sockbunny still on his hand serving very much to enhance his point. They didn't go for this position very often, preferring the ones where they could face each other, but Monica always felt that it did have its merits. Once they got down to it they could somehow focus on the sex itself, the pure act, without any distraction, plus it somehow still seemed to be the one position that felt more kinky and naughty than the others, even though that really was silly and prudish. And yet Monica was sure that Chandler thought the same, maybe even more so.

And now there was the sockbunny too adding to the fun. Monica was amazed how great it felt when Chandler rubbed and stroked her all over with it, how much it enhanced and heightened the sensation of his foreplay and how deliciously kinky it seemed too, especially when he pushed it urgently between her legs, pressing against her clitoris and drawing those ridiculous sock-ears through her crack. When it fleetingly occurred to her to wonder what Phoebe would think of her toy being used in this way she couldn't help laughing out loud. Somehow she always thought that Phoebe, for all she always professed to be so uninhibited and open to everything would be quite shaken at seeing her concoction being put to such rough use. A real pity she would never be able to tell her.

Chandler's swollen penis pressing against her thigh reminded her of her share in their foreplay and suddenly inspired she snatched the sockbunny and slipped it over her own hand before he could stop her, then started to rub and squeeze his penis the way she knew he liked it best. Soon she had him groaning and shouting, almost howling in fact while he held on to her for dear life, shuddering and panting on her neck and shoulders. When she sensed him getting frantic and couldn't hold out any longer herself she guided him inside, moaning and then screaming when he nudged and pushed, going deeper with every thrust and then speeding up until she had to hold on to the bars at the head of the bed for dear life as he slammed into her at an almost alarming rate.

Just when she thought he would finish first, the first signs of her impending orgasm made themselves felt only seconds before it came on, and then she was yelling on top of her voice, positively yelling the house down while she felt herself melting and dissolving under him, as if becoming unglued and almost liquid, losing all strength in her limbs. Chandler went on for a little while longer, enough to evoke another weak response in her before he reached his own climax and collapsed over her, panting and groaning, their sweat mixing as they lay in a steaming heap on the bed.

After they had got their breath back and disentangled themselves, they snuggled under the cover and Monica felt even more suffused with desire to match all the wonderful things he had done with efforts of her own, all the while feeling as if nothing she did would ever be enough.

Chandler now grinned at the sockbunny that he still had on his hand. ""Wow!" You are way too young to have seen that!"

"Oops!" Monica laughed and covered the bunny's button eyes, then snuggled closer to his chest. "You know, your birthday is in a month-and-a-half, what do you say I forget to get you a present for that too?"

Chandler smiled magnanimously at her. "You are totally and completely 100% forgiven."

She then noticed belatedly that the sockbunny looked rather the worse for wear, and no wonder. "We have got to wash that!"

"Yeach!" Chandler agreed wholeheartedly. As he stripped off the sockbunny and tossed it on the night-stand, Monica was already busy with new plans.

"Do you remember that jacket that you love so much, that you thought was too expensive?" Actually she had thought that and had gotten Chandler to see it her way – as usual, and now she wished she hadn't.

"You have done enough!" But he did smile as he admonished her.

"I wanna get up early and go get it for you!"

"No you don't—get it in black, not brown." Not the color she would have preferred, but that wasn't important any more. Yes, she would do that, and oh, now there was so much more she could do while she was at it! It was as if her failure had unleashed a veritable storm of ideas how to make good and redeem herself. She would get to it tomorrow first thing, and it would be so great. Already she felt she was on a roll with her exciting new project. The project she would definitely not fail, and that she couldn't wait to get started on.

Just then, as if on cue, the oven timer dinged.

"Oop, your cake is ready!"

As omens went, that had to be pretty good. She would succeed at this, she just knew it.

.

.

And yet it was barely 24 hours later that Monica, alone in their bedroom and sitting on the bed with her head in her hands, had to admit to herself that she had failed again. This time through no fault of her own and yet she simply couldn't help blaming herself as much as all the unfortunate circumstances that had led to this disaster.

Why? For god's sake why did it have to end this way? So abruptly, like out of the blue? She had been on such a roll, so gloriously committed to her project of showering Chandler with everything she remembered that he liked to show him her gratitude and make him as happy as he had made her. No even happier than that of course. She had bought that jacket as promised, plus a tie and a vest to go with it, she had waited on him nonstop, taken over all the chores that he had been assigned and last but not least she had cooked all his favorite meals and even managed to refrain from trying to improve them as she usually did, knowing that he actually preferred them the way they had always been before they got together, even if he didn't dare to admit it. All the while she had dismissed his rather half-hearted protests, refusing to let go of all that lovely zeal that spurred her on. It simply felt too great to give it up so soon.

So great indeed, so wonderful, until that horrible moment when that all too well-known voice on the tape had cut right into their bliss as they danced by candlelight to the lovely piano tunes of 'The Way you look Tonight'. And right there was another song she would never be able listen to without remembering the shock that voice-over gave her. And Chandler too, she had felt him stiffening in her arms and his jaw becoming unhinged when Janice's voice screeched from the speakers.

