Some sexual content in this one. I didn't think it was bad enough to give it an "R" rating, but if you disagree, let me know and I'll switch.
-------------------------------
2004
Monica fumbled for her keys at the door of the apartment, nose twitching. Was Joey in one of his sauce-making fugue states again? The hall was filled with the smell of oregano and basil.
She let herself in the apartment, shocked to see Chandler standing over the stove with an apron on.
"You're... you're *cooking*," she said flatly.
"Yeah, I am," he smiled. "I thought I'd make you dinner, since you cooked all day."
"I thought you were writing..."
"Well, I did, for a while. While you were at work. It's something Rachel suggested, I thought I'd take her up on it. Wanna taste?"
He extended the wooden spoon in her direction, and Monica approached cautiously. Toast and the occasional pancake aside, Chandler wasn't exactly known for his fine cuisine.
"It's good," she said in shock, licking her lips.
"Yeah! I got the recipe from..." Don't, *don't* say 'Megan', not after Monica's reaction last night... "A cookbook at the house."
Monica looked around the room, taking a step back. "Wha... what are all these... *plants* doing here?"
"Do you like them?" Chandler wiped his hands on his apron. "I thought they made the air smell nice."
"What's wrong with the way my air smells?" Monica huffed.
"Nothing! Nothing! Your air smells great! I just... like the plant-smell. Hey, hey, look at the balcony...!"
Monica ran for the window, Chandler following her nervously. He hadn't been sure if this would go well, and so far, it wasn't.
"What is all that stuff?"
"It's herbs! It's a little herb-garden thing. I got the stuff at the hardware store. You know, you always watch 'The Naked Chef', and you thought it was so cool that he could get fresh herbs from his windowsill..."
He watched her face, his stomach sinking. "There's rosemary, and tarragon, and all kinds of stuff you like to cook with..."
"But all that... *dirt*..." Monica whispered in horror. "It'll get on the balcony..."
"No it won't," Chandler said earnestly. "I'll take care of it, Monica, seriously. I'm here anyway."
"I cleaned my study!" he added desperately.
Monica spun and opened the guest room door.
"You... changed everything," she said ominously.
"Well, I'm... in there a lot. And it wasn't very 'boy', y'know?"
"You could have *asked* me," Monica pointed out. "I would have been *glad* to redecorate it for you!"
"C'mon, Mon, I... I pay the rent, don't I? Can't I decorate one room?"
"Do you *remember* who you married?" Monica cried. "And it's not one room! It's that room, and this *new stuff* in the main room, and the *new stuff* on the balcony! That's three rooms out of five! That's the *majority* of the rooms! I'm me! You *know* me! You can't just change stuff!"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't think! Look, what if it's just *one* room? I'll take all the new stuff and put it in my room, okay? You can close the door, and never have to see it, ever."
"*Your room*? What, are we *roommates* now? We're *married*, Chandler!" She pointed to the bedroom door. "*That's* your room! Our room!"
"Monica..." he tried to count to ten, but felt his anger rising anyway. "I work here, I work in there! Y'know, in a *year*, we've gone from totally broke to rather wealthy, because of what I do in that room! I think my job has *earned* its own room, okay? It's not my room, all right? It's my *job's* room."
"I *hate* your job!" Monica burst into tears.
"You... you *what*?"
"You don't pay a bit of attention to me, Chandler! You're always in your little hidey-hole, tap-tap-tapping! Y'know, I married you to spend *time* with you! I don't *care* about how much money you make! I just want to *see* you! I didn't think that would be a problem!"
"Honey..." Chandler went to her. "I *know* that. I screwed up and I'm really sorry. But that's what I'm trying to do now! I'm just gonna write while you're at work, ok? It'll be just like my old job, only it won't make me miserable."
"Yeah, *right*," Monica sniffed. "You'll end up in there, night after night..."
"But I *won't*," Chandler replied soothingly. "I learned my lesson, okay? You'll see. There's room enough for you, me, and my writing. We'll make it work, I swear."
Monica looked up through a haze of tears, and Chandler hugged her tight.
"Look. I did something else today. It's not like the plants, you'll really like it."
"What's that?" she sniffed.
"I fired Jacob on his *ass* for what he did to you."
Monica's eyes widened disbelievingly. "Y-you... you did?"
"Yeah, I did." He stroked her cheek with his thumb.
Monica leaned up and kissed him hard on the mouth. Chandler groaned happily and wrapped his arms around her.
"C'mon, Bing," she growled sexily. "Let's do it in the plants."
***
"Delta Daaaaaawn," Monica belted at the saute station, expertly flipping a filet. "What's that floooower you have ooooooon..."
"Got things patched up, huh," a deep voice behind her said.
Monica whirled. "Richard, hey!"
"Glad to see you so happy," he grinned. "I just popped in to make sure you were okay. And since you are, I'm poppin' back out."
He held up a hand in goodbye.
"Richard, wait!" she called. "I never gave you your pie."
"Well, I could eat some of this parsley instead," he joked, reaching for a little bowl of it.
"Okay, never, *never* touch my mise-en-place," Monica snapped happily. "But I wanted to tell you, you were absolutely right! And things are sooo, soooooo much better now."
"Glad to hear it. Look... I should go."
"Yeah, I should saute... hey, gimme a hug, though."
"You're covered in fish," Richard laughed.
"Oh, yeah," Monica looked down at herself. "Um... here."
She extended a stick of broccoli rabe, and Richard laughingly shook its 'hand'.
"See you around," he smiled, pushing his way out of the service door.
***
Chandler wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, flipping pages in his atlas.
"Megan Mitchell," the voice on the other line said.
"Megan, hey! It's Chandler."
"Well, you sound a hell of a lot cheerier than the last time we talked... things go better with your wife?"
"Much, much better," he smiled. "Look, I need a favor."
"Liver go out already?"
"Not yet... I've got this bird book, but it's not telling me crap. I need the name of that owl we heard Wednesday, the super-spooky one."
"Um, I think it was a barn owl... why?"
"I'm writing a new book! And I want to set it at the house, y'know. Sort of a Southern Gothic, ghost-story kind of thing."
"I thought you were gonna re-write the last one?"
"I've *written* that already. I tried, but I was bored. Been there, wrote that. This is what I wanna do now."
"Ghost stories, huh?" Megan said. "Oooh, y'know... I've got a bunch of books of creepy stories that actually happened around here. You want me to mail them to you?"
"That would be *great*," Chandler said. "How are you doing?"
"Eh," Megan replied. "A little crappy at the moment. Nothing that won't blow over."
"What happened?"
"Well, my stupid-ass fiance isn't my fiance anymore... and he got the apartment. So I've been staying with my friend Susy, who is like... okay, you told me about your friend Joey? Imagine living with him in a *studio* apartment."
"Free sex show every night?" Chandler guessed.
"Every night, every day... you know, there's nothing like trying to read when she's with Giovanni."
"Giovanni?"
"One of her regulars. He *orgasms* in *opera*."
"Good god," Chandler shuddered.
"I've got a lead on a place, but it's kinda far from work, and I... sorry, god, I must be boring you to death."
"Megan. Hey. Move into the house."
Silence on the line, then: "What?"
"Move into the house. Seriously. It's a great house, I know you love it, and it's empty."
"I can't move into your *house*, Chandler...?"
"Why not? You're the part-time caretaker, right? So be the full-time caretaker."
"I... that's so sweet, but..."
"Megan, c'mon. It drives me crazy thinking of the house just sitting around empty. If I can't be there, I want you to be. And that way I'll know the house is happy... you'll be close to your mom... it'll be great."
"Chandler, I..."
"Please? Okay, temporarily? Just until you find an apartment that you like. I don't like the thought of you trying to sleep to the sounds of grunting, slapping, and 'Aida', okay?"
Megan burst into laughter. "Yeah, yeah, okay, you sold me. But it's just temporary."
"That's fine."
"Chandler, thank you so, so much. You really don't know what this means to me."
"Well, it means a lot to me, too. Seeya, Leia."
"Bye, Han."
