Okay, new chapter time! I know it's been a really long time since I've updated, I'm sorry! Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! You are all awesome! If you've actually read this far and haven't reviewed…please!?!?!

Money?

Mr. Tribianni approached the stand calmly, head high, shoulders back, with a haughty look on his face. He said the oath in a grave voice, then turned to the lawyer.

"Mr. Tribianni, you have known Mr. and Mrs. Geller for roughly the same amount of time as your friend Ms. Buffay, correct?" Francis began.

"Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe," Ms. Buffay whispered from her place behind Mr. Geller, singing softly to herself.

"I have," answered Mr. Tribianni gravely.

"And I suppose they have always seemed just as happy to you as they have to PHOEBE and Mr. Bing?"

"But of course," said Mr. Tribianni. "They were incredibly content with their everyday routine known as life. Life is so short, you should live every day as if there were no tomorrow. And then tomorrow comes, and you've wasted another day."

Mr. Bing whispered urgently to Robinson, who nodded. "Your Honor, Mr. Bing here would like to apologize for giving the witness quote-of-the-day toilet paper."

"What does that have to do with the case?" snapped the judge irritably.

"Absolutely nothing, Your Honor, he just wouldn't leave me alone," Robinson replied.

"Very well. Continue with the witness, Ms. Francis."

"Thank you, Your Honor." She turned to Mr. Tribianni. "So, Mr. Tribianni, I assume that you too will verify the fact that Mr. Geller was indeed not having an affair or buying his marriage to Mrs. Geller."

Mr. Tribianni opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. He appeared confused and lost his confident manner. "Uh, line?"

"Excuse me?" Francis snapped.

"I forgot my line. What is it again?" Mr. Tribianni looked around the room. "Does anyone have a script on them?"

"Mr. Tribianni, why are you calling for a line? This is not the set of some daytime television show," said the judge, rolling his eyes.

"It's not? Aw, man!" whined Mr. Tribianni, now in a completely different mood. "I thought I was on one of those shows! You know, like Judge Judy or the People's Court! Not some crappy untelevised court!"

"That will do, Mr. Tribianni!" said the judge sharply. "Why would you assume that you were on TV?"

"When Chandler said we were gonna be in court, I thought he meant actually IN court," Mr. Tribianni wailed. "Like IN the movie Court or something. But then I got here and I figured, what kind of crackpot would want to make a movie about all the crap we've been talking about all day? It would put the audience to sleep!"

"That's enough. You are not on the set of anything," said the judge. "Didn't you ever wonder why you didn't get a script?"

"I figured it was one of those improv shows," said Mr. Tribianni. "Like Who's Line is it Anyway. Oh! Oh!" He looked around eagerly. "Let's play Props! Can I have the hammer thingie?"

"No, you may NOT have my gavel, and we are going to get on with the case!" shouted the judge, all patience lost. "Ms. Francis! Continue!"

"Yes, Your Honor," said Francis. "Finally. She paced around. "Mr. Tribianni, at which point in time did Mr. and Mrs. Geller's relationship begin to appear to be in jeopardy?"

"What? Why do you keep saying Mr. Tribianni, my dad's not here," said Mr. Tribianni blankly. Obviously not the shiniest rock in the garden, now that his "character" had evaporated.

"When did Mr. and Mrs. Geller start fighting," said Francis, carefully enunciating each word.

"Oh!" said Mr. Tribianni. "Well…it was about two years ago…no, wait, it was less than that, maybe one and a half years ago. It had been gradual, but the rest of us could see it happening…"

FLASHBACK, 1 ½ YEARS AGO

(M&Cs apartment, everyone is there)

"Okay everybody! Merry Christmas," said Monica as she sank down on the couch next to Chandler. Everybody was smiling and laughing. It was exactly the same as it had been ten years before. It was perfect.

"Yeah! And Happy Kwanza!" added Phoebe.

"Phoebe, you don't celebrate Kwanza," Chandler pointed out.

"What are you saying? I can't celebrate Kwanza? It's discrimination I tell you!" yelled Phoebe.

"Okay Phoebe, calm down," said Ross, looking at his watch. "Oh, shoot! Sorry everyone, I have to go."

"What?" said Rachel, standing up and hurrying after him. "Where are you going? It's ten o'clock at night!"

"I know, sweetie, I'm sorry. I've got a late meeting, and then I have to have to pick up some copies for our presentation tomorrow."

"Ross, come on. It's Christmas Eve," called Monica.

"Yeah, Ross. You're not going to abandon us on Christmas, are you?" asked Rachel, slightly hurt.

"Rach, sometimes your job gets more important than your friends," Ross said.

"I'm your wife," said Rachel quietly. It was a low, dangerous voice, and the other four froze upon hearing it. "I should mean more to you than just a friend. You should be with us on holidays."

"Well Rachel, where were you last Easter?" snapped Ross.

"Hey, you know that trip was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and very important to the company! If I didn't go, I could have lost my job!"

"Well Rach, maybe you shouldn't value your job more than your friends and me," said Ross, using her own words against her.

"Well, if you want to go spend Christmas with a bunch of nerds with no family, I'm not going to stop you," said Rachel coldly.

"Good. I'll go then. Don't wait up."

"Don't worry, I won't."

And, without so much as a glance over his shoulder, Ross left.

PRESENT

"That was like their first main fight," explained Mr. Tribianni. "A bunch more followed after that. It sucked, you know? To see two people who loved each other so much fighting all the time."
Francis stared at him. "Would you say that Mrs. Geller was being unreasonable in her demands for her husband to be at home?" she asked.

"Oh, no," replied Mr. Tribianni. "And I'm sure Ross wouldn't either." He grinned, knowing that he had her. Her only way to get out of this would be to call Ross up to the stand and ask, and even then, she knew what the answer would be.

"Fine." Francis turned to the judge. "No further questions, Your Honor."

"Mr. Robinson, your witness," said the judge.

"Thank you, Your Honor," he said, popping up. "Mr. Tribianni, may I ask you to refer to your flashback?"

"Sure, I guess," said Mr. Tribianni.

"If the court recalls, you stated that Mr. Geller had to pick up some copies," said Robinson. "Is that correct?"

"That's what he said," nodded Mr. Tribianni.

"Excellent." Robinson smiled. "Your Honor, I think it's time for me to bring in my proof."

"Certainly," said the judge, bored. "After Mr. Robinson's proof, we will have the final witness-"

"Ooh! I know! I know!" Said Mr. Tribianni excitedly. "It's Monica! She's the only one left! It has to be her! We're Money!"

"Excuse me?" said the judge.

"See, if you take the first letters of Monica's name and the last letters of my name," explained Mr. Tribianni, "It spells money! Isn't it cool? Phoebe said that it means that if Monica and I got married, we would be really rich. But too bad, 'cause she married Chandler instead." The judge sighed impatiently. "I know!" continued Mr. Tribianni. "What was she thinking? Anyway, we could have actually hooked up, but when she came to the hotel room in London, I was off doing it with some bridesmaid, so she slept with Chandler instead, and they ended up together. But if I had been there, I bet we would have-"

"Mr. Tribianni is correct, the final witness will be Mrs. Monica Geller-Bing," said the judge loudly, talking over Mr. Tribianni. "She will take the stand after Mr. Robinson delivers his proof."

"Yes Your Honor," smirked Robinson. He walked to the back of the room and opened the door. In walked his proof.

TBC

Ha! Left you hangin'! That's okay, you probably already guessed what the proof is, anyways. Ah well, PLEASE leave a review, and I will try to update much quicker this time, I promise!