Author's Note: Okay, I finally caved in. The whole "Monica and Chandler dating" premise became too much to juggle, so when writing this chapter, I just contrived this chapter along a completely different line than the original story I had set up. In other words, Monica and Chandler never dated! This story now pretty much follows true Friends reality, so this all could have happened before the show's pilot. Additionally, I went back and altered the two previous 'Monica' chapters as well as the previous 'Chandler' chapter (chapters 1,2, and 7), so you may want to glance those over, if you want. The only conflicts with real show may be in the time references, but since the show's writers mess that up all the time, I just had to do my best.
Oh, so in answer to your last review, JenniGellerBing---yes, the story is now the same as the real show. Thanks again for the inspiration! J
And, catnamedzane, thanks for the new name! I like the name Bert. Can I call you Ernie? "We're not Bert and Ernie!"
Finally, thanks for all you who are faithfully waiting "nine years and a day" for me to get these chapters up! My update time is gradually lessening, did ya notice? Huh, huh?
Okay, shutting up now. You may now proceed (with caution, of course) to the story.
Disclaimer: I can't even afford to buy The Complete Third Season on DVD yet, much less purchase the actual characters!
Copyright 2003 MusicCityDiva
Chandler: Magical Moments
By the end of the salad course, Chandler had surrendered his grape juice for white wine. Monica had insisted on washing his goblet before filling it with Pinot Grigio, informing him that the taste would be "compromised" if the wine were tainted with any remnants of the juice. Chandler merely raised his eyebrows, but refrained from commenting. She was the expert, after all.
He had to admit; he'd had some reservations about this—about hanging out with Monica, particularly since she'd been so obviously avoiding him since she'd moved in across the hall. But here he was—sitting across the table from her, pleasantly surprised to discover that he was truly enjoying himself. And that he hoped there would be many more dinners like this one.
"And now for the main course!" Monica announced grandly, although Chandler caught the flicker of apprehension on her face as she set a full plate before him.
As if knowing that he had seen her nervousness, Monica smiled uncertainly as she sat down with her own plate. "It's my first time cooking a fancy meal for someone, you know?" she confessed. "You're sort of my guinea pig, I guess."
Chandler appreciatively inhaled the aromatic steam wafting from his plate before responding. "A guinea pig, huh? There are worse jobs in the world. Like mine, for example," he told her with a self-deprecating grin.
Her uneasiness disappeared visibly and she lifted a full fork in salute to him before taking the first bite. Across the table, Chandler did the same, closing his eyes in bliss at the flavor. Yeah, he was definitely going to be eating here more often. This beat take-out any night.
Opening his eyes, he found Monica staring at him intently, in apparent attempt to determine his opinion.
" 'S guf," he assured her, his mouth still halfway full. "Good, I mean," he qualified, swallowing. "Really good. So what do you call it?"
"It's spinach tortellini stuffed with ricotta and garlic with a basil tomato cream sauce," she informed him in her best "chef" voice, as if reciting the specials du jour.
Chandler loaded his fork again, pausing only to take a sip of wine. "I'll never remember all that. But maybe I'll learn if you make this for me at least once a week," he said with an impish gleam in his blue eyes.
"Oh, is that how it's gonna be? Your friendship is conditional upon how much I cook for you?" Monica asked, a smile playing at the corner of her lips despite her best attempts to sound annoyed.
Chandler shrugged in mock disinterest, his eyes fixed on the plate of tortellini before him. "Well, you know. I'm a working man. And you know what they say; behind every good working man there's a great woman. Preferably a great woman who cooks."
Chandler purposefully kept his focus on his plate, waiting for a reaction from Monica. He was rewarded almost immediately, although the response was more than for what he'd bargained. An inadvertent burst of laughter was not the only thing that erupted from Monica's side of the table. Just as Chandler looked up, he was assaulted with the shower of champagne that sprayed from Monica's laughing mouth.
Chandler blinked furiously, trying in vain to clear his vision. He fumbled for his napkin, settling for the one pressed into his hand by a mortified Monica. Dabbing away the moisture on his face, he hid his growing smile behind the cloth and peered at his red-faced dinner partner.
