Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the apartment, just the DVDs. There's no profit except writing practice being made here. Nor do I own the film You've Got Mail.

Return Policy: rules that dictate how customers return and exchange unwanted merchandise they purchased.

"Hey, Mon," Joey looked at her with those big innocent eyes of his. She had no idea how that man bridged the dichotomy of his personality. He was a lothario, a player, and he loved that lifestyle. It worked for him. But it was completely oppositional to his innocent, boyishness, traits and behaviours Joey learnt into and embraced to their full effect. "Dinner kind of sucked tonight. Everything okay?"

Monica tore the crust from a piece of dry garlic bread. Rachel was waving a hand on the other end of the table as though indicating to their neighbour that he should keep his mouth closed, but Monica had to admit he was correct. She'd been ruminating all afternoon. All day in fact.

She frowned at Rachel, wondering how much of Monica's emotions she was reading correctly. The woman was very good when it came to other women's love lives. Eerily good. But Monica had been stoically tight-lipped about her online discussions and the fact that she'd gotten no sleep because she was planning to meet her online friend. Whatever Rachel might have been thinking, therefore, would only be vague inklings of what was going on and not to informed.

She shrugged, not wanting to elaborate. "Rough day, I guess."

Although that didn't cover it.

She'd sat at a table in a restaurant in her favourite dress, not a cocktail dress, but a nice floral one that was almost formal but mostly casual. She'd dressed it up with a denim jacket so it didn't look like she'd tried too hard.

Monica hadn't slept the night before and she'd worried that the circles under her eyes weren't completely covered by her make-up, but she was also too excited to worry too much about it. Chandler and Joey and this stranger she'd met over the internet were the only men Monica didn't fret about her appearance over. Which only added to the heartbreak when she sat at that table alone.

She was early, so the half hour she waited anxiously was her own fault, not his.

But him not showing up. That was all on him.

Mostly.

Maybe.

She'd been so excited, so nervous about putting her best foot forward, and then in walked Chandler.

He'd been wearing his work gear - blue collared shirt and a gaudy, but tidily-knotted tie, and a grey blazer that was well ironed, just like his creased pants. He looked good in his office attire. He looked good smiling at her like that, brown hair bouncing as he approached her.

That light had dimmed from his eyes, smile falling from a show of pearly teeth to his signature press of lips together when Monica leaned to the left in an attempt to see around her friend, wondering if the man she was waiting for had walked in behind him.

She'd put up with his questions about what she was doing, made a couple of jokes, pretty good ones too, that had Monica rolling her eyes and trying not to laugh or be too obvious when she looked around him every time the door dinged open. Chandler had followed her gaze every so often, turning around and wondering aloud about the man she was waiting for.

Then Monica had asked him to leave.

Something had flashed in his eyes, something Monica hadn't ever seen cross Chandler's innocent face before, making her feel guilty. But her best friend had left just as she'd asked him to and Monica had gone back to anxiously waiting. Only this time, she felt a little bit like crap.

Monica had sat there for another hour feeling rejected and dejected.

Like an unwanted sweater that was not quite the right fit or ugly in the light at home but not in the store, someone people could just give back when they realised what she was really like. Undesirable. Promising but unable to follow through. Returnable.

It didn't surprise her that that showed up in her cooking. Monica hadn't been able to ignore the sinking betrayal in her gut and cooking let her push that aside, gave her something else to focus on. She'd chopped vegetables with more vigour than strictly necessary and slicing onion had given her an excuse to let the tears fall. All that thinking and aggressive stirring had let her get her thoughts organised and email her friend a fairly ticked-off message.

She'd almost sent it too. But then, while she was layering the lasagne, Monica had realised that she was only so hurt because she liked that voice she received emails from, maybe even more than liked. And if it had been an accident that he hadn't shown up, then she didn't want to sever all ties with him.

More importantly, she realised as she put the layered ceramic tray in the oven, that however she felt about the man when he didn't show up to their lunch didn't discredit all he made her feel when they spoke online. It didn't give her enough reason to deny that talking to him compounded her favourite moments from her day. He was a reliable listener and a sensitive talker, always writing so intelligently and honestly. Monica didn't know many men like that.

She'd left her angry message the way it was, hurt, but she hoped her words were clear that she was disappointed because she liked him so much. She wanted him to know that she had wanted to meet, that she still wanted to meet, and that she was grateful for the friend he had been even if this was their last correspondence.

