This one is dedicated to mondler2001. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the apartment, just the DVDs. There's no profit except writing practice being made here.

"You weren't kidding," Rachel said after sipping her margarita from her spot on the couch. "There's something quietly attractive about Chandler."

Monica blinked at her friend. They were in their pyjamas, enjoying their Friday night and trying to distract themselves from their dateless evening. "I never said he was attractive."

She hadn't. She had always been careful not to. Chandler had filled out in the shoulders since his college days and finally settled on a haircut that actually suited him, something that looked professional but also curled across his forehead in a way that made her want to brush it back into place when they were sitting beside each other and he was making her laugh as he talked all the way through Planet 9, making snippy remarks and pointing every time the strings were visible. But Monica was very careful not to tell him. Chandler didn't get complimented often for reasons that were beyond her, but when he did, they weren't straight to his head and he'd crow about it nonstop for a full day. He'd get over it fairly quickly, but Monica still didn't like to make a habit of stroking his ego. She had made the mistake once of telling him she liked that black cardigan vest he'd bought and he still wiggled his eyebrows at her whenever he wore it, even making a point of wearing it at every chance he got.

"You said he was sophisticated and I didn't see it. But he is, isn't he?"

Monica looked at her old friend, curious. She had the worst feeling that she had missed something. Something important. Where had this come from? She asked Rachel as much, trying to smile around her glass instead of acknowledging the prickle of cold that settled in her veins.

"I don't know," Rachel shrugged. Rachel was the most indecisive person Monica had ever known and despite her protests to the contrary, she seemed to know exactly what she meant. "He looks food in a suit."

It was Monica's turn to shrug. She figured that was the reaction Rachel expected from her, so she moved her shoulders. Monica was sitting on the floor in front of the chair, facing Rachel who sat on the lounge. She had the unfortunate luck of sipping her drink as Rachel spoke next and had to pretend that there was too much lemon in the drink. That's why she pulled a face. Not any other reason.

Rachel was spread out across the couch and reached out for a cracker on the platter on the coffee table, dunking it in the capsicum dip Monica had made. "He looks good in that new office of his."

Monica's hands shook as she topped up her glass from the carafe on the coffee table. She sat back against the chair, her legs curling under her so she could straighten her spine.

"Oh, that's right. You weren't there," Rachel continued on, not realising how the comment made Monica take another gulp of the alcohol. "Joey and Ross went to go have lunch with him, something about him missing the last couple. And I had a free hour, so I went with them. We picked him up and he gave us the tour."

Monica knew her friend was trying to make an effort to become part of the group, and she was proud of Rachel for doing it, especially without being prompted. Although, Monica suspected the invitation to join them at lunch had come from Joey, who she'd almost yelled at a couple of weeks ago, begging him to give Rachel a second chance after the debacle of their monthly movie night. Rachel had eaten popcorn from his bowl and Joey had vowed never to forgive her for it. Monica had needed to smooth things over when the man had insisted her new roommate was intolerable. Chandler had tried to help, gently reminding Joey that Rachel didn't know the rules of movie night or that what seemed like communal snacks were actually separated into colour-coded bowls of Joey's Food and Everyone Else's. She had ended up bribing Joey with the promise of one of her cheesecakes to get him to apologise for snapping but it sounded like he was making a proper effort to apologise and continue to include Rachel.

"His office is nice then?" Monica asked. She hadn't seen it yet. Chandler had invited her to come help her organise his new desk, pouting his bottom lip in that cute way he did when he was asking her to do something for him. He'd furrowed his brow at her but not pushed for a reason when Monica had claimed to be busy. She'd just lost her shot at a proper restaurant gig and hadn't particularly been in the mood to bask in Chandler's promotion. Part of her wondered if Chandler understood that and hadn't asked her to come visit his office again because of it. He had a knack for knowing what she was feeling without her having to verbalise it.

Only, Monica wasn't so jealous anymore and was actually pretty proud of her friend for finally receiving some acknowledgement for his hard work. She knew Chandler complained and tried to make them believe he didn't care about his job, but she had seen him pull out sheaves of paper and manila folders from his briefcase, his bedroom light staying on well into the night. Sometimes, he'd still be working in the kitchen when she got off the late shift and she'd have to remind him to go to bed when she got home. He worked hard and had made good friends at his job and now she was the only one in their group, maybe even his only friend who hadn't properly congratulated him on the promotion. She'd hugged him and suggested a celebratory dinner, but she hadn't visited him in his new office that he'd been so excited about. Except now too much time had passed and Monica wasn't sure how she could bring it up naturally now. She thought about that sometimes when he left for work in the morning. She wondered if Chandler ever thought about it.

"I never knew offices could be that big, Mon," Rachel reclined against the arm of the couch, her feet on the seat in front of her and she took a long sip of her beverage. "It's huge."

Monica squinted at her friend's glinting eyes and salacious smile. She couldn't pinpoint why it was so uncomfortable, but there was something incredibly off about Rachel making sexual innuendoes about sweet, innocent Chandler.