'She blushes more than anyone I know,' Chandler mused. 'I wonder if I bring that out in her. Not that embarrassment is the most desirable quality to stir up in a woman.' He watched as she uncomfortably looked around for anything else to stare at besides Chandler himself. 'She's kinda cute when she blushes, though.'
That thought in mind, Chandler realized he could milk this for all it was worth. Using the napkin he still held, he blotted at his face and shirt with exaggerated care, all the while observing Monica from one corner of his eye. Finally deciding he'd tortured her enough, he set the napkin next to his unharmed dinner plate and met Monica's anxious gaze.
"I suppose I'll be all right," he finally admitted, feigning great distress.
The worry lines in Monica's forehead grew deeper as she began to apologize profusely with incomplete sentences. "I'm so sorry, Chandler. I can't believe…I mean, I've never…you just…if there's anything I can…I'm so sorry!"
Chandler struggled to maintain his martyr image, only dropping the act as she rose to find a fresh towel. Sighing loudly enough for her to hear clearly, he spoke with the embellished benevolence of a king granting respite to his subjects.
"Really, Monica, I'll be okay. Now it may take a few weeks of home-cooked meals, but I think in time, the wounds will heal."
His sentence was punctuated with a muffled yelp as a relieved Monica tossed the clean towel in his face. He caught it easily with one hand and offered it back to her, waving the white terrycloth as one would a flag of surrender.
She refused to accept the peace offering, however, instead maintaining her leveled gaze and crossed arms. Although Chandler knew her anger was just for show, he was struck with how important it suddenly seemed to see her smile.
"You realize this is the second thing you've thrown in my face in the last ten minutes," he remarked, still holding out the towel. "I think smarter guys would have taken the hint and left by now." He grinned wryly. "Unfortunately, I happen to be a bonafide glutton for punishment."
Bingo. There was the smile he'd been anticipating. Chandler was overcome with a feeling of satisfied giddiness as he watched the sparkle in her eyes travel down to tug at the corners of her lips. She fought valiantly against a full-blown smile for a moment, attempting to maintain a stern expression that faded quickly as Chandler tossed the towel in her direction.
Giggling, Monica sank into her chair. "So what you're saying is that you want to hire me as your personal chef?"
Chandler nodded thoughtfully. "You could clean for me, too, if you want."
Monica shook her head in exasperation, causing her dangling earrings to brush lightly against her jaw line and inadvertently distracting Chandler from her next words. He vaguely listened as his thoughts turned to the possibility of touching the soft skin that ran down her neck.
"So you're looking for someone to take on all the responsibilities of a wife but with none of the perks?"
Chandler caught the suggestion in her tone and glanced hastily away from his admiration of her collarbone, struggling not to act flustered. Truth be known, he wasn't sure what he was looking for. All he knew what that this dinner had begun with the intention of getting to know an old acquaintance and had somehow evolved into the possibility of a relationship.
A relationship? With Monica Geller? His college roommate's little sister? The girl who had cut off his toe, however unintentional? In light of past circumstances, the idea of dating this woman seemed like a very bad idea.
But as Chandler glanced into her expectant blue eyes, sparkling golden in the candlelight, all rational thoughts fled his brain and the idea suddenly seemed like a very good one, indeed.
Regardless of the fact that he had no idea what he was going to say, Chandler finally opened his mouth to make a suggestion…
…and was jarred rudely from the magical moment by the ring of the telephone.
'So that really does happen in real life,' Chandler thought as Monica rushed to answer it.
Turning in his seat, he watched Monica lift the receiver to her ear.
"Hello…oh, hi, Mom…as a matter of fact, I am busy…dinner…an old friend…yes, it's a guy!"
Not even the hearing impaired could have missed the irritation that edged into Monica's voice. Chandler remembered vividly just how grating Judy Geller could be, even from his brief encounters with the woman. He caught Monica's eye and smiled reassuringly, hoping she wouldn't mind his obvious eavesdropping.
Apparently she didn't, because she rolled her eyes comically before continuing her conversation.
"Oh, really?…is that so?…oh, I really don't…Mom, I don't think…I'd rather not…okay, fine…fine…I said okay!…no, no, no…I can find my own…in fact, I all ready know who…I won't…okay…seven o'clock…I'll see you then…bye."
