2004
Megan set her bag down on the counter, closing the door behind her and looking around with a rueful smile.
"Won't be needing these for a while," she said aloud, sticking the cleaning products she'd bought underneath the kitchen sink.
Monica might hate her guts, but she definitely didn't leave a mess behind.
There was an envelope on the counter with her name on it. Megan crossed to it and withdrew a sheet of paper. Chandler's trademark scrawl was all over it.
"Dear Megan," she read.
"I feel like you probably saw this coming, but... Monica doesn't really want me to talk to you for a while. I think you know how badly I want to make my marriage work, so I hope you'll understand why I'm doing this."
Megan sighed. She did understand.
"I seriously doubt that Monica and I will ever come down here again, but I refuse to sell the place. I really want you to move back in. In fact, I pretty much demand that you move back in. Before you ask, yes, Monica is okay with this... it's part of our agreement."
"To blackmail you into this, I have arranged for a package to be delivered during your normal caretaking hours. The contents of this package are extremely delicate and will require that you reside in the house to provide care. The contents of this package are very dear to both Joey and myself, but we trust you."
"I miss you already."
"Chandler."
"P.S. Where's your damn tattoo?"
Megan burst into laughter, setting the letter down. Package? What the hell kind of package?
Right on cue, the doorbell rang. Megan opened it to find the mailman.
"I have a delivery for Megan Mitchell?"
"That's me."
"Sign here, please."
"Where's the package?"
"It's in the truck. Didn't want to move it until I knew you were home."
"What's... what's in it?"
The mailman struggled to keep a straight face.
"Ma'am... as near as I can tell..."
"Yes?"
"It's a rooster. And a duck."
***
"Who loves ya, baby?" Chandler called, striding through the door flamboyantly.
"Uh-oh," Monica laughed, looking up from her magazine. "What have you done?"
Chandler reached into his trenchcoat and procured a box, which he sat on the table in front of Monica.
"Mint Treasures!" she screeched in delight.
"Yup... I love you, 'cause I bought ya a box. And I love you *more*, 'cause I only bought you *one*."
"Very wise," Monica grinned, kissing him on the cheek and walking to the couch. "Now I have something to munch during 'American Idol'."
Chandler swallowed a sigh. "Is that the schedule for tonight?"
"Are you kidding? It's Jessica vs. Nathan tonight! I wouldn't miss this!"
"You want me to make some dinner?" Chandler asked.
"No way! I need room for cookies. Could you hand me my drink?"
Chandler passed her the glass of scotch before shrugging off his coat. Another night of TV. Fantastic. Swell. More 'quality time' between him, Monica, and Paula Abdul... every husband's dream.
Chandler turned sharply at a loud noise from across the hall. "What are they doing now?"
"They've been fighting all day," Monica said around a mouthful of minty chocolate. "I think they've even involved the dog."
Sure enough, frantic barking followed the raised voices.
Chandler dropped into the armchair with a sigh. "Would you think less of me if I told you that I hope our new neighbors rot in hell?"
"At least we can't *see* them," Monica laughed, pointing out the window. Once Ross and Rachel had given up the sublet, Ugly Naked Guy had moved back in... now, with the new addition of Ugly Naked Girlfriend. It wouldn't be so bad if they weren't so into Ugly Naked Sex Against The Window.
"Never thought I'd miss watching Ross read in his T-Rex boxers," Chandler sighed.
"Sssh, honey... the show's starting."
Chandler tried to get interested in the program, but it just wasn't happening. He stood up. "Hon, would you mind if I did a little editing? Since you're busy with your show..."
"Awww, hang out with me," Monica cooed, taking his hand and pulling him down to the couch. She snuggled up against him.
And now he was trapped. Trapped with Simon Cowell. Perfection.
This was their life since the other five had left: reality shows. Cooking shows. Court TV. Made-for-television movies. All four flavors of 'CSI'. In the weeks since Phoebe and Mike had packed up, Monica had gone from someone who barely turned the television on to someone who seemed totally hypnotized by it.
This was why grown-ups had kids. Because they'd run out of everything else to do.
What he wouldn't give to be sitting at Central Perk, listening to the details of Joey's latest conquest, or Phoebe's weirdest adventure, or Rachel's newest piece of gossip. Hell, he'd even be up for one of Ross' dinosaur lectures.
He missed them. God, he missed them. He hadn't felt so alone in years. There was Monica, but... Monica was one-sixth of what he needed.
"One-seventh," a voice in the back of his mind whispered.
He wasn't even going to think about Megan. The other six were bad enough.
And it had all ended with such a whimper. He'd always thought that if the six of them ever broke up, it would be some big, dramatic thing, but...
Joey had left first: he had to be on set. He'd flown out the day after they'd gotten back from Georgia. The rest of them had packed and shipped his things in a wine-soaked party of bittersweet nostalgia.
Ross, Rachel, and Emma next, leaving a depressing, blank darkness whenever Chandler looked out the big window. Then Phoebe and Mike, two months ago.
Chandler had always loved autumn, but this one, he'd been fighting... watching the leaves fall, watching things go dark and dead, dried-out and finished. He'd never thought of autumn as lonely, never realized how surrounded by death it was.
And why would he? There's been leaf-fights with Joey in the park, and football to pretend to watch, and parades, and Thanksgiving... a holiday that he would never admit he'd secretly come to love again. The six (or seven) of them, sitting around a table, laughing and fighting and being their ridiculous selves...
Chandler swallowed a lump in his throat and shifted under the weight of Monica's head.
"Hey Mon? I'm getting up for some water, okay?"
"Would you refresh me?" she smiled, handing him her glass.
And since when did Monica drink at night? She'd read that article on alcohol lowering the risk of heart attacks, but dear god -- surely they weren't talking about Scotch!
"You got some mail," Monica called. "I think it's junk, but I wasn't sure."
He crossed to the mail holder, retrieving the envelope inside. Another credit card application -- junk.
He had almost tossed it in the trash when he noticed that it was unusually stiff... and taped closed, with a printed label over the original address.
What the hell?
He pulled off the tape, and a a black and white photograph fell into his hand.
Chandler couldn't hold in his grin. The picture had been taken on the back deck of the house. In it, the rooster perched on the edge of the railing... looking curiously down at the duck, who was paddling blissfully in the river.
"Hell of a lot better than the bathtub, huh buddy?" Chandler whispered.
"What'd you say, sweetie?" Monica called.
"Nothing... it's junk," Chandler replied, slipping the picture into his back pocket and throwing the envelope away.
His cellphone began to ring, and Chandler looked at the display. "Joseph Tribbiani."
"Mon, it's Joe. I'm gonna take this in the other room, okay?"
Monica mumbled something that sounded like assent, mouth full of cookie.
Chandler closed his study door behind him. "Hey, Joe."
"Hey, man! I got your printout of your book!"
"You read it?"
"Guess where it is?"
"What?"
"It's in my *freezer*!"
Chandler pumped his fist into the air. "Scared you that bad?"
"Dude, it's awesome! It's been in the freezer like, three times, but then I have to keep gettin' it out to find out what happens next!"
Chandler sat down on the bed, happiness coursing through him. "That's the best compliment anyone's ever given me, Joe."
"It gets better! I called Rachel, right, to see if she could tell me what happened at the end so I wouldn't have to read it... and she couldn't tell me, 'cause *her* copy's in *her* freezer!"
"Oh my god!" Chandler nearly shrieked in joy. "Rachel too?"
"And get this... get this... *Ross* put it there!"
"Ross? Science Man?"
"Dude, it's seriously, seriously awesome. I took 'The Shining' out to put your book *in*."
"I'm literally floating right now," Chandler grinned.
"I just thought you'd wanna know," Joey replied.
"So how are you? How's L.A.?"
Joey's enthusiasm dropped a notch. "It's okay. I like the show, the cast is cool. But I miss you guys."
"God, Joe... I miss you too. You have no idea." Chandler sat down and shifted the phone to his other ear. "Look... I'm gonna have to go on a book tour here in a few months. I know I'll be going to L.A... I'm gonna see if we can extend that part so I can hang out with you."
"Cool! Is Monica coming with you?"
"Not this time, she's swamped at the restaurant."
"You heard from Megan at all?"
"Nope. She sent me a picture of the chick and the duck, though. Looks like they're having fun."
"Awesome. Hey, Chandler, I have to go... my pizza's here."
"The Joey Special?"
"You know it, man."
Chandler hung up glumly. He'd ordered 'The Joey Special' himself a few times, after Joey was gone.
