This is an alternate universe fic. It poses the question What if Ross and Chandler's band was actually good? It takes place the summer after Rachel and Monica graduate from high school, and Ross and Chandler are in college. Their circumstances are a bit different though, mainly around Monica. She's restless and more than a little bit rebellious. I never could figure out why Monica was never more rebellious. This fic definitely plays out my musings. I'm sorry if anybody doesn't like the way I depict her, but tough! I'm the writer. Besides, maybe you'll like it. Also, Ross and Chandler have both left school temporarily to tour. Enjoy.

So You Wanna Be A Rockstar?

1

Monica packed up her most prized possessions into a duffel bag and smoked. The muggy summer breeze that leaked into her basement bedroom from the open window caressed her bare legs and fluttered the ragged edge of her torn-off t-shirt. She stubbed out her cigarette into a coffee cup on her bedside table and surveyed her packing.

In less than two days, Monica planned on getting out of this god-forsaken house and hitting the road. She couldn't handle her parents' scrutiny for another second. Where she was headed, she had no idea. She just planned to hop in her beat-up sedan and drive and drive and drive. Reaching under her bed she pulled out her knee-high Doc Marten boots and placed them at the end of the bed, with the other essential clothes she would most likely wear: the boots, her studded belt, black micro-mini skirt, her favourite stretchy black top. The torn off shorts and t-shirt would be left under the bed and would end up in the rag pile two months later.

Perched on the bed, she surveyed the barren room. A few dusty posters of her favourite punk bands, some pictures taken when she went to Disneyland over spring break earlier that year with Rachel. That was the last time she could remember being happy.

Shaking her head she lit another cigarette and blew smoke at the ceiling. God, what the hell was happiness anyway? She couldn't remember anymore. Her smoke swirled toward the ceiling, stirred by the breeze, when the sound of a vaguely familiar car engine quickly approached.

Heading upstairs to greet the visitors, Monica passed the impeccable rooms and spotless floors that she had always despised. In an act of defiance, she tapped the ash off her cigarette onto the sparkling wooden floor.

Brushing raven hair out of her eyes, Monica appeared in the front doorway, watching the van her brother had bought the summer before. His tour bus, he called it. Yeah, right. It was more like a pile of crap on wheels held together by rust and duct tape. A moment later, Ross hopped out of the van and raced over to her.

he called. I just have to pick up some stuff I forgot in the basement. With that he disappeared into the house. Monica walked towards the van. Chandler sat in the passenger seat, the door open. He looked sweltering in his jeans, cowboy boots and t-shirt.

Hey Chandler. she said casually, taking another drag from her cigarette.

Chandler glanced towards her and did a double-take. Was this really Ross' little sister? The one who made him mac and cheese? That Monica was cute in a...pudgy kind of way. This Monica is hot. Ugh, hi. he said and cringed. He sounded like a stupid fourteen-year old kid.
Long time, no see. Her eyes met his and sparks flew. Literally.
Monica swore and dropped her smoldering cigarette, breaking the strange connection between them. It had burned down to the filter and had burned her fingertips. She sucked on her finger for a second, before Chandler reached out and took her hand.
he said, Let me see. An urge to touch her had suddenly overtaken him. He examined it for a moment, then kissed the burn. All better, he declared, half-joking.

Hey kids! Break it up! Ross called, laughing from the front door, now carrying a stuffed backpack and a grocery bag. Monica and Chandler both jumped back like school children, caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Mon, I noticed you were all packed up. Where ya headed? Ross continued.
Monica said, examining a toenail.
Want to come with us? Chandler blurted out without thinking. She shrugged. Why the hell not. Just let me change. And with that, she turned on her heel and returned to the house.

2

Hours passed and with each passing moment, Monica put another few feet between her and her former home. She lay sprawled on the back seat, dressed in the clothes she'd laid out while packing, her duffel bag on the floor in front of her. Chandler sat in the passenger front seat and strummed his guitar mindlessly.

Yo, Ross. she called. Pull over soon. I gotta pee and I'm outta smokes. she called as she tossed her last out the open window.
But we're almost there! Ross protested. He had been saying that for hours. Monica smiled sardonically and watched the landscape.

For once he was right. Less than 15 minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a motel. Monica immediately hopped from the car, slung her canvas bag over her shoulder and hurried to the front entrance, in search of a toilet and cigarettes. Ross shouted to her to come back and help, receiving only a scathing glare. Chandler watched the bag pat her wonderful ass.

Ross and Chandler's had lined up them at a couple bars through Long Island, New York State and Southern Ontario (they didn't really have a manager though. It was a guy from their dorm with good connections). Monica was basically just along for ride and watch their finances.

3

Chandler flipped over in bed again, unable to sleep. From the floor Ross swore viciously at him to take a vacation to a very hot place where skating doesn't happen very often. There was no way he going to get to sleep tonight, not with the wicked thoughts that danced in his head. He sighed and stared at the ceiling. There was no denying their attraction. But god damn, did have to be so powerful?

4

Monica lay across the bed, doodling in the battered notebook Chandler used to jot down songs. He sat on the pillows, strumming his guitar and singing softly. Monica sipped on a bottle of rum and let his voice wash over her. She had grown to love his voice in the week they had been traveling; it was almost reassuring. The song finished and he set his guitar aside to lay next to her. He smiled crookedly at her.
That was great, she managed. Her breathe caught in her throat as her gaze locked on the crystal blue eyes that probed hers.
he whispered huskily. All of time stopped as he bent his head a bit closer...and stopped as cool liquid spilled over his hand. Monica let out a surprised shriek and grabbed the dropped bottle.
Sorry, sorry, she apologized dabbing the bedspread with tissues.
It's okay, he reassured. Suddenly it hit him how ridiculous the situation was: they were both half-drunk, lying on a bed in a cheap motel room, while her brother showered in the next room. Shaking his head, he helped clean up.

Monica sat on the hood of the car, wrapped in Chandler's leather bomber jacket, protecting her from the chill. Suddenly a very male, very sexy voice murmured next to her ear, Gimme my jacket back.

She gasped, surprised, responding only by punching him lightly.
Aw, come on he said. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, trying to pull it off that way. Laughing, they pulled tug of war for a moment, until they overbalanced and tumbled to the pavement.

Monica moaned as she hit her head on ground, but the pain was quickly forgotten as she realized that Chandler was lying on her and one hand had landed on her breast.

You okay? he breathed, gazing into her eyes. Suddenly, his lips crashed to hers, kissing her passionately.

5

When Chandler awoke, Monica was gone. He dragged himself out of bed and tugged on his boxers. He found Monica in the bathtub, chain smoking, reading a paperback romance and making excellent process at cleaning out the mini-bar.

Ya know, he commented, for the person trying to keep us on budget, you certainly spend a lot on booze. She shrugged. The breasts he remembered quite well swelled out from under the water. His breath caught as he remembered them.

Chandler helped himself to one of her smokes and puffed thoughtfully on it. So...ummm...what just happened? Chandler asked, unsure about what the answer would be.
Monica shrugged again. We fucked.
Chandler rolled his eyes. Really, I thought we were playing youkur. No, but where do we go from here? Do we forget about it, keep...ummm...yeah...
Dunno. Guess we keep doing it. Already Chandler felt himself warming to the possibility.