Her day had really been a mess because of him. A properly terrible time and she couldn't understand what had happened. She'd been nervous and jumpy and she'd got to the restaurant early. But she hadn't been afraid. Which was irresponsible of her. Hell, Monica hadn't even told any of her friends about the online friend she had made let alone that she was meeting him for lunch. In hindsight, it was a good thing he hadn't shown. She didn't expect he was menacing in any way, nothing he ever said indicated he was, but coming off as charming was a dangerous skill for a man to have and without the backup of telling someone where to look for her if she didn't come home would have been the responsible thing to do.

Of course, if she had done that, Rachel would have needed the backstory of how they had met and where they stood. She would have made her more anxious about the meeting as she tried to help with her attire for the date. Phoebe would have asked about the sexual aspect of emails and given her tips on how they could manage it if they ever decided to venture into that territory. She'd also ask to read over their emails so she could predict their chemistry and his aura and if they would work long-term. Ross would freak out but Chandler would be worse. At least Ross was scared of her glare and grew exasperated quickly, giving up on his stubborn sibling if she played her cards right. But Chandler wasn't like that. He would cower but he would put his foot down and he'd get Joey on his side. She imagined Chandler would have sat in the diner at a different table in a bowler hat and hidden behind a newspaper with eye holes. As annoying as all that would have been, not telling them was unsafe.

Joey, for his mild complaint about her meal, reached for the ladle and heaped a second helping of lasagne on his plate. Monica smiled. At least she could rely on him. No matter how bad her date had ended up being, Joey accidentally made her feel better about herself by liking her food even though it wasn't the best.

"Whatever it was, it couldn't be as bad as Chandler's," Joey said. "Sounds like he had a rough day."

Monica felt the blood drain from her face. That was her fault. God, she'd been awful to Chandler today.

Awful without reason.

Well, she had a reason but it was completely unrelated to Chandler, who was simply being himself.

Monica popped the crunchy crust into her mouth and chewed.

Her anonymous date had not shown up to their lunch and she'd felt unwanted, wondering if perhaps he had seen her and decided against meeting her, or if he'd read over her emails and realised she was high-maintenance and not worth his time.

For a brief minute, Chandler's presence had reminded her that that wasn't the case. Some people did like her. Some people went out of their way, giving up their lunch break, just to spend time with her.

Then Monica had thrown that feeling in his face.

Wait. "What did Chandler say about his day?"

That wasn't like him.

He was quiet and didn't share most of his issues. The complaints he made about work were trivial and he knew it, telling amusing stories or making menial gripes into elaborate stories to emphasise the issues he had with the daily grind and the rat race. He spoke to entertain, mostly. To distract.

He didn't gossip and he didn't announce his negative emotions all that easily. Especially not about members of the group to other members of the group. Although, Monica had to admit that if he was comfortable talking to her about his hopes and fears, it made sense that he probably told Joey that stuff too.

Except her and Chandler's friendship, despite the fishbowl of their group, had always been private, just between them. Monica wasn't sure her roommate even knew that Chandler and she would talk late into the night on the balcony after one of her shifts, or that she wasn't lying on her resume when she said she'd worked a stint as Chandler's assistant. She didn't think any of their friends knew how close they were, they didn't advertise their friendship. Monica didn't think any of her other friends recognised that when she and Chandler went grocery shopping on a Saturday morning, it was fun and filled with talking. She wasn't even sure they remembered that Monica had been around in those days when Chandler and Ross were roommates. Everyone remembered that, but Monica made regular visits to the boys and she and Chandler had front-row seats to Ross and Carol's courtship. It was no coincidence that he lived across the hall from her, but that was conveniently overlooked in favour of Chandler just being the quiet, funny reliable friend who was prone to fits of irrationality when he was off the clock.

Monica was sure Chandler liked it that way, the man hated attention and blamed his parents for that - he liked the inattention because it was familiar, and he liked living under the radar because they both did not. He wasn't one to draw attention to himself or his issues.

But if he was having a bad day, he would have told her, wouldn't he?

No. He'd have lunch outside his office cafeteria just to escape whatever was bothering him. He'd have accidentally bumped into her, all smiles and excited that she could take his mind off whatever was going on. Chandler would then proceed to ask her about herself and focus on trying to fix her problems rather than allowing her to feel pity or sympathy for him. That was so like him.

But he'd clearly communicated to Joey that he had had a bad day.

Unless she was the reason for his day turning sour.

Joey shrugged, his mouth full. Monica frowned at him, ripping her garlic bread into little pieces, ashamed of her behaviour in that restaurant. Joey probably knew exactly what was going on with Chandler, or at least had some idea. He was being quiet on purpose. Out of loyalty to Chandler.

Which meant Chandler's bad day was because of her.