"I love the way you look every night Chandler! That's why I made you this tape! Happy Birthday! Love Janice!"

It had felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water at her, finally waking her up to grim reality. She had had it right at first – Chandler hadn't made the tape for her. Like her, he hadn't made anything for her, and instead of making a clean breast of it he had tried to cover it up and lied to her. True, so had she, but she had admitted it to him, hadn't she?

Things had gotten a little ugly after that. She had screamed at him and then sat on the couch in an icy huff, arms crossed, grimly ignoring him as he apologized and pleaded and begged, while the fatal tape still played on, unheeded by both of them. Not even when he used her own promise of 'cooking anything you want in here and doing everything you want in there' could she bring herself to let him off the hook. It was only his final argument that managed to make her give him another chance.

"Come on Monica, it's our Valentine's Day. Please? Please-please, please?"

He was right. It was their own Valentine's Day. It shouldn't be ruined by such a stupid thing. Even if that wonderful mood from before couldn't be captured again, it wasn't right to let it end so dismally. So she had relented and they had hugged and tried to go on as if nothing had happened. And everything would have turned out alright if Janice had only had the sense to leave well alone. Instead she had seen fit to add another voice-over to the tape.

"My funny valentine, sweet comic Valentine! You make me smile with my heart!"

That had effectively broken the spell and Monica had marched straight to the bedroom, slamming the door in Chandler's face accompanied by another bout of Janice's outbursts and, as if that wasn't enough already, followed by her very own patented laughing. How could he have been so stupid? Giving her a tape that had been made by Janice of all people without checking it first, or rather very probably not even remembering let alone questioning where he had got it. Just finding it, congratulating himself on his good luck and never think twice about it. As if the present itself wasn't important, only the fact that it was a made present.

Something made, like the sockbunny that she had taken from Phoebe, never considering that Chandler might know about it – but no, that was totally different. It just had to be.

And he had lied to her, Monica argued with herself just as the first doubts started to undermine her feelings of outrage and wounded pride. Surely there had been ample opportunity for him to admit that he had forgotten to make a present? At least when she herself had admitted her failure he could have come clean too, and they would have been even, with no hurt feelings. Even more important, they would have been honest with each other. Hadn't they promised each other that?

Of course the memory of how she herself had pretended and lied until the last moment had to pop up in her mind right then. She'd had her chance too. More than one in fact. And not used them either.

Monica sighed deeply, hating how complicated and confused this had become. It had been so simple at the beginning. Have their very own Valentine's Day on a date they had chosen together and make it extra special, celebrating it alone, undisturbed and in peace, with a nice dinner, cake, fun and laughter and great sex, and give each other presents they made themselves.

Well, they'd managed to have all of that, especially the great sex, but except the presents. The one thing that had spoilt it all.

Self-made home-made gifts. Suddenly another memory surfaced that made Monica wince. How could she have forgotten how much she had hated to make something herself? Ever since the time she and Ross had been kids and they'd been expected to offer something they'd crafted on their own at all those occasions? Mother's Day had been the worst she decided, wincing again. Her mother's condescending and indulgent smile at anything Monica offered up was the most she ever got, no matter how hard she had worked at all those crocheted potholders, lace doilies, collages and ceramic cups, hoping against better knowledge to win some praise from her mother, just once. But of course Judy had always reserved all her praise and gratitude for Ross's gifts, no matter how meager and inadequate they always seemed compared to hers. The memory still stung after all this time. So why on earth could she even have imagined that she had a chance to succeed at this with Chandler when the very concept of self-made presents would always be associated with the dismal experiences in her childhood and thus be forever spoilt for her? Just because she had thought she could finally win at this here and now, proving to herself that she was good at it after all? And what did this disaster prove to her now? That she couldn't win, even if it was Chandler she was trying to best instead of her brother and her mother?

And if he had admitted the truth to her after all, would she have smiled at his failure in the same indulgent condescending way her mother had?

Was this really worth it, and on their own Valentine's Day too? On the anniversary of the day they had openly professed their love for each other for the first time?

Monica took a deep breath and opened her eyes again, slowly unclenching and relaxing her hands until she felt calm again. Then she got up and went to the night-stand to take the sockbunny out of the drawer where she had put it after she'd washed it. Slipping it over her hand she softly walked to the door and silently opened it.

Chandler had curled up on the couch, his head buried in his arms, a picture of abject misery. As she tiptoed towards him Monica noticed that the tape compartment of the cassette player had been opened and the horrible tape finally removed. It seemed rather absurd now that they had even left it in there, playing on after Janice's first announcement when they should have thrown it out right away. Resisting the impulse to check if he had really thrashed it Monica bent over Chandler and gently tapped his shoulder. When he flinched and raised his head to stare at her unbelieving she smiled at him, quickly putting her hand with the sockbunny over it on his mouth to quench the inevitable comment and wordlessly raising a finger to her lips. Chandler's eyes widened, then he visibly pulled himself together and hurriedly got to his feet. Still silent Monica put her arm around him and they walked back into the bedroom together, shutting the door behind them.