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.

Ex Itinere Redire: To turn back and retrace one's steps; To return from a journey after giving up one's intention of remaining longer in a place; To return from a journey sour.

Chandler collapsed into bed at some time around midnight. Of course, he couldn't catch anything remotely akin to sleep, despite desperately trying.

He'd stared at the ceiling in the darkness, hands clasped against his chest and plotted out ways he could explain not showing up to lunch to ChefGirl20. For a moment, he'd toyed with the idea of telling her he did show up. All he would have to do was say, actually ChefGirl20, I was there. Then he'd toss in a sarcastic little comment like, Thanks for jumping straight to that awful conclusion about me, and about your friend. But that would be evil, and Chandler knew it. Monica might read that as exactly the sort of snarky message he meant it to be and assume that meant he'd seen her and left, as she seemed to hint at already suspecting. Chandler knew Monica was fragile as blown glass despite the aggressive way she spoke. She was especially sensitive about her appearance. Chandler figured most women were, but Monica more so. She'd spent her youth perceived as, and told blatantly, she was unattractive. He couldn't, in good conscience, have Monica teeter on that implication, second-guessing if that was what he meant. It was cruel. Doubly so because he knew that was exactly where her mind would jump to and that it would be specifically hurtful to her.

Chandler wondered if maybe he should just spill the beans, have all of what he felt for ChefGirl and his friendship with Monica and the way his insides had celebrated and settled when he found out the two women were one in the same, out in the open. He'd be leaving the ball in Monica's court, but it would have been spiked in her direction while her back was turned and she'd be completely blindsided, probably offended, certainly perplexed and maybe even a little betrayed. Then she'd be briefly horrified about the angst-filled message she sent him, thinking he was someone else. Monica would try to let him down easily then, she loved him but she wasn't in love with him, but she was in love with his alter ego. He just wasn't what she was expecting at all, and now that the option was hers, she didn't want him. They could still be friends, though, she'd tell him hopefully.

At around three in the morning, Chandler had paced his bedroom worried that he and Monica wouldn't be able to remain friends. They'd survived a lot of things - amputated toes and the fallout of Monica dating Kip that had strained their friendship. He was certain they'd be able to move past this, or ignore it, or keep it quiet like Ross did, where his feelings hardly ever affected their group dynamics. He'd had to curl into a ball and pull the blankets over his cold body when he remembered Ross. And Phoebe and Rachel. They were all Monica's friends first. Monica's friend for years. And Monica gave Joey food.

He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been when he suggested meeting CHefGirl20. He hadn't thought he was risking anything, only to find out things were never going to be the same for him. That everybody else on the planet, everyone else in the building on 90 Bedford Street, was going to continue plodding along through their lives happily, strolling down the sidewalk together while he had tripped and fallen in a pothole, left to try and stand up on his own two feet alone while everyone else moved on; forward. Without him.

Chandler's mind kept doubling back on the thought that she'd be disappointed when she found out NY1990 had showed up and what she would think if she had, for some reason, been more open to the idea that NY1990 was whoever walked into the restaurant and noticed her red rose. Or if he had shown up with a red rose himself, that might have signalled he was who she was looking for. He couldn't help thanking whoever was looking out for him that he hadn't had a red rose on his person, not with Monica's reaction the way it had been. Would Monica have grinned happily like the result of her meeting with NY1990 just felt right, like he did?

What would he have to change about himself for Monica to smile like that the next time he walked into a restaurant as NY1990 with a rose pinned to his lapel?

Why would he change for her? Why bother? She didn't like him like that. Why would NY1990 ever contact her again? What would happen if he told her it was him she was emailing?

He had no answers. In fact, he'd discovered that he had more questions by the time the guy next door started singing the morning song.

When he groused out of bed, bleary-eyed and wrapped tightly in his robe, Chandler received the shock of his life.

"Hey, man." Joey was standing behind the kitchen island. He was fully dressed. It was Friday, wasn't it? Chandler wondered.

He felt like being sick.

It had to be Friday because he'd asked to meet ChefGirl20 on Thursday at lunch. A logical, sexless time for a date. A day in the middle of the week that gave them all of Friday to reassess how they felt now that they'd met - meaning they didn't have to feel obligated to go out on the Saturday but could actually decide for themselves how they felt about the whole thing, he had said.

Time to reassess how they felt now. What a joke!

So why was Joey up early on a Friday? He hadn't written any appointments or auditions on the board on the back of the door.

Chandler rubbed his eyes, hoping to maybe press hard enough that he awoke from this awful dream he was having where his best friend that he liked to deny he had a sporadic crush on was the same woman as the one he'd fallen for online.

"You didn't sound so good on the phone last night," Joey was too smiley for so early in the morning and Chandler glared at his best friend from across the living room. But he conceded his friend's point.

He'd been pretty freaked yesterday, absolutely unable to fathom the way Monica had completely dismissed him at lunch, the idea of him being her mystery man not even crossing her mind. And then there was that fateful email he had received from her - not meant for her friend Chandler, but for the man she'd been hoping to meet about him. A pretty unflattering message, too. He'd needed to call Joey so he didn't accidentally let Monica know what she'd done. In doing so, he'd come off fairly manic.