Chandler set the phone down with a grin and resumed typing.
***
The egg timer went off, and Monica put the magazine she'd been pretending to read down and grabbed for the stick.
One line.
Dammit!
She threw the test in the trash, setting the magazine on the back of her toilet. Y'know, if her period was going to show up every damn month, at least it could do her a favor and be on *time* so she didn't get her friggin' hopes up.
She walked out of the bathroom, wiping a tear from her eye, and looked out the window at Chandler's container garden. He'd been true to his word... there wasn't a speck of dirt on the balcony. How he pulled that off, she'd never know.
Something was off, though... and it wasn't just his newfound obsession with plants. Chandler woke up when she woke up, usually even made her breakfast, was always done writing before she came home, kept the house tidy, hung out at the coffeeshop with everyone, made love to her at night. He'd even cut way down on the stupid jokes and begun acting like an actual grown-up... she'd taken him to a party at her parents a few nights ago, and not only had he *not* humiliated her, he'd charmed the socks off the other guests.
In short, he was perfect -- exactly what she wanted.
And since when had *Chandler* been *perfect*?
He was acting like... well, he was acting like Richard. Not that she'd ever say that to his face.
Maybe it was the way Chandler kept sneaking nervous glances at her. It was something that used to annoy the crap out of her -- he'd rent a movie that he loved and didn't think she'd like, and he'd spent the whole thing watching *her* to see her reactions. It made her feel uncomfortable, on the spot, like she *had* to laugh out loud at every joke or look enthralled at every action sequence.
And now he looked at her like that all the time... that desperate, oh-god-please-like-this expression permanently glued to his face.
What was it that he'd said once? That she was high-maintenance, but that he liked maintaining her?
Monica was starting to suspect that he didn't like it so much anymore.
Just how unhappy was he?
Would it really have hurt to let him put some plants in the living room? Was it so terrible if a speck of dirt fell from the garden he adored onto the balcony? It wasn't like the pigeons didn't crap on it anyway.
How much time did she spend maintaining *Chandler*?
The phone rang, and she eyed the caller ID. "Chandler Bing".
She picked it up with a smile. "Hey, honey..."
"Um... hi..." a feminine voice said. "Um, may I speak to Chandler Bing, please?"
"He's not here," Monica said, suspicion growing. "Who is this?"
"Hi! You must be Monica! It's nice to finally say hi. I'm Megan Mitchell... the caretaker?"
Well, that explained the Caller ID. "Ah, hi... is there a problem with our house?"
"Oh no, no... your house is fine... it's just, I ran into Donald Crane at the store today, he's like, the oldest guy alive... and he told me this awesome ghost story. I was gonna give it to Chandler for the book."
Huh. So this girl, unlike Monica, knew what Chandler's new book was about. In-ter-es-ting.
"Ah, okay. Well, he just went out for plant food, he should be back in an hour or so. Will you still be at the house, or should I have him call your cellphone?"
"Oh, he can call me here. I'm having a little party, gonna be in all night."
"But you're at the house... aren't you?"
"Yup... hey, or, you could just give me his e-mail address. I can type the story up on his Mom's computer and send it to him."
"I'll just have him call you," Monica replied stiffly.
"Okay, thanks! Bye!"
"Bye," Monica said, hanging up the phone and tapping it against her chin.
She carried the phone over to the mail basket and pulled out their long-distance bill, spreading it across the kitchen table, counting.
Forty-seven times.
He'd called that girl forty-seven times in a month.
The girl on the phone had sounded... well... breezy. Fun. Someone who wouldn't give a damn if he turned the whole house into a jungle room, the kind of girl who *would* have sex on the balcony... in a heartbeat.
It would probably be her idea.
She started dialing numbers on the phone in her hand.
"Hello?" Joey said, in a sultry bass tone.
"Joey, it's me."
"Ah, hey Mon," he replied, voice an octave higher.
"Hey, Joe... had a question for you... you met Megan down in Georgia, right?"
"Yeah, for about five minutes, why?"
"Well, she just called here, and we had this *great* conversation," Monica said, still glaring at the spread-out phone bill. It was only half a lie, right?
"Yeah, she's pretty cool."
"So what's she like?"
"Uh, she works with animals, she's some kind of vet-thing that isn't a real vet. But she writes, too, like Chandler does."
"Is she cute?"
"Oh-ho, yeah. Little short for my tastes, though. She looks kinda like... huh. Drew Barrymore."
"In E.T.?" Monica asked hopefully.
Joey laughed lewdly. "Nuh-uh."
"Thanks, Joey," Monica said, struggling to keep her voice even. "I gotta go."
Wonderful. Perfect. Special.
So Super-Fun Girl looked like the celebrity whose 'Guess' ad Chandler and Joey had kept framed over their toilet for almost a decade.
Forty-seven times. And that was just *his* calls to *her*. How many times had that girl called here? To Monica's own apartment? Her home?
The door swung open. "Hey, Mon," Chandler called, hefting a bag of Miracle-Gro.
"Hey, honey." She took deep breaths, gathering up the phone bill quickly and hiding it under the table. "Um, can I talk to you about something?"
"Sure," he replied, setting the bag down. "What's up?"
"Well, I... I don't know how to say this, honey... but I think you might want to fire that Megan girl."
"What?" Chandler looked at her blankly.
"Well, she just called here, and I... I really think she's taking liberties. She's making long-distance phone calls on the phone at our house... she's using your mother's computer... and I'm pretty sure she's having a *party* at our house! I know you like her, but... I'm sure you can find a better caretaker, sweetie... someone who's more responsible."
Chandler laughed. "Mon, it's okay... she lives there."
"What?" Monica asked, struggling for calm, hand clenching on the bill in her hands.
"I told her to move in. She and her fiancee broke up, it's a big mess, she was living with this female Joey... so I told her to move into the house."
Oh. My. God. "You... *gave*... our house... to some girl?"
*That* girl?
"I didn't *give* her the house, Mon. I just let her stay there for a while. It's temporary. She *is* the caretaker, after all. She's just a live-in caretaker now."
Breathe. Breathe. "Don't you think this is the kind of thing you should have discussed with me first?"
"I'm sorry, Mon. It just didn't occur to me," Chandler said in exasperation. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't ask you about it, okay?"
"Well, I suppose *one* more thing you're not telling me couldn't hurt," Monica said airily.
Chandler froze. "What... what is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, *nothing*," Monica cooed. "I was just... looking at the phone bill, you know? And your *forty-seven* calls to the girl you gave our house to."
Monica slapped the phone bill onto the kitchen table.
"Oh, Monica, for god's sake. She's doing *research* for me."
"How stupid do you think I am?" Monica countered. "You leave me and end up with this girl. You come back, you call her twice a day, you give her our *house*, and I'm honestly supposed to believe that nothing's going on?"
"Yes, you are! Because nothing *is* going on! She's my *friend*."
"You have a picture of her in your study!"
"She's five and has her arm around my dead brother! It's not like she's posing in a thong!"
"I don't want her living there, Chandler."
"Monica, be reasonable..."
"I *am* being reasonable! Apparently, I'm the only one! A house is a major investment! That house is probably the most valuable thing we own! You don't just let some woman move into it! She could burn it down, or... is she even paying rent?"
"Why would she pay rent? She's the caretaker, living there is her job!"
"That's a hell of a 'fringe benefit', Chandler! I wish someone would pay me to live here!"
"C'mon, Mon... we're actually getting a deal, here. Full-time caretakers cost a lot of money, and we're getting one for free!"
"We're not getting one for *free*, Chandler! We could be making a ton of money renting that house... didn't you say it's on the water? Or we could sell it, and get a nice house of our own, *here*."
"We are *not* selling that house," Chandler cried.
"Okay, okay, fine. We could at least rent it out."
"I don't want a bunch of strangers walking around in there!"
"But it's okay for *her*, huh? Do you even realize the hole you're digging yourself?"
"Digging a -- I'm not digging a hole! *You're* digging a hole and throwing me into it!"