She hung up the phone with a force that surprised Chandler before turning to look at him directly.
"Problems? " he asked lightly, unsure whether or not she'd want to talk.
She didn't respond right away, only stared at Chandler thoughtfully for such a long period that Chandler began to squirm uncomfortably under her gaze, feeling like an errant grade schooler.
When she finally spoke, Chandler noted both the bargaining tone in her voice and the pleading look in her eyes.
"Still want me to keep cooking for you?"
***
Just over an hour later, Chandler bid Monica goodnight and left her apartment with a full stomach, a Tupperware container of leftover pasta…and a date for Saturday night.
Entering his unlocked apartment, Chandler pondered the irony of the situation. Never before had he gotten a date so easily, especially when he hadn't even been the one to extend the invitation!
He grinned as he pictured his bragging rights at work the next day—the friendly punches to the arm, the congratulatory "dude"s, and, best of all, the envious stares. After all, he was just an ordinary, average, everyday guy. And she was not only gorgeous, but also sweet and intelligent and funny.
And she was everything Chandler had ever wanted.
But as he slid the Tupperware container into the refrigerator, an ominous thought occurred to him.
He was certainly not going to be the one to tell Ross.
***
Five o'clock Friday afternoon could not come soon enough. Chandler glowered at the clock in the bottom right corner of his computer screen, willing the last fifteen minutes till the hour to tick away faster. Sighing, he reached for the mouse and clicked on the icon for solitaire.
As it had been so frequently in the past twenty-four hours, Chandler's mind wandered to thoughts of his impending date with Monica the next night. Although he wasn't about to admit it to anyone else, he had even planned his attire for the event.
It had taken less persuasion than one would have expected for Monica to convince Chandler to be her date to a party at her parent's country club. The party was an anniversary celebration for some wealthy elderly couple and apparently Monica's parents would be no less than ostracized from high society unless they were to attend as an entire Geller unit, complete with their children's "significant others." Nevertheless, Chandler was happy to comply if the event secured a date with Monica, even if he'd have to endure the stuffy high society of his childhood once again.
"Bing!"
The sound of his boss' voice startled Chandler from his computer game, causing him to click mistakenly on a card and lose the game. Frowning at the monitor, Chandler glanced up at the imposing man towering over his desk.
"Yes, Mr. Kostelick?" Chandler asked, praying that his boss wasn't planning on keeping him later tonight. He had a busy night planned—a busy night of doing absolutely nothing.
Mr. Kostelick shifted his bulky weight and eyed Chandler suspiciously before speaking. "Well, Bing, I need a favor."
'Just great,' Chandler thought. 'There goes my Friday night.'
"It's about tomorrow night."
'Oh. Oh!'
Chandler hastily cut in before his boss could go any further. "Um, sir, I'm kinda busy tomorrow night."
Mr. Kostelick's suspiciously gaze suddenly turned more foreboding. "Oh, is that right? That's unfortunate, I must say. Because my niece is going to be in town tomorrow and I would certainly appreciate someone younger than me to take her out. Show her the town, as you kids say."
Knowing he was treading on thin ice, Chandler persisted, his date with Monica still foremost in his mind.
"With all due respect, sir, I'm sure your niece is lovely. But my plans are kind of important."
"Well, Bing, I certainly didn't mean to imply that they weren't important. But this is important to me." Mr. Kostelick raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "And I might be willing to make it worth your while." He rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the international sign for money.
'Rock and a hard place.' Chandler grimaced as he pondered the figures in his bank account and signed as he realized the choice he was being forced to make.
Chandler looked directly at his boss, unable to hide his resignation with his decision. "Just tell me when and where, sir."
Mr. Kostelick's expression lightened considerably, and he reached for a pen and sheet of paper to write down all the necessary information before leaving Chandler's cubicle.
Absently, Chandler stared after him, regretting immediately what he had agreed to do. Burying his head in his hands, he frantically searched for a way to make it up to Monica. That's when the idea occurred to him. While it certainly wasn't his ideal solution, Chandler had to settle on the fact that it was better than nothing.
And with a guilty conscience and heavy heart, Chandler reached for the phone and began to dial.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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