But they'd gotten the name right: without Joey, it wasn't special.
***
"Yeah, you start off with three days in L.A.," Neil said. "I figured I'd have to pull teeth to get you to do this tour at all, Chandler."
Chandler wedged the phone against his shoulder, piling turkey on his sandwich. "Well, I'm actually looking forward to it. I'm doing Boston, too?"
"Of course you're doing Boston, Chandler. What, you thought we'd have you skip all the major cities and go on a tour of rural pig farms?"
Chandler grinned. His new agent was a hell of an improvement.
"Neil, can you hang on for a second? The call waiting just went off."
"Yeah, sure."
Chandler pressed the flash button on the phone. "Hello?"
"Hi, may I speak to Monica Bing, please?"
"She's not here right now."
"Ah... is this her husband?"
"Yes it is..."
"Mr. Bing, can you remind your wife that her ultrasound has been moved to Thursday? We notified her in writing, but she didn't call to confirm."
"Um... ultrasound?"
"Yes, sir. This Thursday, ten a.m."
Click. Chandler switched back over to Neil. "Hey... I'm back..."
"You okay? Your voice sounds weird."
"I'm... Neil, I think my wife is pregnant."
"Congratulations, man!"
"Yeah, I need to go, okay?"
"Okay... congratulations, daddy!"
"Thanks, Neil."
Chandler hung up the phone in a daze, abandoning it on the counter next to his half-constructed sandwich and collapsing into the armchair.
Pregnant?
But... his gun, with the bullet lackage...
And why hadn't Monica told him?
Maybe... maybe she hadn't wanted to get his hopes up until she knew for sure. Maybe she... but if she already had an ultrasound scheduled, wouldn't she already know for sure?
There was no reason for her not to tell him.
Unless.
Unless, of course, it wasn't his.
***
"Hey, honey!" Monica called, hanging up her coat and purse. "You would not believe the day I had!"
She looked around the living room. Empty. "Chandler?"
"I was taking a nap," he said, leaning against the doorframe of their bedroom.
"Do you feel okay?"
"Not really. I feel pretty *nauseous*."
"Oh, honey! Do you want me to get you something from the drugstore?"
Yeah, about five pregnancy tests. "Nah."
"You going back to bed?"
"I think so." he turned back towards the bedroom, then spun casually. "Hey, Mon... I almost forgot...! Your doctor called. Your ultrasound's been moved to Thursday."
The color faded from Monica's face. "What?"
"Your... ult-ra-sound... has been mo-oved... to Thurs-day," Chandler said exaggeratedly, deliberately misunderstanding.
"Chandler..."
"So," he spat, "Am I still firing blanks? Or do you have something to tell me?"
"Oh, god, Chandler," Monica sighed sadly.
"Well, I guess that answers *my* question," Chandler snapped. "Who is he?"
"Who... what?"
"The father of your baby, Monica, who is he?"
"Chandler... I'm not pregnant."
"Then why in the *hell* are you having an ultrasound?"
"It's not that kind of ultrasound!"
"What?"
"They're not looking at a baby, Chandler. It's to look at my ovarian cysts."
"What?"
"Look. When we got back from Georgia, they called with *my* results. And I have this... syndrome, okay? I can't have kids. Ever."
"You're not pregnant."
"No."
"But you were going to... you were going to let me spend our whole marriage thinking that it was all my fault we couldn't have kids?"
"I was embarrassed!" Monica cried. "I'd yelled at you, and blamed you, and..."
"And you didn't want to be *wrong*," Chandler finished coldly.
"I was going to tell you!"
"When, Monica? When? This year? Five years? Do you have any idea how god-awful I've felt about this? How much I blamed myself, wondered what I did, how many nights I worried myself *sick* that you were going to leave me for someone who could give you a child?"
"Chandler... I..."
"Dammit, Monica... you were the one! You were the one saying how we needed to talk to each other! You call this talking? This is a pretty freakin' major secret to be keeping from me!"
"Honey..."
"Monica..." Chandler groaned, running his fingers through his hair, "I seriously, seriously don't know how much more of this shit I can put up with."
"What... what do you mean?"
"Do you have any... *any* idea... how irrational, how *crazy* you act sometimes? Could you step back for one second, one measly second, and take a look at yourself?"
"Chandler, please don't be mad..."
"Mon... I'm not mad. I'm just tired. I love you, but... I'm really, really tired of living like this."
"I don't understand."
"I don't *either*, Monica. I don't understand why you freak out if I put the sofa pillows in the wrong order. I don't understand why you're so obsessed with 'winning' everything that you hurt yourself, or me. I don't understand why a stain on the rug can make you lose sleep, or why you'd rather *lie* to me and make me feel bad than just admit you made a mistake. I try to understand, but I don't, and I never will."
"Chandler... I can't change who I am... you knew what I was like when you married me!"
"I thought... I thought I could handle it, or that you'd calm down, or something. But you're getting worse, and worse, and worse."
He walked towards her and sat down. "Mon... do you have any idea how I felt today, when I got that phone call? If you'd been honest with me, it never would have happened."
"Chandler... it's not like you're the world's easiest person to live with, either!"
"Mon... I know that. I do. I think... I think we should start seeing a therapist."
"Chandler, no..."
"Seriously, Monica. Think for a second. Why'd you yell at me yesterday?"
"You moved the phone pen. For like, the millionth time, though!"
"Monica... it's a *pen*. There are men who cheat on their wives, beat their wives, never come home... and I'm getting yelled at over *pen placement*."
"We don't need *therapy*, Chandler. We're just adjusting to each other! That takes time!"
"Monica, we've been married for over *three years*. That should have happened by now!"
"But..."
"Look, Mon. I'm leaving for my tour tomorrow. I think maybe we should take that time to think."
"Are you saying we should... take a break?"
"Hell no," Chandler laughed. "I know better than to say that to a Geller."
Monica froze, and Chandler touched her hand. "Sorry, Mon. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."
"How'd you mean it?" she said icily.
"Okay, fine, a break. Or whatever. Just some time to think. And when I come back, we'll see how we feel."
"Do you... do you want a divorce?"
"No, Monica, I don't. I definitely don't. I just want things to be different. I love you."
"I love you too..."
"See?" he said gently. "That's what matters. We'll figure something out."
"Chandler?"
"Yeah?"
"On your book tour... are you going South?"
"I'm going to Atlanta..." he blinked in comprehension. "Oh god, Monica, not this again... I haven't talked to her in months!"
"I'm just saying... it's a little weird that you want to 'take a break' right before you go down to where she is... that's all..."
"Jesus, Mon," he groaned.
"I want you to promise me something."
"What?"
"Promise me. Promise me that no matter what happens, you won't do anything with that girl. No matter what happens to us. Promise me."
"Monica..."
"Promise me! What's so hard about that, if you don't have feelings for her?"
"Fine. Fine. I promise."
***
"Gotta tell you, Joe," Chandler grinned, "It's a beautiful thing to be watching you eat."
"Somebody's gotta eat it," Joey replied, eyeing his cheeseburger lovingly. "You should see the people on the set. Every girl's like, a size negative four, and it's all, 'Ooo! Could you cut that piece of sushi in half for me? It's just toooo much fooood.'" Joey flipped an imaginary lock of hair.
"Oh, hey," Chandler remembered, "I wanted to show you this." He passed Joey the picture of the chick and the duck.
"Hey, all right!" Joey laughed, holding the photo up. "They look happy... don't you think they look happy?"
"How could they not be happy? They're down there," Chandler grinned.
Joey smiled sadly. "You really miss your little house, don't you?"
"Yeah, yeah I do. Not as much as I miss you, though."
"You heard from Megan?"
"No... actually, look. I sort of... have this agreement with Monica that I won't talk to her anymore."
"You what?"
"Monica feels uncomfortable, you know. So I told her I'd only talk to Megan a few times a year."
"You mean I gave her all that good Joey-lovin' for nothin'?"
Chandler groaned. "You slept with Megan because of Monica?"
"Well, yeah, mostly. I mean, gimme some credit, I'm slow on the uptake sometimes, not brain-dead... the situation was obvious. And she was hot. That didn't hurt."
Ask him. Ask him. You know you want to know, and you're never gonna get to ask her.
"Hey Joe? Can I ask you kind of... a weird question?"
"Anything, man."
"When you were with Megan, did you notice a... tattoo?"
Joey began to chuckle.
"Kinda hard to miss, Chandler."