"Okay, bottom line time," Monica cried. "I want that girl out of our house. I don't want her living there, I don't want her working there, I don't want her driving by the mailbox, and I *definitely* don't want her calling here!"
"Her family has been taking care of that house since before I was *born*," Chandler said, his jaw squaring.
"I... don't... care!"
"I do!"
"Are you seriously going to sit there and tell me that the damn *caretaker* on a house you've only bothered to visit *once* is more important to you than your wife's feelings?"
"Whatever, *Emily*," Chandler hissed, hefting his bag of Miracle-Gro.
"What did you just call me?" Monica said, soft and dangerous.
"Called ya Emily! Cause you're being exactly like her! Only this is even more stupid, because there is *nothing* between Megan and me!"
"You know," Monica hissed. "I don't know if you've *noticed*, but Emily was *right* about Ross and Rachel. Or hadn't you noticed *Emma*?"
"I'm not firing my friend," Chandler insisted. "You can't ask me to do that. It's not fair."
"I want to go down there," Monica said suddenly, crossing her arms.
"What?"
"It's our summer house. It's summer. I want to go down there."
"Do you actually want to go... or do you just want me to kick Megan out so we can go?"
"I think we should *go*. I think it will be *fun*. I think we should take the *whole gang*."
Chandler froze, not trusting Monica's sudden brightness. His first impulse was to say no, but...
If Monica actually saw the house... actually met Megan and saw how harmless she was... maybe she'd fall in love with both. Maybe she'd want to live down there part of the year.
"I'll call Megan and tell her," he said, reaching for the phone.
Monica stopped his hand, staring into his eyes. "*I'll* call her."
Chandler looked into her eyes. There was no fighting her on this one.
"Yeah, okay," he sighed. "I'll go... fertilize my plants."
***
"Wow," Phoebe giggled as they unloaded the van. "I haven't seen your 'Happy Hair' since Barbados, Mon."
Monica shot her The Look, and Phoebe's mouth snapped shut.
"Fun trip," she muttered to Mike.
"No shit," he hissed back.
"Okay, you guys," Chandler said awkwardly. "Be kind of careful on the deck, here..."
He led the way, heart erupting at the first glimpse of the house, lit up in the night. He breathed deeply, reveling in the smell that he hadn't been able to recreate with an entire apartment stuffed full of houseplants.
Home.
"Oh, it's so *cute*," Rachel breathed, not noticing the grateful glance Chandler shot her. "Emma, look at the house!"
Monica and Ross sneezed suddenly, in unison.
Chandler unlocked the door, swinging it open, smiling helplessly to himself.
"I should put Emma to bed, Chandler," Rachel said. "Which room is ours?"
"Either one at the top of the stairs," Chandler said, running his hand lightly over the kitchen table.
"We're gonna go to bed, too," Phoebe said, pulling Mike's hand. "Y'know, the jet lag."
"It's the same time zone, Pheebs," Ross pointed out, barely covering his grin.
"Fine, Ross, we're going to go have sex now. Bye!"
Mike waved happily as Phoebe pulled him up the stairs.
"Single Boy gets the couch, right?" Joey asked, hefting his duffel bag.
"Yeah, Joe... sorry."
He found himself suddenly alone with Monica, who was pacing the kitchen... touching, evaluating.
"What... what do you think?" he said breathlessly.
"It's... cute," she replied. Her 'cute' didn't sound anything like Rachel's.
Chandler put his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to rock back and forth nervously.
"How come Megan didn't take her... stuff with her?" Monica asked.
"She did. This is Mom's stuff."
"But your mom's apartment was so *nice*," Monica said in confusion.
Chandler felt like he'd been gutshot.
"I didn't mean anything bad, sweetie," Monica soothed. "It's just... this stuff is so... old and beat-up. I mean, Nora was so elegant. It's just hard to imagine her liking... this." Monica crossed to the cookie jar. "I mean... come on, did she steal this from Phoebe?"
Chandler continued to stand in horror, and Monica touched his arm. "Oh, hon, don't look like that. The house is cute! We can get new furniture... we'll get this place all fixed up, it'll be great."
"C'mon, sit down." Chandler let Monica guide him into a chair. "Just imagine, okay?" Monica roamed the kitchen, hands up and gesturing in the air. "We take all this old stuff out. We could put a nice Wolff range right here... maybe a SubZero right here... some new cabinets... and we could paint the walls... hmm. Oooh, ooh, I have it... aubergine!"
She considered. "Or maybe eggplant. I'd have to think."
"New floors... we could get that great Pergo stuff... of course, we'd have to do something about that railing, once we had kids. Oh... and we could glass in the fireplace, get gas logs..."
"I *like* the fireplace," Chandler said weakly.
"I do too, honey, but a real fire? I mean, besides whoa, how dangerous can you get, we're talking ash everywhere, and firewood... that'll bring bugs into the house."
Monica cast her eye around the room, already seeing it redecorated. She clapped her hands. "Show me the rest of the house! This place has so much *potential*!"
"I want to go to bed," Chandler said woodenly.
Monica gave him a seductive smile. "Country air, huh? Let me go change into something that I think you'll like."
***
"Aubergine," Chandler snapped, flinging his pants across a chair. "Friggin' *aubergine*."
His socks joined his pants, and Chandler slid into the bed, groaning happily. Ohhhhhhhhh yeah. He'd missed this bed.
He squirmed joyously, letting the soft, cool flannel slide over him, reveling in it. Everything in this bed was wonderful to touch, no place to lay that wasn't comfortable... it was like being on ecstasy every night.
And the sound. The river. It got into his brain, slowed his breathing, made his heart beat slower. Chandler closed his eyes and let out a sigh of contentment, already half-asleep.
He heard the door squeak open and cracked an eyelid.
"Hey, you," Monica whispered. She was wearing a long silk nightgown and leaning against the doorway.
"Well hey," he replied, feeling considerably more awake.
"I found a tape player," she grinned, and Chandler's heart sank as she pushed the "play" button.
Enya. Again. Why was Monica so turned on by music that made him want to take a nap?
Monica crossed to her side of the bed, leaned over, and shut the window.
"Hard to hear the music for that noise," she smiled.
She pulled open the covers to slide in, putting a hand down to steady herself... then pulled it back in horror.
"Chandler?"
"Mmm-hmm?"
"The sheets are all... clammy."
"Well yeah, Mon... it's kinda damp here, with the river and all..."
"I guess no one ever taught 'Megan' how to shut a window?"
"C'mon, Mon... just come to bed, please?"
"Chandler, that's gross. I mean, how long has it been since anyone slept in this bed? There could be fungus, or mildew..."
"Monica, c'mon, you can differentiate brands of detergent at 500 yards. These sheets were washed, what? Yesterday? This morning?"
"Chandler, I'm not sleeping in a wet bed. I'm sorry, it's just unhygienic."
"Okay... what if we sleep on *top* of the bed?"
"That'd be better," Monica said, nibbling a fingernail. "We can go tomorrow and get some real sheets. There *are* stores around here, right?"
Chandler bit back a hundred sarcastic responses, reluctantly sliding out of bed. "There are stores. We'll go tomorrow."
"Could we... put something down on it?" Monica said nervously, looking at the bed as if it were crawling with the Ebola virus.
"What, like a *tarp*?"
"No, silly," Monica laughed. "Some fresh blankets or something."
"I'll see what I can find."
He headed for the living room in his boxer shorts, rummaging through closets, finally pulling out a stack of linen tablecloths.
"Will these do?" he asked wearily, displaying them to Monica.
"Oh, linen... that's so expensive," Monica sighed, pulling the pillows off the bed and setting them aside with a look of distaste. "But yeah, okay, since there's no other option."
They finally settled down on top of the tablecloths, struggling to get comfortable on the starched fabric. Chandler kissed Monica on the neck.
"Honey, I love you, but I can't get in the mood on top of a petri dish," Monica sighed. "It's hard enough just to get to sleep. Rain check?"
"Rain check," Chandler groaned, rolling over and trying to get comfortable on his arm with Enya's "Sail Away" ringing inside his ears.
