Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the apartment, just the DVDs. There's no profit except writing practice being made here.
This one is dedicated to mondler2001.
Chandler could hear Monica upstairs with the twins as he grabbed the plates and containers from the fridge and placed them in the picnic basket that lay on the table, leaving the job mostly finished but missing the bottle of cold water and lemon slices in the refrigerator in favour of going upstairs to help. Jack had taken to not wanting to wear pants anymore and liked being loud about it. Chandler could have smacked Joey with the shorts that Jack liked to twirl in the air for taking his pants off that one hot day in Spring, showing Jack that he could be more comfortable without them.
He took the stairs two at a time to give his wife a hand.
"Come on, Jack. Let's put your pants on."
Monica was kneeling, eye level with their son, holding out a pair of elastic-waisted trousers for him to put on while Jack shook his long fringe. Erica was sitting up on her brother's bed, all dressed and ready to go outside, watching with interest. The little girl had her lips pursed in a smile like she was trying not to laugh, Chandler recognised it as an expression he made all the time.
Instead of yelling at Jack: something Chandler asked he'd refrain from doing as much as possible or interfering with Monica's efforts; something the two of them decided that they'd never do, undermine each other, he addressed Erica.
"Ready to come outside, sweetheart?"
Erica leapt off the bed and ran to his side and Chandler chuckled, running his hand over his daughter's head.
"So, E and I are going to head outside," he announced, smoothing his hand over Erica's head again. The four-year-old looked up at him. "That means you get to pick where we put the rug. I wanted it on the veranda but your mum thought the corner behind the swings would be better."
His daughter didn't like picking between her parents, which Monica thought was a blessing, so he purposefully listed the two spots he and Monica didn't want to spread out their picnic. The deep redwood of the veranda would grow hot beneath the beating sun and while the swings were bathed in shade there wasn't a lot of space. Whereas on the opposite corner at the back of the yard, there was a tree, cooling the heat of the day and it was in the perfect sightline of the swing set and cubby house meaning Chandler and Monica could supervise the twin's play but also have a moment to themselves.
"I want to help," came Jack's voice, right on cue.
Monica trusted to look at her husband and Chandler could have sworn her blue eyes twinkled, impressed. Chandler pressed his tongue against the top of his teeth and smirked at his wife.
Chandler raised his eyes over Monica's head to look at Jack. "Great, Jack! But you have to put your pants on so you don't get bitten by any ants."
"Okay." The boy snatched his pants from his mother's hands as he said the word, the vowels coming out through his nose to make a very familiar sound.
Chandler cooed proudly as he watched his son bend down and step into the legs of his pants, Monica reaching out to steady Jack's waist.
"Done!" The boy announced, "Can we go now?"
Monica chuckled, rising to her feet and ruffling Jack's hair. "Sure, sweetie. Thank you for getting dressed."
Jack, ever the ball of bursting energy and endless enthusiasm, bounded towards his sister and father. "Come on, Eri!"
"Now Jack," Chandler's low voice stopped the twins from dashing out the room and down the stairs, the pair of them turning to each other and then fully revolving to face their father with their bright blue eyes crinkled at the edges. "Erica gets to pick the spot, okay?"
The four-year-old's lips rubbed together argumentatively but he nodded. "Can I shake the blanket?"
"Of course," Chandler nodded, letting him know it was on the chair at the dining table and the boy beamed back at his response before Erica whispered 'race you,' leaving her brother to scoff and then chase her down the stairs.
Beside him, Monica's shoulder bumped into his upper arm as he watched the kids run down the stairs, one hand on the rail with their eyes on their feet. She was looking up at him with one of on her face, the ones he got from her sometimes that looked a little bit like thirst and a little bit like pride.
Her freckles were on full display, peppered across the creases at the sides of her nose. Chandler licked his lips, what he wouldn't give to press his lips to those marks that she hid from everybody but him. She blinked and turned away from him, "Shall we?"
"We probably should," Chandler agreed, letting her take his hand, her fingers tiny against his, and together they descended the stairs one at a time. As they turned the corner around the swirl at the end of the banister, Chandler scooped the wicker basket under his forearm, catching it in the fold of his elbow and leading his wife to the fridge so they could pick out the cold water from the inside of the door.
When they walked through the sliding glass door into the midmorning sunlight, the parents caught the last of the twins laying out the picnic rug beneath the big tree in the back left corner of the yard. Jack was almost completely hidden beneath the billow of the blanket and Erica stood opposite him where Chandler and Monica could see her, holding down the edges of the rug that she could reach, controlling the way it fluttered as the rug came to rest on the grass.