"Well... where was it?"
"It was... well. It was *right* above her stuff, dude."
Chandler grinned at the confirmation of his suspicions.
"What was it?"
"It was a sentence. In Italian."
"What'd it say?"
Joey just laughed.
"Joey!"
"So how's the tour going?"
"Joey..." Chandler threatened. "You're killing me here."
"Aw, c'mon, how often do I know something you don't? Ya gotta let me savor this moment."
"Joey!"
Joey was unable to suppress his smirk. "It said... 'Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate'."
"In English, dammit!"
Joey laughed again. "Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here."
Chandler dropped his fork, and Joey burst into fresh peals of giggles.
***
Monica pried one eye open, rolling over.
Ring. Ring.
Good god. Who was calling here at this hour?
Ring. Ring.
"Hello?" Monica croaked into the phone.
Her voice softened immediately. "Mom? Mom, that's you, right? Mom, I can't understand you..."
The color drained from Monica's face. "Oh my god, Mom. I'll be right there." She paused. "Of course I'll call Ross."
She hit the button twice, dialing Ross' number in a cold sweat.
"Hello?" he responded, sounded about as awake as she had.
"Ross. Ross. It's Monica."
"Hey, Mon... what's up?"
"Ross... it's Daddy. He had a heart attack."
***
"Knock-knock... I brought the leading lady some flowers," Chandler said, opening the dressing room door.
"Well, aren't you *divine*," Charles Bing smiled luxuriously. "C'mon in, son. I just need to change and we can go."
"Hey, Dad," Chandler grinned. "The show was great."
"I'm glad you could come, baby," Charles said, picking up a dress from the back of a chair and slipping behind a changing screen. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your book-signing-thing."
"That's okay, Dad, it was *really* boring."
"I saw you on TV Monday! You looked very handsome." Charles walked out from behind the screen, resplendent in a summery sundress.
"Hey, nice dress, Dad," Chandler said. He was getting pretty good at doing that with a straight face.
"I just wish your mother could have seen it. The TV show, darling, not my dress. She'd be very, very proud of you, you know."
"I wish Mom could have seen it, too."
Charles stepped to the vanity and began applying mascara. "So when are we going down to Georgia? I need to schedule some vacation."
Chandler sighed. "Actually, Dad... I don't know if I'll be going down to Georgia anymore."
"Why not? You sounded ready to marry the place when you called me from there."
"Stuff changed," Chandler said morosely, sitting down on the red velvet chaise.
"Tell Daddy all about it," Charles purred, blotting his lipstick.
"Well, Monica doesn't like it down there very much. It's kind of dirty and damp for her tastes..."
"Ah, yes, your wife... had almost forgot about that. She spent your reception making sure people used their coasters."
Chandler laughed. "Yeah, that's Mon."
"You know... it's funny, Chandler," Charles mused, slipping rings on his fingers. "When you were little, you hated the New York apartment so much. All that white, no room for a little kid with juice and crackers... I have to admit, I was very surprised when you seemed so happy in the same basic situation."
"Well, you know what they say... you marry your mom... 's apartment..."
"So that's it? It's just dirty and damp? I assume she's heard of Clorox and dehumidifiers...?"
"It's not just that. She's a little paranoid about Megan."
"Megan Mitchell? Delores' daughter?"
"Yeah... Megan and I got to be pretty close, and it bothers Monica. Unfortunately for me, Megan grew up to be sort of earth-shakingly hot."
"Your wife, as I recall, was earth-shakingly hot."
"Well yeah, but Megan's... Megan's different. I mean, we have so much in common, you know? We can talk for hours and hours and hours, about pretty much anything. And she has my sense of humor, too. I mean... the girl has 'Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here' tattooed above her *stuff*. How sick, and perverted, and wonderful, and totally me is that?"
The corners of Charles' mouth turned up. "Ah. I can see why Monica's upset."
"Well, yeah..."
"Since you're obviously in love with her," Charles continued casually, examining an eyebrow in the mirror.
"Dad... I'm *not*. Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"I'm going to go with... 'because it's pathetically obvious'. How's that?"
"Dad..." Chandler sighed. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Because I promised Monica I wouldn't do anything with her, ever, even if Monica dies. And I've also agreed not to talk to her."
"Well," Charles said flatly. "*That* was stupid of you, wasn't it?"
"I didn't really have a choice, Dad."
"Of course you had a choice. There's always a choice, son. Kobayashi Maru."
Chandler laughed out loud. "That is *shockingly* geeky of you, Dad!"
"Yeah, well," Charles chuckled. "I had a shockingly geeky son. C'mon, let's go eat. I'm famished, and I know this great 24-hour buffet."
***
"Daddy," Monica cried, launching herself across the hospital room and taking her father's hand.
"Whoa, easy there, pumpkin," Jack Geller said weakly. "Daddy's not feeling so great at the moment."
"I was so scared you weren't going to be here when I got here," Monica sobbed, pressing her father's hand to her cheek.
"I was kinda scared about that, too," Jack admitted, laying his hand over hers. "But I'm okay, sweetie. Mostly okay, anyway. Where's Chandler?"
"He's on a book tour, daddy. But I'm sure he wants you to get better. Ross, Rachel, and Emma are on their way up from Boston, okay? And Mom's waiting her turn."
"Oh, okay... are you going home?"
"No, daddy, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right in the waiting room, okay?"
She reluctantly let go of Jack's hand and walked out of the hospital room, motioning to Judy that she could go on in.
She sat down next to a figure asleep on a row of chairs, then did a double-take. "Richard?"
"Hey, Mon," Richard said sleepily, sitting up and grabbing his side. "Oh *god*, I'm too old to be doing that."
"Have you been here all night?"
"Yeah, I brought your dad in. Is he feeling better?"
"He seems to be." Monica felt fresh tears spring to her eyes. "Oh god, Richard... I was so scared..."
"C'mere," he said, pulling her into a hug. "It's okay. He's gonna be fine."
"Those damn cigars... I told him not to smoke those..."
"Hush, sshh. He's fine, he's gonna be fine."
***
"This looks frightening," Richard said, opening his plastic container with a look of disgust. "Are you sure that's food?"
Monica opened her own container and peered into it. "No, no, I'm really not. It's sort of a... food-like color, though."
"If this is what they feed the patients, no wonder they're all sick." Richard poked at a green, vaguely spinach-like blob with his fork before setting the container aside. "Look. Why don't I take you to a real restaurant and buy you some real lunch?"
"I don't know if I should leave..."
"Sweetie. Your dad's stable and asleep. There's nothing you can do for him right now. We've been here for... what? 36 hours? At least let me drive you home so you can catch a nap and a shower. Rachel and Ross went home hours ago."
"Well, that's the thing... they went 'home' to my apartment. Ross and Rachel are in my room, and Emma and Ben are in the other one..."
"Okay, new plan. We grab some decent food, we go to *my* apartment, and you can use my shower and crash out in the guest room. I even have some of your old clothes you can change into."
A shower, clean clothes, and a nap *did* sound amazingly wonderful.
***
Monica woke up, stretching luxuriously before opening her eyes and stumbling into the living room.
Richard sat on the couch, reading a book in the glow of yellow lamplight, eyeglasses on and obviously immersed. A wonderful smell was coming from the kitchen.
"Hey, you're up," he smiled, putting his book down and standing up. "I made soup... you want some?"
"Ohhhh yeah," she smiled, following Richard into the kitchen.
He'd already set the table. Beautiful dishes surrounded a rustic wooden bowl filled with mixed green salad, a cruet of dressing, a platter with a crusty French loaf, and a small assortment of cheeses. Wine glasses sparkled, and he had a bottle of her favorite white wine breathing at the side of the table.
Monica couldn't help sighing. Chandler's idea of setting the table for soup meant making sure the Saltine crackers were within easy reach... which he would then dump in crushed-up handfuls into everything from Vichyssoise to Gratinée.
She sat down, and Richard poured her wine expertly, raising glasses for a toast.
"To Jack," he said. "In the hope that we've learnt what he means to us, and the hope that we'll have years to tell him how much."
"To Dad," she replied. They clinked glasses together.
Richard served her with grace, and Monica watched him move, enraptured. Even sitting here with messed-up hair in her old sweatshirt... Richard had a way of making her feel like a princess.
Everything was, of course, exquisite. Richard had flawless taste.
"C'mon," she protested as they finished the meal. "At least let me help you do the dishes..."
"No way," Richard grinned, carrying plates to the sink. "You're my guest! Sit and talk to me. What's going on with you? Besides the obvious."