***
"Mornin', children," Chandler called, walking out onto the deck. The others were already outside, Phoebe pouring coffee from a carafe into everyone's cups. "Whatcha doin', Ross?"
"This view is spectacular," Ross cried, peering into his binoculars. "Oh my god, is that a Bachman's Sparrow?"
"Geek," Rachel coughed playfully into her fist.
"It's an endangered *species*, Rachel," Ross said indignantly. "Aimophila aestivalis. I never thought I'd see one. Hand me my bird guide!"
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the man I sleep with," Rachel announced, giving him a kiss on the cheek and handing him his bird book.
Ross put down the binoculars to page through the book, and Joey took them, raising them to his eyes. "I don't see any bird... whoa. Now *that's* my kind of scenery! Come to Joey, chicky chick."
"Did you see the sparrow?" Ross asked excitedly.
"Naw, there's a super-hot girl in a bikini and small shorts bending over." Joey leaned over the railing. "Hey, she's standing up... oh, okay, it's Megan!" He put down the glasses and waved. "Hi, Megan!"
"Joey," Ross sighed. "As a general rule, if you can only see things with binoculars, they can't see you."
"I can see her from here," Joey protested. "Look, she's that little hot dot over there."
"Why can Joey see Megan from our deck?" Monica asked Chandler in honeyed tones.
"'Cause she moved back in with her mom, who lives down the street."
"Ah," Monica said, stirring her coffee. "Isn't *that* nice. And how sweet of her to put on a show!"
"Y'know," Chander said, just as lightly, "I'm bettin' she doesn't *know* that perverts are checking out her ass with high-powered equipment."
"I'd like to show her some high-powered equipment," Joey leered.
"Baby! Baby! Baby in earshot!" Rachel snapped, covering Emma's ears with her hands.
"Why don't we invite her over?" Monica said suddenly.
Chandler managed to keep his eyeballs in their sockets. "You... want... to invite Megan over?"
"Well, sure!" Monica trilled. "Joey obviously likes her, she's your buddy... I bet they'd hit it off! And Joey's the only one here alone, it's not very fair to him, is it? Didn't you tell me she was single now?"
"Yeah, but..."
"You don't... have a *problem* with Joey asking Megan out, do you?" Monica said sweetly.
"Of course not," Chandler said through gritted teeth.
***
"I'm glad we did this," Monica said happily, stirring the potato salad. "This is *fun*."
"Easy for you to say," Phoebe sighed, chopping tomatoes. "You didn't get bitten by a duck."
"No, no, I didn't..." Monica replied, looking through the sliding-glass door to where Joey was bent low over Megan, running his hand down her arm. "But I'm having a *great* time."
"Joey seems to be doing well with Chandler's little friend," Phoebe remarked, just a touch snappily.
"Well, Chandler says she's a great girl," Monica grinned. "I'm sure she'll make Joey *very* happy."
"You sound *awfully* pleased about that," Phoebe said suspiciously.
"I want Joey to be happy! He's my friend!"
"Uh-huh," Phoebe replied.
"Okay, Pheebs... veggie burgers are done," Chandler called, carrying in a plate from the screened-in porch. "Mon, can you hand me those hot dogs?"
"Sure," she handed them over. "Isn't this great?"
"It's swell." He took the hot dogs and retreated back to the grill, handing the plate to Ross. "Here ya go."
"Thanks." Ross started laying hot dogs down. "Hey, man... can I ask you something?"
"Sure..."
"Are you okay? You were so gung-ho to come down here, and now you're all bummed out. Something happen?"
"Eh... Mon's just sort of stuck me between a rock and a hard place."
"How so?" Ross poked sausages with his spatula.
"Well, Megan, basically. She's my friend, she *just* got dumped, she's totally vulnerable right now. But Monica thinks I've got a crush on her or something... which I so *don't*..."
Chandler took a swig of beer. "So basically, my choices are standing by while Joey takes total advantage of her, or intervening and convincing Monica that I'm in *luuuuv*."
"Well, you can see why Monica would think that," Ross said. "I mean she, she is *hot*."
"Thanks, Ross," Chander said dryly. "That helps! Say that *more*."
"Just sayin'," Ross mumbled.
"Look, Ross. I'm married to your sister. I'm in love with your sister. The only person I think is hot... is your sister, ok?"
"Okay, please quit saying 'my sister' and 'hot' in the same sentence."
"See, now you know how I feel about everyone drooling over Megan, okay? I grew up with her, for cryin' out loud."
"Well, Chandler... I mean, Megan's over thirty. If she hasn't learned to handle Joeys by now, that's her problem. She doesn't seem to *mind*, does she? Maybe she'd like her own slice of hot Tribbiani."
"Uggggggh," Chandler groaned.
"All I'm saying is... Joey has fun... Megan has fun... and it calms Monica down. At least you're getting to hang out with Megan, right? Before, Monica was spitting nails whenever her name was mentioned. The way I see it, it's a win-win scenario."
"Sure, I guess," Chandler mumbled into his beer.
***
"There," Monica said happily, smoothing the sheets and sticking the bag they came in into the trash. "*That's* better."
Chandler came out of the bathroom coughing. "Jesus, Mon... how much Lysol did you spray on it?"
"Just enough," Monica smiled, sliding into bed happily.
"Couldn't we open the window or something?" Chandler said, still gagging on the antibacterial spray.
"What? It'd get all damp again. Come to bed, honey."
Chandler slid into bed, wincing. New, crunchy, cotton sheets. He laid down and practically heard the pillow crackle.
"What'd you do with the old sheets?"
"Threw them away," Monica sighed, cuddling up to him. "Mmm... this is nice."
"Ohhhhhhhh," a loud moan intruded.
Joey. He'd know that moan anywhere. "Hey Mon... I'm gonna close the door, okay?"
"No, don't," Monica mumbled sleepily. "Gotta let the Lysol air out."
Great. Another loud Joey-moan punctured his eardrums.
"Hey, you wanna put the Enya on?" Chandler asked. "You love Enya..."
"Not in the mood for music tonight..." She snuggled closer.
She was doing this on purpose. She *wanted* him to lie here and listen to Joey and Megan have sex.
"Look, Mon... don't you think we're a *little* close to the couch to be keeping the door open?"
"Why?"
"Because of the *noise*."
"I don't hear anything," Monica yawned. "But if there's a noise bothering you, we could always... drown it out..."
Her hand strayed lower on his body, and Chandler's eyes popped open.
"I do owe you a rain check," Monica whispered, moving her hand in persuasive ways.
Well, it would certainly be distracting. And Ross was right -- Megan was a big girl... and definitely didn't *sound* like she was having a bad time.
He captured Monica's lips with his, and she moaned -- way, way too loudly. He let his hand stray to her breast, and she did it again.
Chandler's eyes narrowed even as Monica grinned wickedly and began kissing her way down his body, intent on beginning his Most Favorite Activity Ever... moaning the whole time.
Not only did she want him to hear Megan... she was apparently hell-bent on Megan hearing *them*.
Why didn't she just pee on him and mark her territory?
This was sick; sick, sick and wrooooo-hooooo-hoooooooo...
Damn, Monica was good at that.
Chandler closed his eyes, struggling to keep his mind in proper husbandly channels... difficult, since Monica's chosen activity meant that he could hear Megan moaning even louder than Monica.
You know what? Screw it. Monica had brought this particular twisted threesome fantasy on herself.
Megan appeared in his mind, she and Monica flickering in scenes entirely inappropriate for children. Chandler's breathing grew shallower, more urgent... and he finally cried out, sinking back against the bed.
"Liked that, did you?" Monica purred, moving back up to rest beside him.
"Yeah, I... I did... I should... do something for you..."
"Save it for tomorrow night," Monica smiled, snuggling in next to him. "Tonight was about you."
Suuuuuure it was.
Monica rolled over and went to sleep, a different kind of satisfaction sending her off into slumber. Chandler lay on his back and tucked his hands beneath his head, staring at the ceiling.