"And you've seen that view he has. It just looks expensive," Rachel announced languorously. "Imagine what his pay is like."

"And that's what makes him attractive?"

Monica didn't really expect Rachel to have completely changed from the status-obsessed woman she'd learnt to be from her mother, but this was Chandler she was talking about. Chandler, who paid for Rachel's ticket to Joey's play without question, who ran to the store to buy more flour when Monica ran out because she'd been trying to make the perfect lasagne for her parents. He was so much more than his bank account.

"Well, yeah." Rachel poured herself another drink, not making eye contact with Monica. "It kind of helped that when he walked in he was bossing around his secretary."

Monica shifted her legs so they were under the coffee table. She reached for a square of cheese and popped it in her mouth. "Chandler? Bossy?"

Rachel nodded. "Not bossy bossy, He was just kind of telling her what to do. I've never seen him like that. Serious. Confident." Rachel screwed up her face as she tried to find the word. "He sounded pretty smart too. Not geeky, mind you. Knowledgeable."

Monica squinted at Rachel as she took a sip of her margarita. For Rachel, these were compliments, despite being backhanded and shallow. There was a faraway look in Rachel's eyes as she considered their neighbour. Monica wanted to know what she was thinking.

"Like an accountant, but prettier."

Scratch that. There wasn't enough tequila in Monica's drink for this conversation.

"It was kind of cool to see him like that. Professional, you know? He's normally so . . . " Rachel trailed off like she couldn't find the right word and was waiting for Monica to fill it in for her.

Monica knew what Rachel was fishing for to describe the man – flippant or playful or some synonym for silly and cynical. But Rachel Green did not know Chandler Bing, not the way Monica did. He was gentle and kind, observant and tolerant. He supported Ross in every choice he made, knowing how much Ross had secretly enjoyed that elective in archaeology he'd taken and daring him to make palaeontology his major because he'd seen how her brother had ploughed through the coursework. He helped Joey chase his acting dreams. Monica thought he might have even been a little jealous of how self-confident Joey was despite almost constantly being passed over for better actors. Chandler still rang Carol long after she divorced Ross just to check in and see how she was doing because Ross hadn't told them in a while and the three of them had been together almost constantly during their college days. Hell, he even nudged Phoebe into normalcy every so often by sarcastically disguising his disapproval, like he had when she had wanted to play Smelly Cat on the harmonica, and he'd reminded her she wouldn't be able to sing it if she did.

"Sarcastic?" she suggested.

"I was gonna say passive," Rachel admitted, tilting her head and resting it on the back of the couch. "I mean, he doesn't put up much of a fight. You know, he let you organise his office."

Monica put her glass on the edge of the table in front of her. "Um. No."

"Oh," Rachel hummed. "I thought you did. The way he was talking about his binders. 'Monica would be proud,' and 'Monica likes things colour coded,' and 'Monica insists that a messy desk means a messy mind.' He talked about you a lot while he was giving the tour. I just assumed . . . "

Monica leant forward. He talked about her? There was something about that that made her tingle. Chandler thought about her when he was organising his office? Of course he did, she reprimanded herself. She was a pain in the ass about organising things, of course people who knew her would think about her when they were organising things. He probably laughed when he avoided alphabetising the things in his drawers. Except Monica had never known Chandler to be all that untidy.

"I actually haven't been to his office yet."

Rachel balked. "Really. I thought you would have been the first."

Monica looked at her fingernails, suddenly finding her cuticles fascinating. She needed a nail file so she could focus on something that wasn't the curious way she could feel Rachel looking at the top of her head. Was it really that strange that even Rachel, who hadn't known the group for that long, found it unusual she hadn't visited Chandler's office yet?

Monica was struck by a far worse realisation. If Rachel, who often couldn't see past her new nose, saw how uncharacteristic it was of Monica, did the others? Was Chandler offended that she hadn't even visited like she sometimes used to?

"Then again," Rachel sat back in her seat, a cheeky smirk gracing her features. "It's probably best you haven't."

Monica leant forward, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you like all that organisation stuff," Rachel shrugged. "You would have reacted even stronger than I did. And I had one hell of a dream."

Excuse me! "Excuse me?"

"The suit. The tie. The expensive office. It was hot." She said it simply, as though dreaming about Chandler was an everyday occurrence.

Monica could admit it wasn't completely unheard of. But this was Chandler. Their friend Chandler. Her friend Chandler.

"You had a dream about Chandler?"

Putting her drink down had been a bad idea, Monica decided, lifting it from the table and gulping it down and quickly pouring another, spilling some of the liquid onto her hand, glad Rachel was occupied with downing her own drink.

Rachel nodded slowly. "And let me tell you, that boy knows what he's doing."