"Look at how good they are," Monica murmured beside him.
He squeezed her hand. They really were raising two perfect little angels. With the blanket in the shade on the grass, Erica instructed her brother to pull his side tight while she stood on hers. "Now step on it to make it flat. Mum likes it flat."
Chandler snorted at what he overheard.
Monica let go of his hand. "What are you laughing at?"
Chandler blinked. He could argue that Erica was fairly bossy and as keen on neatness as her mother, that it was cute, but she was only four, she didn't have to worry about making things neat for her mother. Chandler agreed wholeheartedly that manners and good sense and picking up after themselves were good skills to impart to their children, they were still only young. Instead, he told Monica the other thought that floated around in his mind. "She's so much like you, I'm screwed. She's got the big blue eyes and the pouty lips that I can't say no to anyway, but then she acts exactly like you. How am I supposed to deny her anything?"
"Do that thing you do," Monica told him. "Where I'm so focused on how supportive you're being that I don't realise you're steering me gently in another direction."
"I only do that when you're going to end up being wrong," Chandler defended, glancing over at his wife. "Not often."
Her grin was beautiful. "Nice save."
They approached the twins, who had taken seats on the diagonal corners of the tartan ground covering, their shoes holding down the remaining corners to hold them down against the slight breeze.
"Muffins now, mummy?" Erica asked. She was sitting cross-legged, her spine ramrod-straight, with one hand on either knee so that she could sit taller.
Beside him, Monica laughed and let go of his hand so they could sit down with their children. Chandler deposited the basket of goodies in the middle of the picnic rug and sat beside Jack, kicking off his own shoes as he did so and moving Jack's to the grass so he could sit in their place.
"What's the rule?" Monica asked.
"Fruit first," Jack chirped proudly. "I knew that, Mummy."
Monica reached out and ruffled the boy's hair, he preened at her affection, all remnants of his earlier tantrum faded from his demeanour.
Chandler reached for the basket but Monica's bright voice stopped him.
"Just this once, it wouldn't hurt to eat dessert first."
"Cool," Jack cheered, mostly under his breath. Chandler held up his hand for the boy to hi-five.
It was a good idea, on his wife's part. The day was only going to get hotter, and the chilled berries and pieces of fruit and would cool them down in the later afternoon would, plus, the children would work off their sugar high early as they ran around the yard, maybe even crashing into bed early in the evening. He beamed at Monica as he recognised her genius.
Chandler reached for the container of muffins in the picnic basket. "So, who made these?"
He lived his job, every aspect of designing pictures and coming up with taglines. It was all the parts of his creative side that he always wanted to use but never dared because it made him his parents son, and all the numerals and analytics of demographics and projection, the parts of his previous job that he liked. And as much as he loved the work and was excited about his promotion to head of the New York Division, Chandler hated that he missed so much time with the twin. Monica got to play and read and teach and watch them, just watch them, and he was so jealous of that. Like yesterday, she and the twins had baked all day, mashing bananas for banana bread and roasted vegetables for dinner and used all of last week's leftover fruit to make blueberry and kiwi muffins with orange glaze. Chandler would have killed to be a part of that, just watching the two of them squinting and squealing on their little plastic steps as they took turns juicing the oranges.
"You should listen better," Erica giggled. "We said it yesterday."
"Oh," Chandler sounded, subtlely correcting his daughter's grammar. "You told me yesterday, did you? Well, I forgot, tell me again."
"I mixed," Jack announced happily, bouncing in his seat excitedly. "Eri mashed. And Mummy made a mess."
Chandler chuckled, turning his grin from his son to his wife. "Mum made a mess did she?"
"I did not."
He shook his head at his wife, beaming giddily. "Don't lie, Mum," he teased. "If Jackie says you made a mess, you made a mess."
She pulled her lips together like she didn't like her teasing him, her tongue visible bulging under her bottom lip, her cheeks dimpled. "I did clean up after myself. That's the important part, isn't it?"
Erica nodded her agreement. And Chandler matched the movement with his own head but cocked his head sideways as he looked at his wife. She was still the woman he had always known, but Monica had become far more tolerant and far less strict since having children. He liked to think she had calmed considerably when they had started dating, learning patience and compromise. But it was the twins that were the real catalyst for the change. Monica was disciplined and organised, but she didn't mind a mess if it meant they were having fun, and she didn't stress about everything being in the absolute perfect place, as long as it was vaguely in the right spot, she'd accept that the stuffed animals were put away.