What the hell. What the *hell*.
At the end, he'd been thinking only of Megan.
-------------------------------
2004
Monica fumbled for her keys at the door of the apartment, nose twitching. Was Joey in one of his sauce-making fugue states again? The hall was filled with the smell of oregano and basil.
She let herself in the apartment, shocked to see Chandler standing over the stove with an apron on.
"You're... you're *cooking*," she said flatly.
"Yeah, I am," he smiled. "I thought I'd make you dinner, since you cooked all day."
"I thought you were writing..."
"Well, I did, for a while. While you were at work. It's something Rachel suggested, I thought I'd take her up on it. Wanna taste?"
He extended the wooden spoon in her direction, and Monica approached cautiously. Toast and the occasional pancake aside, Chandler wasn't exactly known for his fine cuisine.
"It's good," she said in shock, licking her lips.
"Yeah! I got the recipe from..." Don't, *don't* say 'Megan', not after Monica's reaction last night... "A cookbook at the house."
Monica looked around the room, taking a step back. "Wha... what are all these... *plants* doing here?"
"Do you like them?" Chandler wiped his hands on his apron. "I thought they made the air smell nice."
"What's wrong with the way my air smells?" Monica huffed.
"Nothing! Nothing! Your air smells great! I just... like the plant-smell. Hey, hey, look at the balcony...!"
Monica ran for the window, Chandler following her nervously. He hadn't been sure if this would go well, and so far, it wasn't.
"What is all that stuff?"
"It's herbs! It's a little herb-garden thing. I got the stuff at the hardware store. You know, you always watch 'The Naked Chef', and you thought it was so cool that he could get fresh herbs from his windowsill..."
He watched her face, his stomach sinking. "There's rosemary, and tarragon, and all kinds of stuff you like to cook with..."
"But all that... *dirt*..." Monica whispered in horror. "It'll get on the balcony..."
"No it won't," Chandler said earnestly. "I'll take care of it, Monica, seriously. I'm here anyway."
"I cleaned my study!" he added desperately.
Monica spun and opened the guest room door.
"You... changed everything," she said ominously.
"Well, I'm... in there a lot. And it wasn't very 'boy', y'know?"
"You could have *asked* me," Monica pointed out. "I would have been *glad* to redecorate it for you!"
"C'mon, Mon, I... I pay the rent, don't I? Can't I decorate one room?"
"Do you *remember* who you married?" Monica cried. "And it's not one room! It's that room, and this *new stuff* in the main room, and the *new stuff* on the balcony! That's three rooms out of five! That's the *majority* of the rooms! I'm me! You *know* me! You can't just change stuff!"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't think! Look, what if it's just *one* room? I'll take all the new stuff and put it in my room, okay? You can close the door, and never have to see it, ever."
"*Your room*? What, are we *roommates* now? We're *married*, Chandler!" She pointed to the bedroom door. "*That's* your room! Our room!"
"Monica..." he tried to count to ten, but felt his anger rising anyway. "I work here, I work in there! Y'know, in a *year*, we've gone from totally broke to rather wealthy, because of what I do in that room! I think my job has *earned* its own room, okay? It's not my room, all right? It's my *job's* room."
"I *hate* your job!" Monica burst into tears.
"You... you *what*?"
"You don't pay a bit of attention to me, Chandler! You're always in your little hidey-hole, tap-tap-tapping! Y'know, I married you to spend *time* with you! I don't *care* about how much money you make! I just want to *see* you! I didn't think that would be a problem!"
"Honey..." Chandler went to her. "I *know* that. I screwed up and I'm really sorry. But that's what I'm trying to do now! I'm just gonna write while you're at work, ok? It'll be just like my old job, only it won't make me miserable."
"Yeah, *right*," Monica sniffed. "You'll end up in there, night after night..."
"But I *won't*," Chandler replied soothingly. "I learned my lesson, okay? You'll see. There's room enough for you, me, and my writing. We'll make it work, I swear."
Monica looked up through a haze of tears, and Chandler hugged her tight.
"Look. I did something else today. It's not like the plants, you'll really like it."
"What's that?" she sniffed.
"I fired Jacob on his *ass* for what he did to you."
Monica's eyes widened disbelievingly. "Y-you... you did?"
"Yeah, I did." He stroked her cheek with his thumb.
Monica leaned up and kissed him hard on the mouth. Chandler groaned happily and wrapped his arms around her.
"C'mon, Bing," she growled sexily. "Let's do it in the plants."
***
"Delta Daaaaaawn," Monica belted at the saute station, expertly flipping a filet. "What's that floooower you have ooooooon..."
"Got things patched up, huh," a deep voice behind her said.
Monica whirled. "Richard, hey!"
"Glad to see you so happy," he grinned. "I just popped in to make sure you were okay. And since you are, I'm poppin' back out."
He held up a hand in goodbye.
"Richard, wait!" she called. "I never gave you your pie."
"Well, I could eat some of this parsley instead," he joked, reaching for a little bowl of it.
"Okay, never, *never* touch my mise-en-place," Monica snapped happily. "But I wanted to tell you, you were absolutely right! And things are sooo, soooooo much better now."
"Glad to hear it. Look... I should go."
"Yeah, I should saute... hey, gimme a hug, though."
"You're covered in fish," Richard laughed.
"Oh, yeah," Monica looked down at herself. "Um... here."
She extended a stick of broccoli rabe, and Richard laughingly shook its 'hand'.
"See you around," he smiled, pushing his way out of the service door.
***
Chandler wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, flipping pages in his atlas.
"Megan Mitchell," the voice on the other line said.
"Megan, hey! It's Chandler."
"Well, you sound a hell of a lot cheerier than the last time we talked... things go better with your wife?"
"Much, much better," he smiled. "Look, I need a favor."
"Liver go out already?"
"Not yet... I've got this bird book, but it's not telling me crap. I need the name of that owl we heard Wednesday, the super-spooky one."
"Um, I think it was a barn owl... why?"
"I'm writing a new book! And I want to set it at the house, y'know. Sort of a Southern Gothic, ghost-story kind of thing."
"I thought you were gonna re-write the last one?"
"I've *written* that already. I tried, but I was bored. Been there, wrote that. This is what I wanna do now."
"Ghost stories, huh?" Megan said. "Oooh, y'know... I've got a bunch of books of creepy stories that actually happened around here. You want me to mail them to you?"
"That would be *great*," Chandler said. "How are you doing?"
"Eh," Megan replied. "A little crappy at the moment. Nothing that won't blow over."
"What happened?"
"Well, my stupid-ass fiance isn't my fiance anymore... and he got the apartment. So I've been staying with my friend Susy, who is like... okay, you told me about your friend Joey? Imagine living with him in a *studio* apartment."
"Free sex show every night?" Chandler guessed.
"Every night, every day... you know, there's nothing like trying to read when she's with Giovanni."
"Giovanni?"
"One of her regulars. He *orgasms* in *opera*."
"Good god," Chandler shuddered.
"I've got a lead on a place, but it's kinda far from work, and I... sorry, god, I must be boring you to death."
"Megan. Hey. Move into the house."
Silence on the line, then: "What?"
"Move into the house. Seriously. It's a great house, I know you love it, and it's empty."
"I can't move into your *house*, Chandler...?"
"Why not? You're the part-time caretaker, right? So be the full-time caretaker."
"I... that's so sweet, but..."
"Megan, c'mon. It drives me crazy thinking of the house just sitting around empty. If I can't be there, I want you to be. And that way I'll know the house is happy... you'll be close to your mom... it'll be great."
"Chandler, I..."
"Please? Okay, temporarily? Just until you find an apartment that you like. I don't like the thought of you trying to sleep to the sounds of grunting, slapping, and 'Aida', okay?"
Megan burst into laughter. "Yeah, yeah, okay, you sold me. But it's just temporary."
"That's fine."
"Chandler, thank you so, so much. You really don't know what this means to me."
"Well, it means a lot to me, too. Seeya, Leia."
"Bye, Han."
Chandler set the phone down with a grin and resumed typing.