Monica had imagined as much. He talked with his hands, constantly moving them like he needed to be doing something with them at all times. She figured he'd be the same in the bedroom, needing to touch and squeeze and keep them occupied. Monica dreamt he'd press her hands into the mattress, intertwining their fingers or tangling his fingers in her hair, kissing her neck. She supposed he'd be a good kisser and enjoy doing it too, he'd always seemed to enjoy doing the simplest things with her, she didn't think Chandler would be any different when it came to his behaviour in the bedroom. He was mostly a quiet man, he liked the silent company of people or a good book except when he was making her laugh and she thought he'd be the same during sex, quiet with moments of seriousness and intense eye contact spattered with laughter and playful teasing. He didn't swear much, almost never really, but Monica liked to think he'd grunt low in the back of his throat and swear into her ear in the throes of passion. Not her ear specifically. She didn't imagine him in bed with her. Nope.

And then what Rachel had actually said registered in her mind. Monica sat up straighter and looked at her friend. Rachel wasn't glowing or grinning like she'd been having Start Of A Relationship Sex, or a One Night Of Bliss Romp, but Monica had to be sure. "You mean, in your dream, right?"

Rachel made a noise. "I'm not having any other kind of sex. It's a little too soon for another guy."

It wasn't really a 'no,' and was definitely not a 'never in a million years,' or 'gross, Chandler, no way,' and it did nothing to calm Monica's racing heart.

"I've never had a dream about someone I know. It's normally George Clooney or Russel Crowe," Rachel said dreamily. Monica stared at her oldest friend, unblinking, as Rachel stared at nothing and licked her lips. "But the other night was the second time I've dreamt about Chandler."

"The second time!?"

Rachel hummed, not bothering to cast a look at Monica. Monica could feel the blood drain from her face and she bit her bottom lip, grateful Rachel was reminiscing and not looking at her. Except she wasn't. She wasn't drunk enough to enjoy the way Rachel was gazing off into the distance at the memory of dream-sleeping with her friend.

"Yeah," Rachel grinned in the direction of the window remembering her dream. And then Rachel's cheeks flushed. Rachel, who was far more experienced and comfortable discussing sex than Monica was, blushed.

Oh God.

"Last year, when we ran into you at the bar," Rachel admitted, still not making eye contact. "Oh god, don't tell him. But he was kind of cute the way he looked at you so intensely, protectively. I said no when he hit on me but when I got home those blue eyes were all I could think off."

Monica coughed. "He hit on you?"

"He was awkward as anything about it," Rachel laughed. "But awkward guys have something to prove, you know. They try harder. I got home and all I could think about was him and that pool table."

"Chandler Bing hit on you?" Monica didn't mean to sound so surprised or disbelieving, she didn't intend for Rachel to cast her an insulted glance. In reality, Monica was a little offended herself. Not that he had hit on Rachel, everybody hit on Rachel. And not that he'd never told her, even though Monica told him everything and thought he did the same. But Chandler had never flirted with her, Chandler had never even been awkward with her. They had always been in sync and sometimes Monica had thought there was a tension between them, but she'd always dismissed it as her imagination. She'd seen Chandler flirting with women, and Rachel was right, he was endearing, charming even, but in a clumsy, trying-too-hard kind of way, and he had never been that way with her. Never.

Monica was a little offended. And she was ashamed that she was offended. It was better if she didn't think of him in a sexual situation, she was his friend. But she couldn't help but think it was a little unfair that Rachel wasn't as close to him because it meant that she could. And did. It wasn't that Monica necessarily even wanted to imagine Chandler naked and in her bed, but if anybody knew Chandler well enough to do him justice in her dreams, it was her. Not Rachel.

"Yeah, he hit on me," Rachel quipped, like it was no big deal. "And that dream had been great. Generic. But there was something about this one that was different. Knowing what he's like in person changes things, you know? Like last time had been all about how I liked it and what I was used to with Barry. Perfect, but not accurate."

Monica nodded slowly, unsure if she really wanted to hear more, unsure why she didn't want Rachel to keep talking. She was seriously regretting suggesting a girl's night when Phoebe, who could pour cold water on anybody with a single sentence, had been on a date. She definitely hadn't had added enough tequila to the margarita mix.

"But knowing him and seeing him in that tie, sitting behind that desk in his office? It was so real. It's so easy to imagine pulling him close by the tie and knowing that he's a breast man makes it so easy to imagine exactly what he'd do if he had the chance."

Monica couldn't breathe.

There was no air left in the room and she couldn't look at her friend. How dare she? How dare she dream about Chandler and discuss it like it was nothing? There were lines and rules about picturing your friend like that. How dare Rachel break those rules without abandon? Except now it was all Monica could think about, Chandler standing between her legs as she perched on top of his desk. There was no way she could visit him at work and congratulate him on the promotion and the big office now. She'd be flustered and blushing, and he'd think something was wrong and try to fix it.

"It was nothing like the dream I had about Joey, though. He's with a lot of women so it was easy to imagine him moving his hips just right."

Monica let out the breath she was holding and chuckled, relieved. She raised her glass in acknowledgement. Rachel's dream meant nothing, nothing at all. But the fact it meant nothing to Rachel meant something to her. Something Monica didn't want to focus on.