"Chandler's on a book tour," she began, folding her napkin neatly. "So that's a little weird."
"You must miss him," Richard said, up to his elbows in suds.
"Actually, we're..." she sighed. "Sort of 'on a break'."
"Oh." Richard's eyebrows soared.
"Yeah, pretty much."
"You guys will work it out," Richard said soothingly. "C'mon! You're soulmates."
"I don't believe in soulmates, Richard."
"You said he was at your wedding..."
"You didn't come to my wedding."
Richard chuckled in embarrassment. "Actually, I kinda did. I didn't come in, though."
"Richard... I... god. If I'd known you'd *ever* want to come, I would have invited you...!"
"C'mon, Mon, that would have been really weird and you know it. I just... happened to be walking by the hotel, and I thought I'd see how pretty you looked in your dress."
"You happened to be walking by the hotel?"
"Walking by, sulking outside... is there a difference? Look, I shouldn't have told you, I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"You're not making me uncomfortable," Monica said, shocking herself to discover that she wasn't lying. "It's flattering."
"Anyway... it's just... I thought you *did* believe in soulmates."
"Well..." Monica sighed. "I used to."
"What changed your mind?"
Because I didn't end up with mine. Because I didn't end up with you. Because I screwed everything up...
"Just got older and more jaded, I guess," she smiled.
"Well that's sad," Richard replied. "If there's one thing you never were, it's jaded."
"Well now I'm just a jaded, insane, nutcase," Monica laughed.
"Nutcase? What's this?" Richard put the last dish away and dried his hands on a towel.
"Chandler wants us to go to therapy. Says I'm 'one big quirk'."
"Well, that's not very fair."
"No, no, it is. I can kinda see his point, I guess... I have gotten a lot more 'Monica-y' over the years."
"More like you? I can't imagine that being a bad thing."
"He can," she muttered darkly.
"Well, look," Richard said, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. "Chandler's the luckiest man on the planet, being married to you. And if he doesn't see that, well, I'd *love* to have a talk with him about it."
Monica laughed quietly, imagining how badly *that* conversation would go. "Thanks, Richard. That's not necessary."
"Mon? Are you happy?"
Monica sighed, putting both hands on the tablecloth. "No, Richard. I'm really, really not. Chandler isn't either, I can tell. But this will pass... won't it?"
"Monica. I know I'm not the most impartial person to be discussing this with... but there's something married people *do* when both of them are unhappy in the marriage."
"Don't say the D-Word, Richard..."
"Fine. I won't." Richard leaned against the counter. "It's just... dammit. Every morning, I wake up, and you're not there... and I think 'God, why was I so stupid, why didn't I jump up and down and do cartwheels when she wanted to have children...'"
Monica let out a little bark of sad laughter. "You wouldn't have had to bother, really. Ironically enough, I can't have kids."
Richard's face plummeted. "Oh... honey..."
He swooped her into a hug, stroking her hair. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I know, I know so well, how badly you wanted that..."
Monica breathed deeply, filling her lungs with Richard-smell, so comforted in his arms.
See, *this* is how Chandler should have reacted. Like this. Not careening off into a selfish rant about himself.
Richard held her out at arm's length. "Monica, I just want to say one more thing. I'd like to be polite, back off, but dammit... that's how I lost you the second time."
He swallowed. "If you think you like kids... Mon, you'd love grandkids. All of the fun, all of the spoiling, all of the love, none of the work. I have four, they're all adorable, and I have two more on the way. The ones that knew you loved you... the others would, too."
"I think I could make you happy, Monica. Really happy. It's been a decade since we were together, and I haven't stopped loving you or thinking about you for one second."
"Richard... I'm married."
"I know, Mon. That's why I'm talking and not kissing."
Kissing. Oh god, she'd love to kiss him. She'd never forgotten it. Her blood grew warm at the very thought.
"Richard... if I don't go... I *will* be kissing you. And I'm married, and my dad's sick, and I... I just can't deal with all this right now."
"I understand," Richard said sadly. "C'mon. Let's go back to the hospital."
***
Chandler popped his knuckles, rubbing a thumb into his cramping palm.
"How much longer?" he whispered to Bill.
"We close in about ten minutes," Bill said quietly.
Ten minutes. He could make his hand operate for ten more minutes. Then it could fall off and it would all be okay.
"It's crazy... the other ones haven't been anything like this."
"Dragon*Con just closed a few hours ago," Bill said. "Lots of horror fans still in town with nothing to do."
"Ah," Chandler said. That explained the rather hungover look most of the people had been wearing today.
Another book pushed across the table, and Chandler opened it with pain.
"Could you make it out to 'Leia'?" a soft voice said.
His head snapped up. "Megan?"
She grinned, and his heart exploded in warmth. "Get out of line! Come sit with me. Can somebody get her a chair?"
Chandler signed the last books in a blur of excitement, sighing with relief when Bill locked the front doors. He turned to Megan, unable to keep the goofy smile off his face.
"What are you doing here?"
"I wanted my book signed," she laughed. "This baby's gonna be worth a mint."
"Mr. Bing?" Bill said. "Would you like us to get you a car to the hotel?"
"Um, no, Bill, thanks," Chandler said. "I have somewhere to stay tonight." He turned to Megan. "Don't I?"
"Hell, yeah!"
They walked together into the dark parking lot, Chandler flinging his arms around her. "Oh, god. I missed you, kid."
"I missed you too," she said into his chest, squeezing him tight. "You wanna go home?"
"Do I ever."
***
He followed Megan into the house, duffel bag in hand.
"I'm sorry it's messy..." she apologized, hurriedly gathering up a stack of books on the coffee table. "I'm not as good of a housekeeper as your wife..."
"Leave it, leave it, please," Chandler said, setting the bag on the table. "I think it's awesome that the house looks like somebody lives here."
"Well, I definitely live here. Thanks to you and your blackmail..."
A loud quacking came from the bathroom, and the duck appeared, waddling towards Chandler joyously.
"Speak of the devil," Chandler grinned, then turned to Megan. "You let them live in the house."
"Was I not supposed to?"
"No, no. You were." He bent down and patted the duck. "Hey, buddy. You like it here?"
"Dick loves the swimmin'," Megan smiled. "And I *think* he's getting a girlfriend."
"Where's my chicken?" Chandler called.
Yasmine strutted down the stairs, and Megan opened the cookie jar to reveal that it was filled with chicken feed.
She held out a handful for the rooster. "He's the best alarm clock in the world."
"Thank you so much for taking care of them."
"They're good company."
They stared at each other for a moment, then turned away simultaneously.
"You must be tired," Megan blurted.
"Yeah, I am. I guess I'll go to the guest room."
"Are you kidding? I'm not kicking a man out of his own bed on his one night home. *I'll* sleep in the guest room."
She gave Chandler a quick kiss on the cheek and headed upstairs.
Chandler carried his duffel bag into his bedroom, turning on the lamp and grinning.
Megan had gotten his sheets out of the trash.
He ripped off his clothes quickly, sliding into bed with a groan of total happiness. He rolled over and mooshed his face into the pillow, breathing deeply.
Oh, god. It smelled like her.
Peaches and shampoo and that unmistakeable Megan-smell. He felt his body react and laid back with a sigh.
"Bing," he muttered, "You are *not* getting turned on by sniffing a pillow. You haven't sunk quite that low yet, all right?"
"Chandler...? Did you need something?"
Megan appeared in his doorway, carrying a glass of water, already dressed for bed in a tank top and a too-large pair of boxer shorts that showed off a great deal of pale, creamy, curvy hip and well-turned leg.
"Did you need something?" she repeated.
I need you to come in here and kiss me. I need you to lie down next to me and stay there all night. I need you to let me run my fingers through your hair, I need you to let me peel that tank top off, I need you to...
"No, no. I was just... calling for the chick and the duck."
"Oh, okay." She looked over her shoulder. "Dick! Yasmine! Come keep your dad company."
They came a-waddling, and she flashed a grin at him. "Here are your boys. G'night, Chandler."
And she was gone.
Chandler pulled his left hand up in front of his face, staring at the ring there, focusing on it.
He was married. Married. To his best friend in the world. And sure, they weren't getting along right now, but that was no reason to be thinking lewd thoughts about girls in boxer shorts, dammit.
"You're obviously in love with her," said his dad's voice in his head.
"I'm not, dad, I'm not," Chandler whispered. "At least... I'm trying like hell not to be."