***
The egg timer went off, and Monica put the magazine she'd been pretending to read down and grabbed for the stick.
One line.
Dammit!
She threw the test in the trash, setting the magazine on the back of her toilet. Y'know, if her period was going to show up every damn month, at least it could do her a favor and be on *time* so she didn't get her friggin' hopes up.
She walked out of the bathroom, wiping a tear from her eye, and looked out the window at Chandler's container garden. He'd been true to his word... there wasn't a speck of dirt on the balcony. How he pulled that off, she'd never know.
Something was off, though... and it wasn't just his newfound obsession with plants. Chandler woke up when she woke up, usually even made her breakfast, was always done writing before she came home, kept the house tidy, hung out at the coffeeshop with everyone, made love to her at night. He'd even cut way down on the stupid jokes and begun acting like an actual grown-up... she'd taken him to a party at her parents a few nights ago, and not only had he *not* humiliated her, he'd charmed the socks off the other guests.
In short, he was perfect -- exactly what she wanted.
And since when had *Chandler* been *perfect*?
He was acting like... well, he was acting like Richard. Not that she'd ever say that to his face.
Maybe it was the way Chandler kept sneaking nervous glances at her. It was something that used to annoy the crap out of her -- he'd rent a movie that he loved and didn't think she'd like, and he'd spent the whole thing watching *her* to see her reactions. It made her feel uncomfortable, on the spot, like she *had* to laugh out loud at every joke or look enthralled at every action sequence.
And now he looked at her like that all the time... that desperate, oh-god-please-like-this expression permanently glued to his face.
What was it that he'd said once? That she was high-maintenance, but that he liked maintaining her?
Monica was starting to suspect that he didn't like it so much anymore.
Just how unhappy was he?
Would it really have hurt to let him put some plants in the living room? Was it so terrible if a speck of dirt fell from the garden he adored onto the balcony? It wasn't like the pigeons didn't crap on it anyway.
How much time did she spend maintaining *Chandler*?
The phone rang, and she eyed the caller ID. "Chandler Bing".
She picked it up with a smile. "Hey, honey..."
"Um... hi..." a feminine voice said. "Um, may I speak to Chandler Bing, please?"
"He's not here," Monica said, suspicion growing. "Who is this?"
"Hi! You must be Monica! It's nice to finally say hi. I'm Megan Mitchell... the caretaker?"
Well, that explained the Caller ID. "Ah, hi... is there a problem with our house?"
"Oh no, no... your house is fine... it's just, I ran into Donald Crane at the store today, he's like, the oldest guy alive... and he told me this awesome ghost story. I was gonna give it to Chandler for the book."
Huh. So this girl, unlike Monica, knew what Chandler's new book was about. In-ter-es-ting.
"Ah, okay. Well, he just went out for plant food, he should be back in an hour or so. Will you still be at the house, or should I have him call your cellphone?"
"Oh, he can call me here. I'm having a little party, gonna be in all night."
"But you're at the house... aren't you?"
"Yup... hey, or, you could just give me his e-mail address. I can type the story up on his Mom's computer and send it to him."
"I'll just have him call you," Monica replied stiffly.
"Okay, thanks! Bye!"
"Bye," Monica said, hanging up the phone and tapping it against her chin.
She carried the phone over to the mail basket and pulled out their long-distance bill, spreading it across the kitchen table, counting.
Forty-seven times.
He'd called that girl forty-seven times in a month.
The girl on the phone had sounded... well... breezy. Fun. Someone who wouldn't give a damn if he turned the whole house into a jungle room, the kind of girl who *would* have sex on the balcony... in a heartbeat.
It would probably be her idea.
She started dialing numbers on the phone in her hand.
"Hello?" Joey said, in a sultry bass tone.
"Joey, it's me."
"Ah, hey Mon," he replied, voice an octave higher.
"Hey, Joe... had a question for you... you met Megan down in Georgia, right?"
"Yeah, for about five minutes, why?"
"Well, she just called here, and we had this *great* conversation," Monica said, still glaring at the spread-out phone bill. It was only half a lie, right?
"Yeah, she's pretty cool."
"So what's she like?"
"Uh, she works with animals, she's some kind of vet-thing that isn't a real vet. But she writes, too, like Chandler does."
"Is she cute?"
"Oh-ho, yeah. Little short for my tastes, though. She looks kinda like... huh. Drew Barrymore."
"In E.T.?" Monica asked hopefully.
Joey laughed lewdly. "Nuh-uh."
"Thanks, Joey," Monica said, struggling to keep her voice even. "I gotta go."
Wonderful. Perfect. Special.
So Super-Fun Girl looked like the celebrity whose 'Guess' ad Chandler and Joey had kept framed over their toilet for almost a decade.
Forty-seven times. And that was just *his* calls to *her*. How many times had that girl called here? To Monica's own apartment? Her home?
The door swung open. "Hey, Mon," Chandler called, hefting a bag of Miracle-Gro.
"Hey, honey." She took deep breaths, gathering up the phone bill quickly and hiding it under the table. "Um, can I talk to you about something?"
"Sure," he replied, setting the bag down. "What's up?"
"Well, I... I don't know how to say this, honey... but I think you might want to fire that Megan girl."
"What?" Chandler looked at her blankly.
"Well, she just called here, and I... I really think she's taking liberties. She's making long-distance phone calls on the phone at our house... she's using your mother's computer... and I'm pretty sure she's having a *party* at our house! I know you like her, but... I'm sure you can find a better caretaker, sweetie... someone who's more responsible."
Chandler laughed. "Mon, it's okay... she lives there."
"What?" Monica asked, struggling for calm, hand clenching on the bill in her hands.
"I told her to move in. She and her fiancee broke up, it's a big mess, she was living with this female Joey... so I told her to move into the house."
Oh. My. God. "You... *gave*... our house... to some girl?"
*That* girl?
"I didn't *give* her the house, Mon. I just let her stay there for a while. It's temporary. She *is* the caretaker, after all. She's just a live-in caretaker now."
Breathe. Breathe. "Don't you think this is the kind of thing you should have discussed with me first?"
"I'm sorry, Mon. It just didn't occur to me," Chandler said in exasperation. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't ask you about it, okay?"
"Well, I suppose *one* more thing you're not telling me couldn't hurt," Monica said airily.
Chandler froze. "What... what is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, *nothing*," Monica cooed. "I was just... looking at the phone bill, you know? And your *forty-seven* calls to the girl you gave our house to."
Monica slapped the phone bill onto the kitchen table.
"Oh, Monica, for god's sake. She's doing *research* for me."
"How stupid do you think I am?" Monica countered. "You leave me and end up with this girl. You come back, you call her twice a day, you give her our *house*, and I'm honestly supposed to believe that nothing's going on?"
"Yes, you are! Because nothing *is* going on! She's my *friend*."
"You have a picture of her in your study!"
"She's five and has her arm around my dead brother! It's not like she's posing in a thong!"
"I don't want her living there, Chandler."
"Monica, be reasonable..."
"I *am* being reasonable! Apparently, I'm the only one! A house is a major investment! That house is probably the most valuable thing we own! You don't just let some woman move into it! She could burn it down, or... is she even paying rent?"
"Why would she pay rent? She's the caretaker, living there is her job!"
"That's a hell of a 'fringe benefit', Chandler! I wish someone would pay me to live here!"
"C'mon, Mon... we're actually getting a deal, here. Full-time caretakers cost a lot of money, and we're getting one for free!"
"We're not getting one for *free*, Chandler! We could be making a ton of money renting that house... didn't you say it's on the water? Or we could sell it, and get a nice house of our own, *here*."
"We are *not* selling that house," Chandler cried.
"Okay, okay, fine. We could at least rent it out."
"I don't want a bunch of strangers walking around in there!"
"But it's okay for *her*, huh? Do you even realize the hole you're digging yourself?"
"Digging a -- I'm not digging a hole! *You're* digging a hole and throwing me into it!"