Chandler opened the container and divide out the treats, one each. They talked a little as they ate, snippets of their days and dreams revealed on the whisper of wind that rustled through the leaves above them. And ant crawled up Jack's pant-leg and Chandler was so proud of his wife for not using it as an I-told-you-so moment, instead, leaving the boy to shriek and swat at the fabric, a little frightened of being bitten and learn his lesson without a needless comment from her.
"What else do you have in there, Dad?" Monica asked when they were done eating, prompting Chandler to pull out a few activities for them to do while their stomachs settled.
He nodded and pulled out a couple of sheaves of paper that he'd photocopied at work, Monica's idea, so they could keep using the twin's favourite pictures from a colouring-in book they both liked. There was a picture book or two, and a book on colour-by-numbers with a couple of photocopies sticking out the edges and a pencil case of wind up crayons.
Erica took them from his hand as Chandler went to lay out the papers and books on the rug. Instead of laying them out as Chandler had intended to, the four-year-old flicked through a couple of sheets awkwardly and pulled out three, handing them one to her brother. "One for Jackie, and this one's for Mummy."
"Does Daddy get one?" Monica asked as she took the sheet from Erica's proffered hand.
"Nu-uh, Daddy's colouring is ugly."
The new word at preschool was 'ugly.' the twins only went one day a week at this stage, enough to learn a little about the school routine and how to socialise and not just with their cousins, but they picked up the bad habits too.
"Hey!" Chandler dropped his jaw so it made a wide circle and he felt his hair swish against his forehead.
The girl giggled so hard she topped sideways into her mother's side. Chandler loved that girl's sense of humour, she was four but she was sarcastic and had this way of intoning her words that was so unique. But it could be dangerous if left unchecked and he was so thankful that her twin brother was around to keep her in line.
"That's mean, Eri," he was such a little adult already, patting his father's hand in consolation. "What if he wants to?"
"Oh," the girl lowered her eyes, her smile vanishing, bubbly enthusiasm gone. "Sorry Daddy."
"That's okay, pumpkin," Chandler lowered his head and his voice, trying to make the girl look up at him. "What if we did one together, and you show me how to not make it ugly."
Erica's head rose slowly, but her smile returned quickly, cheekily. "Don't use brown."
"Don't use brown," Chandler repeated the advice to double-check he had it correct and then nodded. "Got it."
Chandler lay down, stretching his body against the edge of the picnic rug, curling his body around Jack's. With his left elbow down in the grass and his jungle elephant in front of him, his right hand ready with a yellow crayon at the ready as per his daughter's instruction. Jack's little body leant backwards against Chandler's belly and thighs.
"Pink for the ears, Daddy," Erica instructed as Chandler asked what colour he should use next. "Mummy, will you tell us the story about Dad begging Big Erica for us?"
Chandler looked away from where he was helping Jack twist up the green crayon, squinting curiously at his wife. Since when did the twins ask her for a story?
From the beginning of the adoption process, right after they had seen how betrayed a child could feel if they didn't know they were adopted, Monica and Chandler had decided they'd tell their children the moment they could understand the story. Right now, that meant the tale was transitioning from the bedtime fairytale Chandler had cooked up bout fairies saying Monica wouldn't have babies and a kind woman gave them hers because she knew Monica would look after them better than she could, into something a little more real.
"Alright," Monica agreed, winking at Chandler. "So, Big Erica was scared by me, I was loud and desperate."
"Like when you don't want us to eat the cookies in the jar?"
Chandler snorted and Jack grinned at him proudly.
"She wasn't going to give you to us. And then your father walked up to Erica, all soft and quiet. Do you know what he said?"
Monica paused for the two children to shake their heads in response, mesmerised by their mother's low tone.
Monica ducked her head as though she was letting them in on a secret, her voice barely above a whisper. "He said 'please.'"
Jack cracked up laughing although Chandler wasn't sure why, but the sound was shrill and joyous and could being a man back to life, he was almost certain.
Erica, on the other hand, whined that that wasn't how the story normally goes. Monica brushed it off as though it was, but smiled teasingly at her daughter.
"Done colouring," Jack announced a moment later. "Can I swing now?"
"I want to swing!" Erica chirped. Chandler loved how easily they could forget their anger or disappointment, by all accounts, they were very happy, bubbly children.
"Your hats," Monica reminded them. She reached into the picnic basket, retrieving what she wanted, and held out the two little boat hats, one for each child, and they pulled them onto their heads. "Perfect. Now go play."
They both watched as the kids ran off to the swing set, giggling excitedly. When they were safely seated on the swings and chattering away with each other, Chandler turned back to Monica. "I didn't know you knew that part of the story."