Megan set her bag down on the counter, closing the door behind her and looking around with a rueful smile.
"Won't be needing these for a while," she said aloud, sticking the cleaning products she'd bought underneath the kitchen sink.
Monica might hate her guts, but she definitely didn't leave a mess behind.
There was an envelope on the counter with her name on it. Megan crossed to it and withdrew a sheet of paper. Chandler's trademark scrawl was all over it.
"Dear Megan," she read.
"I feel like you probably saw this coming, but... Monica doesn't really want me to talk to you for a while. I think you know how badly I want to make my marriage work, so I hope you'll understand why I'm doing this."
Megan sighed. She did understand.
"I seriously doubt that Monica and I will ever come down here again, but I refuse to sell the place. I really want you to move back in. In fact, I pretty much demand that you move back in. Before you ask, yes, Monica is okay with this... it's part of our agreement."
"To blackmail you into this, I have arranged for a package to be delivered during your normal caretaking hours. The contents of this package are extremely delicate and will require that you reside in the house to provide care. The contents of this package are very dear to both Joey and myself, but we trust you."
"I miss you already."
"Chandler."
"P.S. Where's your damn tattoo?"
Megan burst into laughter, setting the letter down. Package? What the hell kind of package?
Right on cue, the doorbell rang. Megan opened it to find the mailman.
"I have a delivery for Megan Mitchell?"
"That's me."
"Sign here, please."
"Where's the package?"
"It's in the truck. Didn't want to move it until I knew you were home."
"What's... what's in it?"
The mailman struggled to keep a straight face.
"Ma'am... as near as I can tell..."
"Yes?"
"It's a rooster. And a duck."
***
"Who loves ya, baby?" Chandler called, striding through the door flamboyantly.
"Uh-oh," Monica laughed, looking up from her magazine. "What have you done?"
Chandler reached into his trenchcoat and procured a box, which he sat on the table in front of Monica.
"Mint Treasures!" she screeched in delight.
"Yup... I love you, 'cause I bought ya a box. And I love you *more*, 'cause I only bought you *one*."
"Very wise," Monica grinned, kissing him on the cheek and walking to the couch. "Now I have something to munch during 'American Idol'."
Chandler swallowed a sigh. "Is that the schedule for tonight?"
"Are you kidding? It's Jessica vs. Nathan tonight! I wouldn't miss this!"
"You want me to make some dinner?" Chandler asked.
"No way! I need room for cookies. Could you hand me my drink?"
Chandler passed her the glass of scotch before shrugging off his coat. Another night of TV. Fantastic. Swell. More 'quality time' between him, Monica, and Paula Abdul... every husband's dream.
Chandler turned sharply at a loud noise from across the hall. "What are they doing now?"
"They've been fighting all day," Monica said around a mouthful of minty chocolate. "I think they've even involved the dog."
Sure enough, frantic barking followed the raised voices.
Chandler dropped into the armchair with a sigh. "Would you think less of me if I told you that I hope our new neighbors rot in hell?"
"At least we can't *see* them," Monica laughed, pointing out the window. Once Ross and Rachel had given up the sublet, Ugly Naked Guy had moved back in... now, with the new addition of Ugly Naked Girlfriend. It wouldn't be so bad if they weren't so into Ugly Naked Sex Against The Window.
"Never thought I'd miss watching Ross read in his T-Rex boxers," Chandler sighed.
"Sssh, honey... the show's starting."
Chandler tried to get interested in the program, but it just wasn't happening. He stood up. "Hon, would you mind if I did a little editing? Since you're busy with your show..."
"Awww, hang out with me," Monica cooed, taking his hand and pulling him down to the couch. She snuggled up against him.
And now he was trapped. Trapped with Simon Cowell. Perfection.
This was their life since the other five had left: reality shows. Cooking shows. Court TV. Made-for-television movies. All four flavors of 'CSI'. In the weeks since Phoebe and Mike had packed up, Monica had gone from someone who barely turned the television on to someone who seemed totally hypnotized by it.
This was why grown-ups had kids. Because they'd run out of everything else to do.
What he wouldn't give to be sitting at Central Perk, listening to the details of Joey's latest conquest, or Phoebe's weirdest adventure, or Rachel's newest piece of gossip. Hell, he'd even be up for one of Ross' dinosaur lectures.
He missed them. God, he missed them. He hadn't felt so alone in years. There was Monica, but... Monica was one-sixth of what he needed.
"One-seventh," a voice in the back of his mind whispered.
He wasn't even going to think about Megan. The other six were bad enough.
And it had all ended with such a whimper. He'd always thought that if the six of them ever broke up, it would be some big, dramatic thing, but...
Joey had left first: he had to be on set. He'd flown out the day after they'd gotten back from Georgia. The rest of them had packed and shipped his things in a wine-soaked party of bittersweet nostalgia.
Ross, Rachel, and Emma next, leaving a depressing, blank darkness whenever Chandler looked out the big window. Then Phoebe and Mike, two months ago.
Chandler had always loved autumn, but this one, he'd been fighting... watching the leaves fall, watching things go dark and dead, dried-out and finished. He'd never thought of autumn as lonely, never realized how surrounded by death it was.
And why would he? There's been leaf-fights with Joey in the park, and football to pretend to watch, and parades, and Thanksgiving... a holiday that he would never admit he'd secretly come to love again. The six (or seven) of them, sitting around a table, laughing and fighting and being their ridiculous selves...
Chandler swallowed a lump in his throat and shifted under the weight of Monica's head.
"Hey Mon? I'm getting up for some water, okay?"
"Would you refresh me?" she smiled, handing him her glass.
And since when did Monica drink at night? She'd read that article on alcohol lowering the risk of heart attacks, but dear god -- surely they weren't talking about Scotch!
"You got some mail," Monica called. "I think it's junk, but I wasn't sure."
He crossed to the mail holder, retrieving the envelope inside. Another credit card application -- junk.
He had almost tossed it in the trash when he noticed that it was unusually stiff... and taped closed, with a printed label over the original address.
What the hell?
He pulled off the tape, and a a black and white photograph fell into his hand.
Chandler couldn't hold in his grin. The picture had been taken on the back deck of the house. In it, the rooster perched on the edge of the railing... looking curiously down at the duck, who was paddling blissfully in the river.
"Hell of a lot better than the bathtub, huh buddy?" Chandler whispered.
"What'd you say, sweetie?" Monica called.
"Nothing... it's junk," Chandler replied, slipping the picture into his back pocket and throwing the envelope away.
His cellphone began to ring, and Chandler looked at the display. "Joseph Tribbiani."
"Mon, it's Joe. I'm gonna take this in the other room, okay?"
Monica mumbled something that sounded like assent, mouth full of cookie.
Chandler closed his study door behind him. "Hey, Joe."
"Hey, man! I got your printout of your book!"
"You read it?"
"Guess where it is?"
"What?"
"It's in my *freezer*!"
Chandler pumped his fist into the air. "Scared you that bad?"
"Dude, it's awesome! It's been in the freezer like, three times, but then I have to keep gettin' it out to find out what happens next!"
Chandler sat down on the bed, happiness coursing through him. "That's the best compliment anyone's ever given me, Joe."
"It gets better! I called Rachel, right, to see if she could tell me what happened at the end so I wouldn't have to read it... and she couldn't tell me, 'cause *her* copy's in *her* freezer!"
"Oh my god!" Chandler nearly shrieked in joy. "Rachel too?"
"And get this... get this... *Ross* put it there!"
"Ross? Science Man?"
"Dude, it's seriously, seriously awesome. I took 'The Shining' out to put your book *in*."
"I'm literally floating right now," Chandler grinned.
"I just thought you'd wanna know," Joey replied.
"So how are you? How's L.A.?"
Joey's enthusiasm dropped a notch. "It's okay. I like the show, the cast is cool. But I miss you guys."
"God, Joe... I miss you too. You have no idea." Chandler sat down and shifted the phone to his other ear. "Look... I'm gonna have to go on a book tour here in a few months. I know I'll be going to L.A... I'm gonna see if we can extend that part so I can hang out with you."
"Cool! Is Monica coming with you?"
"Not this time, she's swamped at the restaurant."
"You heard from Megan at all?"
"Nope. She sent me a picture of the chick and the duck, though. Looks like they're having fun."
"Awesome. Hey, Chandler, I have to go... my pizza's here."
"The Joey Special?"
"You know it, man."
Chandler hung up glumly. He'd ordered 'The Joey Special' himself a few times, after Joey was gone.