"Okay, bottom line time," Monica cried. "I want that girl out of our house. I don't want her living there, I don't want her working there, I don't want her driving by the mailbox, and I *definitely* don't want her calling here!"
"Her family has been taking care of that house since before I was *born*," Chandler said, his jaw squaring.
"I... don't... care!"
"I do!"
"Are you seriously going to sit there and tell me that the damn *caretaker* on a house you've only bothered to visit *once* is more important to you than your wife's feelings?"
"Whatever, *Emily*," Chandler hissed, hefting his bag of Miracle-Gro.
"What did you just call me?" Monica said, soft and dangerous.
"Called ya Emily! Cause you're being exactly like her! Only this is even more stupid, because there is *nothing* between Megan and me!"
"You know," Monica hissed. "I don't know if you've *noticed*, but Emily was *right* about Ross and Rachel. Or hadn't you noticed *Emma*?"
"I'm not firing my friend," Chandler insisted. "You can't ask me to do that. It's not fair."
"I want to go down there," Monica said suddenly, crossing her arms.
"What?"
"It's our summer house. It's summer. I want to go down there."
"Do you actually want to go... or do you just want me to kick Megan out so we can go?"
"I think we should *go*. I think it will be *fun*. I think we should take the *whole gang*."
Chandler froze, not trusting Monica's sudden brightness. His first impulse was to say no, but...
If Monica actually saw the house... actually met Megan and saw how harmless she was... maybe she'd fall in love with both. Maybe she'd want to live down there part of the year.
"I'll call Megan and tell her," he said, reaching for the phone.
Monica stopped his hand, staring into his eyes. "*I'll* call her."
Chandler looked into her eyes. There was no fighting her on this one.
"Yeah, okay," he sighed. "I'll go... fertilize my plants."
***
"Wow," Phoebe giggled as they unloaded the van. "I haven't seen your 'Happy Hair' since Barbados, Mon."
Monica shot her The Look, and Phoebe's mouth snapped shut.
"Fun trip," she muttered to Mike.
"No shit," he hissed back.
"Okay, you guys," Chandler said awkwardly. "Be kind of careful on the deck, here..."
He led the way, heart erupting at the first glimpse of the house, lit up in the night. He breathed deeply, reveling in the smell that he hadn't been able to recreate with an entire apartment stuffed full of houseplants.
Home.
"Oh, it's so *cute*," Rachel breathed, not noticing the grateful glance Chandler shot her. "Emma, look at the house!"
Monica and Ross sneezed suddenly, in unison.
Chandler unlocked the door, swinging it open, smiling helplessly to himself.
"I should put Emma to bed, Chandler," Rachel said. "Which room is ours?"
"Either one at the top of the stairs," Chandler said, running his hand lightly over the kitchen table.
"We're gonna go to bed, too," Phoebe said, pulling Mike's hand. "Y'know, the jet lag."
"It's the same time zone, Pheebs," Ross pointed out, barely covering his grin.
"Fine, Ross, we're going to go have sex now. Bye!"
Mike waved happily as Phoebe pulled him up the stairs.
"Single Boy gets the couch, right?" Joey asked, hefting his duffel bag.
"Yeah, Joe... sorry."
He found himself suddenly alone with Monica, who was pacing the kitchen... touching, evaluating.
"What... what do you think?" he said breathlessly.
"It's... cute," she replied. Her 'cute' didn't sound anything like Rachel's.
Chandler put his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to rock back and forth nervously.
"How come Megan didn't take her... stuff with her?" Monica asked.
"She did. This is Mom's stuff."
"But your mom's apartment was so *nice*," Monica said in confusion.
Chandler felt like he'd been gutshot.
"I didn't mean anything bad, sweetie," Monica soothed. "It's just... this stuff is so... old and beat-up. I mean, Nora was so elegant. It's just hard to imagine her liking... this." Monica crossed to the cookie jar. "I mean... come on, did she steal this from Phoebe?"
Chandler continued to stand in horror, and Monica touched his arm. "Oh, hon, don't look like that. The house is cute! We can get new furniture... we'll get this place all fixed up, it'll be great."
"C'mon, sit down." Chandler let Monica guide him into a chair. "Just imagine, okay?" Monica roamed the kitchen, hands up and gesturing in the air. "We take all this old stuff out. We could put a nice Wolff range right here... maybe a SubZero right here... some new cabinets... and we could paint the walls... hmm. Oooh, ooh, I have it... aubergine!"
She considered. "Or maybe eggplant. I'd have to think."
"New floors... we could get that great Pergo stuff... of course, we'd have to do something about that railing, once we had kids. Oh... and we could glass in the fireplace, get gas logs..."
"I *like* the fireplace," Chandler said weakly.
"I do too, honey, but a real fire? I mean, besides whoa, how dangerous can you get, we're talking ash everywhere, and firewood... that'll bring bugs into the house."
Monica cast her eye around the room, already seeing it redecorated. She clapped her hands. "Show me the rest of the house! This place has so much *potential*!"
"I want to go to bed," Chandler said woodenly.
Monica gave him a seductive smile. "Country air, huh? Let me go change into something that I think you'll like."
***
"Aubergine," Chandler snapped, flinging his pants across a chair. "Friggin' *aubergine*."
His socks joined his pants, and Chandler slid into the bed, groaning happily. Ohhhhhhhhh yeah. He'd missed this bed.
He squirmed joyously, letting the soft, cool flannel slide over him, reveling in it. Everything in this bed was wonderful to touch, no place to lay that wasn't comfortable... it was like being on ecstasy every night.
And the sound. The river. It got into his brain, slowed his breathing, made his heart beat slower. Chandler closed his eyes and let out a sigh of contentment, already half-asleep.
He heard the door squeak open and cracked an eyelid.
"Hey, you," Monica whispered. She was wearing a long silk nightgown and leaning against the doorway.
"Well hey," he replied, feeling considerably more awake.
"I found a tape player," she grinned, and Chandler's heart sank as she pushed the "play" button.
Enya. Again. Why was Monica so turned on by music that made him want to take a nap?
Monica crossed to her side of the bed, leaned over, and shut the window.
"Hard to hear the music for that noise," she smiled.
She pulled open the covers to slide in, putting a hand down to steady herself... then pulled it back in horror.
"Chandler?"
"Mmm-hmm?"
"The sheets are all... clammy."
"Well yeah, Mon... it's kinda damp here, with the river and all..."
"I guess no one ever taught 'Megan' how to shut a window?"
"C'mon, Mon... just come to bed, please?"
"Chandler, that's gross. I mean, how long has it been since anyone slept in this bed? There could be fungus, or mildew..."
"Monica, c'mon, you can differentiate brands of detergent at 500 yards. These sheets were washed, what? Yesterday? This morning?"
"Chandler, I'm not sleeping in a wet bed. I'm sorry, it's just unhygienic."
"Okay... what if we sleep on *top* of the bed?"
"That'd be better," Monica said, nibbling a fingernail. "We can go tomorrow and get some real sheets. There *are* stores around here, right?"
Chandler bit back a hundred sarcastic responses, reluctantly sliding out of bed. "There are stores. We'll go tomorrow."
"Could we... put something down on it?" Monica said nervously, looking at the bed as if it were crawling with the Ebola virus.
"What, like a *tarp*?"
"No, silly," Monica laughed. "Some fresh blankets or something."
"I'll see what I can find."
He headed for the living room in his boxer shorts, rummaging through closets, finally pulling out a stack of linen tablecloths.
"Will these do?" he asked wearily, displaying them to Monica.
"Oh, linen... that's so expensive," Monica sighed, pulling the pillows off the bed and setting them aside with a look of distaste. "But yeah, okay, since there's no other option."
They finally settled down on top of the tablecloths, struggling to get comfortable on the starched fabric. Chandler kissed Monica on the neck.
"Honey, I love you, but I can't get in the mood on top of a petri dish," Monica sighed. "It's hard enough just to get to sleep. Rain check?"
"Rain check," Chandler groaned, rolling over and trying to get comfortable on his arm with Enya's "Sail Away" ringing inside his ears.