"Erica told me, that time she stayed with us and I took her to lunch. Wouldn't shut up about how sweet you were. Gentle and kind. She couldn't get over how romantic you were, meanwhile I'm just nodding along, 'I married him for a reason, not just because he's hot.'"
"Say it again," he requested, butterflies dancing in the pit of his stomach even after all these years.
Monica giggled. "You're hot."
A short laugh burst out of him and he dropped his head with the force of it, looking at his hands for a moment before looking back up to his wife. "The other part."
Monica's smile softened, her voice lowering. "I married him."
She reached out her hand, leaning forward and cupped the right side of Chandler's face, stroking his cheek.
"I'm so glad I married him."
Chandler flushed and ducked his head so he could kiss her palm.
"Is that why they keep asking you to do the bedtime story? Because, frankly, I was getting jealous."
She hummed. "You leave the best bit out, apparently. And I don't tell it right if you're listening. I don't like that ego of yours to inflate too much."
"It is the best bit," Chandler agreed, tilting his face up towards the sun, striking a pose with his nose upturned as he lay still propped up by his elbow, his long legs stretching out beside him. "I come off as a hero."
Before Monica could retort, two synchronised little voices pierced the air.
"Daddy, come push us."
Chandler was already tucking his legs up so that he could stand but he figured he should probably excuse himself, they were I the middle of a conversation. "Can I go play?"
Monica grinned at him, her thumb stroking across his shaven upper lips."My silly man."
Chandler's insides tingled at her endearment and he raced off to join his children.
It was a typical green-poled, three yellow seated swing set; the seesaw swing on the left, the flat seat on the right and the infant carriage in the middle, malleable plastic that rounded and had a chain for a seatbelt.
Jack had gotten to the swings first, so he sat on the big kid swing, and Erica got the soft plastic seat but refused to use the little chain. Chandler stood behind them against the fence line, in the middle of the two, pushing them softly with his fingertips when they reached him.
"Come on, Dad. Higher."
"You want to go higher?"
Both the children giggled infectiously as Chandler pushed them a little harder so they swung higher.
"Now we get to push you," Jack suggested.
Chandler laughed, "Okay."
He swapped spots with his son and delicately sat himself down on the yellow seat of the swing. Behind him, Jack and Erica stood, taking turns pushing him. Their hands were as rough with his muscle as Monica when she gave a massage, smacking against him harshly as they tried to push his weight into the air. Chandler kept his toes stabbed into the grass so he could control the swing but let the kids push him, their little hands shoving at his lower back, giving them the illusion that they were doing the work.
Chandler swivelled his head around to glance at his children, whispering, "Hey, Jack. I think it's Mum's turn. Go get her."
His son nodded and bounced excitedly, in a move Chandler recognised as one of his own. The boy rushed off and took his mother by the hand. From what Chandler could see, it looked like Monica was putting up a bit of a fight but she relented to the four-year-old's tugging. Chandler smirked at his wife as she sat in the swing beside him, she was beaming widely, glowing in the sunlight, laughing along with their children as they pushed her on the swing. All his adult life, Chandler had thought that woman was the light of his life, his reason for being so content in his skin and in his life. But she wasn't. It was this; warm sunlight and a crisp breeze with Monica beaming at him and Erica giggling and jack's laughter ringing out over the top of it all. His family, his reason, the only thing that mattered.
They swapped again, Chandler pushing his wife and Erica pushing Jack, Monica pushing Erica and Chandler twirling the chains fo that Jack swirled in his seat until he was dizzy with laughter. After a while, the twins decided they'd had enough of the wind whipping against their clothes, getting blisters on their hands from holding the chains of the swings so tightly, but they didn't want to go back to colouring and they weren't interested in playing hide and seek or chasing each other around, so they sat back down on the rug for a fruit break and a drink.
Jack sat in the space created by Chandler's crossed legs, his head resting against his chest. Jack had a wedge of orange pressed between his teeth and was proudly grinning an orange-rind smile up at him while Erica's feet stretched across the middle of the rug, a little too close to the plastic cups of water with her head using Monica's folded knees as a pillow. The older woman was brushing her hand over Erica's golden brown hair.
"Mummy?" Erica asked. "Can we get a pool?"
Chandler looked at Monica over Jack's head, brushing the boy's head with his palm. That was a huge financial ask. Yes, they'd use a pool, but the twins were also going to be enrolled at school in the coming fall, and that was going to be expensive.
"No, sweetie," Monica replied, smiling at Chandler. "Maybe one day, pools cost a lot of money."
Chandler beamed back at his wife, glad she had told the twins the truth even if they didn't quite understand what it mean that they didn't have the money just yet. Especially when they had a big expense on the way in seven months.