But they'd gotten the name right: without Joey, it wasn't special.
***
"Yeah, you start off with three days in L.A.," Neil said. "I figured I'd have to pull teeth to get you to do this tour at all, Chandler."
Chandler wedged the phone against his shoulder, piling turkey on his sandwich. "Well, I'm actually looking forward to it. I'm doing Boston, too?"
"Of course you're doing Boston, Chandler. What, you thought we'd have you skip all the major cities and go on a tour of rural pig farms?"
Chandler grinned. His new agent was a hell of an improvement.
"Neil, can you hang on for a second? The call waiting just went off."
"Yeah, sure."
Chandler pressed the flash button on the phone. "Hello?"
"Hi, may I speak to Monica Bing, please?"
"She's not here right now."
"Ah... is this her husband?"
"Yes it is..."
"Mr. Bing, can you remind your wife that her ultrasound has been moved to Thursday? We notified her in writing, but she didn't call to confirm."
"Um... ultrasound?"
"Yes, sir. This Thursday, ten a.m."
Click. Chandler switched back over to Neil. "Hey... I'm back..."
"You okay? Your voice sounds weird."
"I'm... Neil, I think my wife is pregnant."
"Congratulations, man!"
"Yeah, I need to go, okay?"
"Okay... congratulations, daddy!"
"Thanks, Neil."
Chandler hung up the phone in a daze, abandoning it on the counter next to his half-constructed sandwich and collapsing into the armchair.
Pregnant?
But... his gun, with the bullet lackage...
And why hadn't Monica told him?
Maybe... maybe she hadn't wanted to get his hopes up until she knew for sure. Maybe she... but if she already had an ultrasound scheduled, wouldn't she already know for sure?
There was no reason for her not to tell him.
Unless.
Unless, of course, it wasn't his.
***
"Hey, honey!" Monica called, hanging up her coat and purse. "You would not believe the day I had!"
She looked around the living room. Empty. "Chandler?"
"I was taking a nap," he said, leaning against the doorframe of their bedroom.
"Do you feel okay?"
"Not really. I feel pretty *nauseous*."
"Oh, honey! Do you want me to get you something from the drugstore?"
Yeah, about five pregnancy tests. "Nah."
"You going back to bed?"
"I think so." he turned back towards the bedroom, then spun casually. "Hey, Mon... I almost forgot...! Your doctor called. Your ultrasound's been moved to Thursday."
The color faded from Monica's face. "What?"
"Your... ult-ra-sound... has been mo-oved... to Thurs-day," Chandler said exaggeratedly, deliberately misunderstanding.
"Chandler..."
"So," he spat, "Am I still firing blanks? Or do you have something to tell me?"
"Oh, god, Chandler," Monica sighed sadly.
"Well, I guess that answers *my* question," Chandler snapped. "Who is he?"
"Who... what?"
"The father of your baby, Monica, who is he?"
"Chandler... I'm not pregnant."
"Then why in the *hell* are you having an ultrasound?"
"It's not that kind of ultrasound!"
"What?"
"They're not looking at a baby, Chandler. It's to look at my ovarian cysts."
"What?"
"Look. When we got back from Georgia, they called with *my* results. And I have this... syndrome, okay? I can't have kids. Ever."
"You're not pregnant."
"No."
"But you were going to... you were going to let me spend our whole marriage thinking that it was all my fault we couldn't have kids?"
"I was embarrassed!" Monica cried. "I'd yelled at you, and blamed you, and..."
"And you didn't want to be *wrong*," Chandler finished coldly.
"I was going to tell you!"
"When, Monica? When? This year? Five years? Do you have any idea how god-awful I've felt about this? How much I blamed myself, wondered what I did, how many nights I worried myself *sick* that you were going to leave me for someone who could give you a child?"
"Chandler... I..."
"Dammit, Monica... you were the one! You were the one saying how we needed to talk to each other! You call this talking? This is a pretty freakin' major secret to be keeping from me!"
"Honey..."
"Monica..." Chandler groaned, running his fingers through his hair, "I seriously, seriously don't know how much more of this shit I can put up with."
"What... what do you mean?"
"Do you have any... *any* idea... how irrational, how *crazy* you act sometimes? Could you step back for one second, one measly second, and take a look at yourself?"
"Chandler, please don't be mad..."
"Mon... I'm not mad. I'm just tired. I love you, but... I'm really, really tired of living like this."
"I don't understand."
"I don't *either*, Monica. I don't understand why you freak out if I put the sofa pillows in the wrong order. I don't understand why you're so obsessed with 'winning' everything that you hurt yourself, or me. I don't understand why a stain on the rug can make you lose sleep, or why you'd rather *lie* to me and make me feel bad than just admit you made a mistake. I try to understand, but I don't, and I never will."
"Chandler... I can't change who I am... you knew what I was like when you married me!"
"I thought... I thought I could handle it, or that you'd calm down, or something. But you're getting worse, and worse, and worse."
He walked towards her and sat down. "Mon... do you have any idea how I felt today, when I got that phone call? If you'd been honest with me, it never would have happened."
"Chandler... it's not like you're the world's easiest person to live with, either!"
"Mon... I know that. I do. I think... I think we should start seeing a therapist."
"Chandler, no..."
"Seriously, Monica. Think for a second. Why'd you yell at me yesterday?"
"You moved the phone pen. For like, the millionth time, though!"
"Monica... it's a *pen*. There are men who cheat on their wives, beat their wives, never come home... and I'm getting yelled at over *pen placement*."
"We don't need *therapy*, Chandler. We're just adjusting to each other! That takes time!"
"Monica, we've been married for over *three years*. That should have happened by now!"
"But..."
"Look, Mon. I'm leaving for my tour tomorrow. I think maybe we should take that time to think."
"Are you saying we should... take a break?"
"Hell no," Chandler laughed. "I know better than to say that to a Geller."
Monica froze, and Chandler touched her hand. "Sorry, Mon. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."
"How'd you mean it?" she said icily.
"Okay, fine, a break. Or whatever. Just some time to think. And when I come back, we'll see how we feel."
"Do you... do you want a divorce?"
"No, Monica, I don't. I definitely don't. I just want things to be different. I love you."
"I love you too..."
"See?" he said gently. "That's what matters. We'll figure something out."
"Chandler?"
"Yeah?"
"On your book tour... are you going South?"
"I'm going to Atlanta..." he blinked in comprehension. "Oh god, Monica, not this again... I haven't talked to her in months!"
"I'm just saying... it's a little weird that you want to 'take a break' right before you go down to where she is... that's all..."
"Jesus, Mon," he groaned.
"I want you to promise me something."
"What?"
"Promise me. Promise me that no matter what happens, you won't do anything with that girl. No matter what happens to us. Promise me."
"Monica..."
"Promise me! What's so hard about that, if you don't have feelings for her?"
"Fine. Fine. I promise."
***
"Gotta tell you, Joe," Chandler grinned, "It's a beautiful thing to be watching you eat."
"Somebody's gotta eat it," Joey replied, eyeing his cheeseburger lovingly. "You should see the people on the set. Every girl's like, a size negative four, and it's all, 'Ooo! Could you cut that piece of sushi in half for me? It's just toooo much fooood.'" Joey flipped an imaginary lock of hair.
"Oh, hey," Chandler remembered, "I wanted to show you this." He passed Joey the picture of the chick and the duck.
"Hey, all right!" Joey laughed, holding the photo up. "They look happy... don't you think they look happy?"
"How could they not be happy? They're down there," Chandler grinned.
Joey smiled sadly. "You really miss your little house, don't you?"
"Yeah, yeah I do. Not as much as I miss you, though."
"You heard from Megan?"
"No... actually, look. I sort of... have this agreement with Monica that I won't talk to her anymore."
"You what?"
"Monica feels uncomfortable, you know. So I told her I'd only talk to Megan a few times a year."
"You mean I gave her all that good Joey-lovin' for nothin'?"
Chandler groaned. "You slept with Megan because of Monica?"
"Well, yeah, mostly. I mean, gimme some credit, I'm slow on the uptake sometimes, not brain-dead... the situation was obvious. And she was hot. That didn't hurt."
Ask him. Ask him. You know you want to know, and you're never gonna get to ask her.
"Hey Joe? Can I ask you kind of... a weird question?"
"Anything, man."
"When you were with Megan, did you notice a... tattoo?"
Joey began to chuckle.
"Kinda hard to miss, Chandler."