***
"Mornin', children," Chandler called, walking out onto the deck. The others were already outside, Phoebe pouring coffee from a carafe into everyone's cups. "Whatcha doin', Ross?"
"This view is spectacular," Ross cried, peering into his binoculars. "Oh my god, is that a Bachman's Sparrow?"
"Geek," Rachel coughed playfully into her fist.
"It's an endangered *species*, Rachel," Ross said indignantly. "Aimophila aestivalis. I never thought I'd see one. Hand me my bird guide!"
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the man I sleep with," Rachel announced, giving him a kiss on the cheek and handing him his bird book.
Ross put down the binoculars to page through the book, and Joey took them, raising them to his eyes. "I don't see any bird... whoa. Now *that's* my kind of scenery! Come to Joey, chicky chick."
"Did you see the sparrow?" Ross asked excitedly.
"Naw, there's a super-hot girl in a bikini and small shorts bending over." Joey leaned over the railing. "Hey, she's standing up... oh, okay, it's Megan!" He put down the glasses and waved. "Hi, Megan!"
"Joey," Ross sighed. "As a general rule, if you can only see things with binoculars, they can't see you."
"I can see her from here," Joey protested. "Look, she's that little hot dot over there."
"Why can Joey see Megan from our deck?" Monica asked Chandler in honeyed tones.
"'Cause she moved back in with her mom, who lives down the street."
"Ah," Monica said, stirring her coffee. "Isn't *that* nice. And how sweet of her to put on a show!"
"Y'know," Chander said, just as lightly, "I'm bettin' she doesn't *know* that perverts are checking out her ass with high-powered equipment."
"I'd like to show her some high-powered equipment," Joey leered.
"Baby! Baby! Baby in earshot!" Rachel snapped, covering Emma's ears with her hands.
"Why don't we invite her over?" Monica said suddenly.
Chandler managed to keep his eyeballs in their sockets. "You... want... to invite Megan over?"
"Well, sure!" Monica trilled. "Joey obviously likes her, she's your buddy... I bet they'd hit it off! And Joey's the only one here alone, it's not very fair to him, is it? Didn't you tell me she was single now?"
"Yeah, but..."
"You don't... have a *problem* with Joey asking Megan out, do you?" Monica said sweetly.
"Of course not," Chandler said through gritted teeth.
***
"I'm glad we did this," Monica said happily, stirring the potato salad. "This is *fun*."
"Easy for you to say," Phoebe sighed, chopping tomatoes. "You didn't get bitten by a duck."
"No, no, I didn't..." Monica replied, looking through the sliding-glass door to where Joey was bent low over Megan, running his hand down her arm. "But I'm having a *great* time."
"Joey seems to be doing well with Chandler's little friend," Phoebe remarked, just a touch snappily.
"Well, Chandler says she's a great girl," Monica grinned. "I'm sure she'll make Joey *very* happy."
"You sound *awfully* pleased about that," Phoebe said suspiciously.
"I want Joey to be happy! He's my friend!"
"Uh-huh," Phoebe replied.
"Okay, Pheebs... veggie burgers are done," Chandler called, carrying in a plate from the screened-in porch. "Mon, can you hand me those hot dogs?"
"Sure," she handed them over. "Isn't this great?"
"It's swell." He took the hot dogs and retreated back to the grill, handing the plate to Ross. "Here ya go."
"Thanks." Ross started laying hot dogs down. "Hey, man... can I ask you something?"
"Sure..."
"Are you okay? You were so gung-ho to come down here, and now you're all bummed out. Something happen?"
"Eh... Mon's just sort of stuck me between a rock and a hard place."
"How so?" Ross poked sausages with his spatula.
"Well, Megan, basically. She's my friend, she *just* got dumped, she's totally vulnerable right now. But Monica thinks I've got a crush on her or something... which I so *don't*..."
Chandler took a swig of beer. "So basically, my choices are standing by while Joey takes total advantage of her, or intervening and convincing Monica that I'm in *luuuuv*."
"Well, you can see why Monica would think that," Ross said. "I mean she, she is *hot*."
"Thanks, Ross," Chander said dryly. "That helps! Say that *more*."
"Just sayin'," Ross mumbled.
"Look, Ross. I'm married to your sister. I'm in love with your sister. The only person I think is hot... is your sister, ok?"
"Okay, please quit saying 'my sister' and 'hot' in the same sentence."
"See, now you know how I feel about everyone drooling over Megan, okay? I grew up with her, for cryin' out loud."
"Well, Chandler... I mean, Megan's over thirty. If she hasn't learned to handle Joeys by now, that's her problem. She doesn't seem to *mind*, does she? Maybe she'd like her own slice of hot Tribbiani."
"Uggggggh," Chandler groaned.
"All I'm saying is... Joey has fun... Megan has fun... and it calms Monica down. At least you're getting to hang out with Megan, right? Before, Monica was spitting nails whenever her name was mentioned. The way I see it, it's a win-win scenario."
"Sure, I guess," Chandler mumbled into his beer.
***
"There," Monica said happily, smoothing the sheets and sticking the bag they came in into the trash. "*That's* better."
Chandler came out of the bathroom coughing. "Jesus, Mon... how much Lysol did you spray on it?"
"Just enough," Monica smiled, sliding into bed happily.
"Couldn't we open the window or something?" Chandler said, still gagging on the antibacterial spray.
"What? It'd get all damp again. Come to bed, honey."
Chandler slid into bed, wincing. New, crunchy, cotton sheets. He laid down and practically heard the pillow crackle.
"What'd you do with the old sheets?"
"Threw them away," Monica sighed, cuddling up to him. "Mmm... this is nice."
"Ohhhhhhhh," a loud moan intruded.
Joey. He'd know that moan anywhere. "Hey Mon... I'm gonna close the door, okay?"
"No, don't," Monica mumbled sleepily. "Gotta let the Lysol air out."
Great. Another loud Joey-moan punctured his eardrums.
"Hey, you wanna put the Enya on?" Chandler asked. "You love Enya..."
"Not in the mood for music tonight..." She snuggled closer.
She was doing this on purpose. She *wanted* him to lie here and listen to Joey and Megan have sex.
"Look, Mon... don't you think we're a *little* close to the couch to be keeping the door open?"
"Why?"
"Because of the *noise*."
"I don't hear anything," Monica yawned. "But if there's a noise bothering you, we could always... drown it out..."
Her hand strayed lower on his body, and Chandler's eyes popped open.
"I do owe you a rain check," Monica whispered, moving her hand in persuasive ways.
Well, it would certainly be distracting. And Ross was right -- Megan was a big girl... and definitely didn't *sound* like she was having a bad time.
He captured Monica's lips with his, and she moaned -- way, way too loudly. He let his hand stray to her breast, and she did it again.
Chandler's eyes narrowed even as Monica grinned wickedly and began kissing her way down his body, intent on beginning his Most Favorite Activity Ever... moaning the whole time.
Not only did she want him to hear Megan... she was apparently hell-bent on Megan hearing *them*.
Why didn't she just pee on him and mark her territory?
This was sick; sick, sick and wrooooo-hooooo-hoooooooo...
Damn, Monica was good at that.
Chandler closed his eyes, struggling to keep his mind in proper husbandly channels... difficult, since Monica's chosen activity meant that he could hear Megan moaning even louder than Monica.
You know what? Screw it. Monica had brought this particular twisted threesome fantasy on herself.
Megan appeared in his mind, she and Monica flickering in scenes entirely inappropriate for children. Chandler's breathing grew shallower, more urgent... and he finally cried out, sinking back against the bed.
"Liked that, did you?" Monica purred, moving back up to rest beside him.
"Yeah, I... I did... I should... do something for you..."
"Save it for tomorrow night," Monica smiled, snuggling in next to him. "Tonight was about you."
Suuuuuure it was.
Monica rolled over and went to sleep, a different kind of satisfaction sending her off into slumber. Chandler lay on his back and tucked his hands beneath his head, staring at the ceiling.
What the hell. What the *hell*.
At the end, he'd been thinking only of Megan.