Chandler waddled forward tiredly and took a seat on the kitchen stool, letting his hands slide down his face in frustration and leaving them there. With his face in his hands, Chandler let his elbows drop to the countertop and slumped dejectedly. "It's a mess, Joe."

"Sounded like it," something tinged on the countertop and Chandler looked up to see what it was.

Joey had a spatula in his hand, silicon-bladed, hard plastic handle, but the stem between was metallic. Joey had tapped the metal rod against the edge of a skillet.

"I had hoped I could make these pancakes for your date," Joey continued. "You know, like you do for mine."

That was sweet, Chandler lifted his head to smile at his friend's gesture. Even though it hadn't worked out and instead of floating on cloud nine, Chandler felt like he was buried beneath a pile of manure, Joey's attempts were commendable. Chandler couldn't believe he'd found a friend, so accidentally, that was so proud of his accomplishments and so willing to comfort him when he failed. "Without the soft rejection, though, right?"

Joey nodded profusely, turning to flip the pancakes. "'Course. You're in love with this one. While that isn't something that interests me," Joey's voice vibrated in a low chuckle. "You do want that. I was planning to ask her what the hell she was thinking. But when you called last night, I figured I'd set the alarm and make them anyway."

Chandler pressed his lips together in thanks. But he didn't feel like laughing along with his friend. "Was."

"What?"

"I was in love with her."

Joey piled a pancake on a plate and slid it across to Chandler.

"Found out she was a man?" He asked knowingly and unsurprised. "I do remember saying that was a definite possibility. But you swore you knew for a face she wasn't."

Chandler shook his head, fighting a small smile. "Not a man."

In fact, she was beautiful. A glowing personality wrapped in a misleadingly petite package that disguised her feisty side.

Chandler left his chin propped in his hand and reached for a fork Joey had set out for him. He stabbed it into the flat pancake, the metal tines clinking against the china. He gripped the stalk tighter and stabbed the cake again. The sound was louder this time.

"Not your type then?" Joey queried. "Too selfish, too pretty, too disorganised?"

Chandler snorted.

ChefGirl20 was his dream woman. Or she had been.

She emailed him at reliable intervals and Chandler could always count that there would eventually be a reply from her. She acknowledged everything he said, no matter how stupid. She laughed at his jokes, or said she was laughing, at least. She was determined and self-sufficient and sassy, quite happy to put him in his place, give him an instruction or two, and she claimed to be actively trying to be more understanding of being sloppy but not of lateness. She liked doing laundry and going to brunch with a friend after grocery shopping.

How had he not even guessed it was Monica?

Chandler remembered reading a passage from ChefGirl20 about how she liked things orderly and her friends teased her about it and thinking immediately of Monica, fond of her similar behaviour.

Come to think of it, a lot of the things he liked about his online friend were the things that he found fascinating about Monica. Only Chandler had figured he didn't have to risk or ruin a friendship to be with her.

Knowing ChefGirl20 and Monica Geller were one in the same was giving him a headache.

He knew he liked Monica. He'd borderline crushed on her once or twice. But Chandler had always stopped himself from looking further. She was his friend, the only person he trusted with every aspect of himself. He couldn't risk losing that.

But now, without knowing it was her, he'd realised just how easily he could fall for the woman he called his best friend. How easily he had.

"She's perfect."

Chandler stabbed the pancake again.

Through the corner of his eyes, Chandler saw Joey cock his head. "But you don't love her anymore."

"I can't," Chandler grumbled. "Whatever it was, it's over."

"Just like that?" Joey stepped around to Chandler's side of the island. He bent over and pulled out the stool from beside Chandler. Then he dragged it back to the inside of the kitchen, taking a seat by the stove. "I thought you were nuts about her."

"I was." Chandler snapped. He hated that his depressed emotions were manifesting as anger. He almost never got angry. Monica quite happily informed a perfect stranger that his passivity and easy-going nature was a staple of his character, unwavering and predictable. "I'm not anymore. I can't be."

Joey nodded solemnly.

Chandler clenched his jaw and shook his head. The worst part after the fact that he still hadn't figured out how to face Monica after this. Except for the one option that made his stomach turn. Or the other option that made him feel like all the blood had been drained from his body, his whole body tingling, his heart empty, brain short-circuiting.

"Are you ever going to see her again?"

"See her?" Chandler ground his teeth together, trying not to remember the email from Monica. I couldn't think of a worse person to walk in at that moment. Trying not to think about the fact they were all meant to go out to dinner tonight and Chandler would inevitably be sitting across from Monica or beside her and have to hear all about her date not showing and dorky Chandler who was funny, but not always funny, comforting but not great at it, and definitely not her prince charming. He'd have to listen to the group laughing at the idea that Chandler was her mystery man. "I have to. But I won't be emailing her again."

Chandler stabbed at his plate again, tearing the pancake until it was eviscerated, barely more than a pile of crumbling mush on the plate.

Joey blinked. His eyes narrowed dramatically as he studied Chandler.

"Oh my god!" Joey's voice was a surprised whisper, a hushed shout. "It's Monica."

Chandler groaned and let his fork drop to his plate, smashing his face into his cupped palms in shame.

"You need to start at the beginning."