"Well... where was it?"
"It was... well. It was *right* above her stuff, dude."
Chandler grinned at the confirmation of his suspicions.
"What was it?"
"It was a sentence. In Italian."
"What'd it say?"
Joey just laughed.
"Joey!"
"So how's the tour going?"
"Joey..." Chandler threatened. "You're killing me here."
"Aw, c'mon, how often do I know something you don't? Ya gotta let me savor this moment."
"Joey!"
Joey was unable to suppress his smirk. "It said... 'Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate'."
"In English, dammit!"
Joey laughed again. "Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here."
Chandler dropped his fork, and Joey burst into fresh peals of giggles.
***
Monica pried one eye open, rolling over.
Ring. Ring.
Good god. Who was calling here at this hour?
Ring. Ring.
"Hello?" Monica croaked into the phone.
Her voice softened immediately. "Mom? Mom, that's you, right? Mom, I can't understand you..."
The color drained from Monica's face. "Oh my god, Mom. I'll be right there." She paused. "Of course I'll call Ross."
She hit the button twice, dialing Ross' number in a cold sweat.
"Hello?" he responded, sounded about as awake as she had.
"Ross. Ross. It's Monica."
"Hey, Mon... what's up?"
"Ross... it's Daddy. He had a heart attack."
***
"Knock-knock... I brought the leading lady some flowers," Chandler said, opening the dressing room door.
"Well, aren't you *divine*," Charles Bing smiled luxuriously. "C'mon in, son. I just need to change and we can go."
"Hey, Dad," Chandler grinned. "The show was great."
"I'm glad you could come, baby," Charles said, picking up a dress from the back of a chair and slipping behind a changing screen. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your book-signing-thing."
"That's okay, Dad, it was *really* boring."
"I saw you on TV Monday! You looked very handsome." Charles walked out from behind the screen, resplendent in a summery sundress.
"Hey, nice dress, Dad," Chandler said. He was getting pretty good at doing that with a straight face.
"I just wish your mother could have seen it. The TV show, darling, not my dress. She'd be very, very proud of you, you know."
"I wish Mom could have seen it, too."
Charles stepped to the vanity and began applying mascara. "So when are we going down to Georgia? I need to schedule some vacation."
Chandler sighed. "Actually, Dad... I don't know if I'll be going down to Georgia anymore."
"Why not? You sounded ready to marry the place when you called me from there."
"Stuff changed," Chandler said morosely, sitting down on the red velvet chaise.
"Tell Daddy all about it," Charles purred, blotting his lipstick.
"Well, Monica doesn't like it down there very much. It's kind of dirty and damp for her tastes..."
"Ah, yes, your wife... had almost forgot about that. She spent your reception making sure people used their coasters."
Chandler laughed. "Yeah, that's Mon."
"You know... it's funny, Chandler," Charles mused, slipping rings on his fingers. "When you were little, you hated the New York apartment so much. All that white, no room for a little kid with juice and crackers... I have to admit, I was very surprised when you seemed so happy in the same basic situation."
"Well, you know what they say... you marry your mom... 's apartment..."
"So that's it? It's just dirty and damp? I assume she's heard of Clorox and dehumidifiers...?"
"It's not just that. She's a little paranoid about Megan."
"Megan Mitchell? Delores' daughter?"
"Yeah... Megan and I got to be pretty close, and it bothers Monica. Unfortunately for me, Megan grew up to be sort of earth-shakingly hot."
"Your wife, as I recall, was earth-shakingly hot."
"Well yeah, but Megan's... Megan's different. I mean, we have so much in common, you know? We can talk for hours and hours and hours, about pretty much anything. And she has my sense of humor, too. I mean... the girl has 'Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here' tattooed above her *stuff*. How sick, and perverted, and wonderful, and totally me is that?"
The corners of Charles' mouth turned up. "Ah. I can see why Monica's upset."
"Well, yeah..."
"Since you're obviously in love with her," Charles continued casually, examining an eyebrow in the mirror.
"Dad... I'm *not*. Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"I'm going to go with... 'because it's pathetically obvious'. How's that?"
"Dad..." Chandler sighed. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Because I promised Monica I wouldn't do anything with her, ever, even if Monica dies. And I've also agreed not to talk to her."
"Well," Charles said flatly. "*That* was stupid of you, wasn't it?"
"I didn't really have a choice, Dad."
"Of course you had a choice. There's always a choice, son. Kobayashi Maru."
Chandler laughed out loud. "That is *shockingly* geeky of you, Dad!"
"Yeah, well," Charles chuckled. "I had a shockingly geeky son. C'mon, let's go eat. I'm famished, and I know this great 24-hour buffet."
***
"Daddy," Monica cried, launching herself across the hospital room and taking her father's hand.
"Whoa, easy there, pumpkin," Jack Geller said weakly. "Daddy's not feeling so great at the moment."
"I was so scared you weren't going to be here when I got here," Monica sobbed, pressing her father's hand to her cheek.
"I was kinda scared about that, too," Jack admitted, laying his hand over hers. "But I'm okay, sweetie. Mostly okay, anyway. Where's Chandler?"
"He's on a book tour, daddy. But I'm sure he wants you to get better. Ross, Rachel, and Emma are on their way up from Boston, okay? And Mom's waiting her turn."
"Oh, okay... are you going home?"
"No, daddy, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right in the waiting room, okay?"
She reluctantly let go of Jack's hand and walked out of the hospital room, motioning to Judy that she could go on in.
She sat down next to a figure asleep on a row of chairs, then did a double-take. "Richard?"
"Hey, Mon," Richard said sleepily, sitting up and grabbing his side. "Oh *god*, I'm too old to be doing that."
"Have you been here all night?"
"Yeah, I brought your dad in. Is he feeling better?"
"He seems to be." Monica felt fresh tears spring to her eyes. "Oh god, Richard... I was so scared..."
"C'mere," he said, pulling her into a hug. "It's okay. He's gonna be fine."
"Those damn cigars... I told him not to smoke those..."
"Hush, sshh. He's fine, he's gonna be fine."
***
"This looks frightening," Richard said, opening his plastic container with a look of disgust. "Are you sure that's food?"
Monica opened her own container and peered into it. "No, no, I'm really not. It's sort of a... food-like color, though."
"If this is what they feed the patients, no wonder they're all sick." Richard poked at a green, vaguely spinach-like blob with his fork before setting the container aside. "Look. Why don't I take you to a real restaurant and buy you some real lunch?"
"I don't know if I should leave..."
"Sweetie. Your dad's stable and asleep. There's nothing you can do for him right now. We've been here for... what? 36 hours? At least let me drive you home so you can catch a nap and a shower. Rachel and Ross went home hours ago."
"Well, that's the thing... they went 'home' to my apartment. Ross and Rachel are in my room, and Emma and Ben are in the other one..."
"Okay, new plan. We grab some decent food, we go to *my* apartment, and you can use my shower and crash out in the guest room. I even have some of your old clothes you can change into."
A shower, clean clothes, and a nap *did* sound amazingly wonderful.
***
Monica woke up, stretching luxuriously before opening her eyes and stumbling into the living room.
Richard sat on the couch, reading a book in the glow of yellow lamplight, eyeglasses on and obviously immersed. A wonderful smell was coming from the kitchen.
"Hey, you're up," he smiled, putting his book down and standing up. "I made soup... you want some?"
"Ohhhh yeah," she smiled, following Richard into the kitchen.
He'd already set the table. Beautiful dishes surrounded a rustic wooden bowl filled with mixed green salad, a cruet of dressing, a platter with a crusty French loaf, and a small assortment of cheeses. Wine glasses sparkled, and he had a bottle of her favorite white wine breathing at the side of the table.
Monica couldn't help sighing. Chandler's idea of setting the table for soup meant making sure the Saltine crackers were within easy reach... which he would then dump in crushed-up handfuls into everything from Vichyssoise to Gratinée.
She sat down, and Richard poured her wine expertly, raising glasses for a toast.
"To Jack," he said. "In the hope that we've learnt what he means to us, and the hope that we'll have years to tell him how much."
"To Dad," she replied. They clinked glasses together.
Richard served her with grace, and Monica watched him move, enraptured. Even sitting here with messed-up hair in her old sweatshirt... Richard had a way of making her feel like a princess.
Everything was, of course, exquisite. Richard had flawless taste.
"C'mon," she protested as they finished the meal. "At least let me help you do the dishes..."
"No way," Richard grinned, carrying plates to the sink. "You're my guest! Sit and talk to me. What's going on with you? Besides the obvious."
"Chandler's on a book tour," she began, folding her napkin neatly. "So that's a little weird."
"You must miss him," Richard said, up to his elbows in suds.
"Actually, we're..." she sighed. "Sort of 'on a break'."
"Oh." Richard's eyebrows soared.
"Yeah, pretty much."
"You guys will work it out," Richard said soothingly. "C'mon! You're soulmates."
"I don't believe in soulmates, Richard."
"You said he was at your wedding..."
"You didn't come to my wedding."
Richard chuckled in embarrassment. "Actually, I kinda did. I didn't come in, though."
"Richard... I... god. If I'd known you'd *ever* want to come, I would have invited you...!"
"C'mon, Mon, that would have been really weird and you know it. I just... happened to be walking by the hotel, and I thought I'd see how pretty you looked in your dress."
"You happened to be walking by the hotel?"
"Walking by, sulking outside... is there a difference? Look, I shouldn't have told you, I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"You're not making me uncomfortable," Monica said, shocking herself to discover that she wasn't lying. "It's flattering."
"Anyway... it's just... I thought you *did* believe in soulmates."
"Well..." Monica sighed. "I used to."
"What changed your mind?"
Because I didn't end up with mine. Because I didn't end up with you. Because I screwed everything up...
"Just got older and more jaded, I guess," she smiled.
"Well that's sad," Richard replied. "If there's one thing you never were, it's jaded."
"Well now I'm just a jaded, insane, nutcase," Monica laughed.
"Nutcase? What's this?" Richard put the last dish away and dried his hands on a towel.
"Chandler wants us to go to therapy. Says I'm 'one big quirk'."
"Well, that's not very fair."
"No, no, it is. I can kinda see his point, I guess... I have gotten a lot more 'Monica-y' over the years."
"More like you? I can't imagine that being a bad thing."
"He can," she muttered darkly.
"Well, look," Richard said, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. "Chandler's the luckiest man on the planet, being married to you. And if he doesn't see that, well, I'd *love* to have a talk with him about it."
Monica laughed quietly, imagining how badly *that* conversation would go. "Thanks, Richard. That's not necessary."
"Mon? Are you happy?"
Monica sighed, putting both hands on the tablecloth. "No, Richard. I'm really, really not. Chandler isn't either, I can tell. But this will pass... won't it?"
"Monica. I know I'm not the most impartial person to be discussing this with... but there's something married people *do* when both of them are unhappy in the marriage."
"Don't say the D-Word, Richard..."
"Fine. I won't." Richard leaned against the counter. "It's just... dammit. Every morning, I wake up, and you're not there... and I think 'God, why was I so stupid, why didn't I jump up and down and do cartwheels when she wanted to have children...'"
Monica let out a little bark of sad laughter. "You wouldn't have had to bother, really. Ironically enough, I can't have kids."
Richard's face plummeted. "Oh... honey..."
He swooped her into a hug, stroking her hair. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I know, I know so well, how badly you wanted that..."
Monica breathed deeply, filling her lungs with Richard-smell, so comforted in his arms.
See, *this* is how Chandler should have reacted. Like this. Not careening off into a selfish rant about himself.
Richard held her out at arm's length. "Monica, I just want to say one more thing. I'd like to be polite, back off, but dammit... that's how I lost you the second time."
He swallowed. "If you think you like kids... Mon, you'd love grandkids. All of the fun, all of the spoiling, all of the love, none of the work. I have four, they're all adorable, and I have two more on the way. The ones that knew you loved you... the others would, too."
"I think I could make you happy, Monica. Really happy. It's been a decade since we were together, and I haven't stopped loving you or thinking about you for one second."
"Richard... I'm married."
"I know, Mon. That's why I'm talking and not kissing."
Kissing. Oh god, she'd love to kiss him. She'd never forgotten it. Her blood grew warm at the very thought.
"Richard... if I don't go... I *will* be kissing you. And I'm married, and my dad's sick, and I... I just can't deal with all this right now."
"I understand," Richard said sadly. "C'mon. Let's go back to the hospital."
***
Chandler popped his knuckles, rubbing a thumb into his cramping palm.
"How much longer?" he whispered to Bill.
"We close in about ten minutes," Bill said quietly.
Ten minutes. He could make his hand operate for ten more minutes. Then it could fall off and it would all be okay.
"It's crazy... the other ones haven't been anything like this."
"Dragon*Con just closed a few hours ago," Bill said. "Lots of horror fans still in town with nothing to do."
"Ah," Chandler said. That explained the rather hungover look most of the people had been wearing today.
Another book pushed across the table, and Chandler opened it with pain.
"Could you make it out to 'Leia'?" a soft voice said.
His head snapped up. "Megan?"
She grinned, and his heart exploded in warmth. "Get out of line! Come sit with me. Can somebody get her a chair?"
Chandler signed the last books in a blur of excitement, sighing with relief when Bill locked the front doors. He turned to Megan, unable to keep the goofy smile off his face.
"What are you doing here?"
"I wanted my book signed," she laughed. "This baby's gonna be worth a mint."
"Mr. Bing?" Bill said. "Would you like us to get you a car to the hotel?"
"Um, no, Bill, thanks," Chandler said. "I have somewhere to stay tonight." He turned to Megan. "Don't I?"
"Hell, yeah!"
They walked together into the dark parking lot, Chandler flinging his arms around her. "Oh, god. I missed you, kid."
"I missed you too," she said into his chest, squeezing him tight. "You wanna go home?"
"Do I ever."
***
He followed Megan into the house, duffel bag in hand.
"I'm sorry it's messy..." she apologized, hurriedly gathering up a stack of books on the coffee table. "I'm not as good of a housekeeper as your wife..."
"Leave it, leave it, please," Chandler said, setting the bag on the table. "I think it's awesome that the house looks like somebody lives here."
"Well, I definitely live here. Thanks to you and your blackmail..."
A loud quacking came from the bathroom, and the duck appeared, waddling towards Chandler joyously.
"Speak of the devil," Chandler grinned, then turned to Megan. "You let them live in the house."
"Was I not supposed to?"
"No, no. You were." He bent down and patted the duck. "Hey, buddy. You like it here?"
"Dick loves the swimmin'," Megan smiled. "And I *think* he's getting a girlfriend."
"Where's my chicken?" Chandler called.
Yasmine strutted down the stairs, and Megan opened the cookie jar to reveal that it was filled with chicken feed.
She held out a handful for the rooster. "He's the best alarm clock in the world."
"Thank you so much for taking care of them."
"They're good company."
They stared at each other for a moment, then turned away simultaneously.
"You must be tired," Megan blurted.
"Yeah, I am. I guess I'll go to the guest room."
"Are you kidding? I'm not kicking a man out of his own bed on his one night home. *I'll* sleep in the guest room."
She gave Chandler a quick kiss on the cheek and headed upstairs.
Chandler carried his duffel bag into his bedroom, turning on the lamp and grinning.
Megan had gotten his sheets out of the trash.
He ripped off his clothes quickly, sliding into bed with a groan of total happiness. He rolled over and mooshed his face into the pillow, breathing deeply.
Oh, god. It smelled like her.
Peaches and shampoo and that unmistakeable Megan-smell. He felt his body react and laid back with a sigh.
"Bing," he muttered, "You are *not* getting turned on by sniffing a pillow. You haven't sunk quite that low yet, all right?"
"Chandler...? Did you need something?"
Megan appeared in his doorway, carrying a glass of water, already dressed for bed in a tank top and a too-large pair of boxer shorts that showed off a great deal of pale, creamy, curvy hip and well-turned leg.
"Did you need something?" she repeated.
I need you to come in here and kiss me. I need you to lie down next to me and stay there all night. I need you to let me run my fingers through your hair, I need you to let me peel that tank top off, I need you to...
"No, no. I was just... calling for the chick and the duck."
"Oh, okay." She looked over her shoulder. "Dick! Yasmine! Come keep your dad company."
They came a-waddling, and she flashed a grin at him. "Here are your boys. G'night, Chandler."
And she was gone.
Chandler pulled his left hand up in front of his face, staring at the ring there, focusing on it.
He was married. Married. To his best friend in the world. And sure, they weren't getting along right now, but that was no reason to be thinking lewd thoughts about girls in boxer shorts, dammit.
"You're obviously in love with her," said his dad's voice in his head.
"I'm not, dad, I'm not," Chandler whispered. "At least... I'm trying like hell not to be."