2005
Megan reached for her cellphone groggily, wiping sleep out of her eyes. "Hello?"
"Megan? It's Bill."
"Hey..." she glanced over for the clock, then remembered she was in the guest room. "What's up?"
"Well, it's Saturday morning, and Marjorie was supposed to open. Guess what that means?"
"Oh, god... she called in 'sick' again?"
"Like clockwork."
"Bill -- why do you even schedule her for Saturdays?"
"Because if she does this one more time, I can fire her ass. Megan... please?"
"Bill... it's my *birthday*. I'm having a party at three o'clock! And I have... a houseguest... that I *really* want to spend time with..."
"Meg, honey, I *know* it's your birthday. Believe me, I already called everyone else. Lucy can come in at one... could I just get you from eight until then?"
"Bill..."
"I'll have you out by one on the dot... I'll kill Lucy personally if she's late... I'll give you Sunday off!"
Megan flopped back on the bed. "Fine... I'll be there in a few minutes. But Bill... you owe me like you've never owed me before."
***
"Honey, sssh. Emma, ssssh," Rachel soothed, bouncing Emma up and down outside the hospital doors. "Hospitals are a quiet place, honey, c'mon... we can't go back in and see daddy until you're quiet..."
Rachel felt nearly ready to have a tantrum herself... the muscles in her arms were quaking with exhaustion, and her eardrums were nearly bleeding. Emma'd gone into one of her screamy moods and would not be stopped. She didn't understand what was wrong with her grandfather... and apparently, her preferred method of dealing with it was to do a four-hour impression of an air-raid siren.
"Emma... sweetie..." Rachel pleaded. "C'mon, honey..."
She blushed as another cab pulled up and Emma's wails only grew louder. God, everyone who walked by probably thought she was some sort of evil mother-monster.
And as suddenly as it began, Emma's hideous noisemaking stopped. "Aunnmonifa," Emma stated calmly, as if she hadn't been screaming bloody murder five seconds before.
"Where, sweetie?"
Rachel turned around to see Monica getting out of the cab... followed closely by Richard. Rachel's eyes narrowed.
"Hey, you guys!" she called, as casually as she could.
Richard smiled and waved, changing direction to come say hello, but Monica froze mid-step, guilt creeping up over her face.
"Hey, Rachel," Richard said. "Hey, Emma. How are you doing?"
"We're fine," Rachel replied, eyes still on Monica.
"Hey, Rach," Monica said nervously.
"Hey, Richard... would it be okay if I talked to Monica alone for a few minutes? Girl stuff."
"Sure... want me to take her up to Ross?"
"I don't know, she's been kind of fussy..."
But Emma, the tiny traitor, went happily into Richard's arms, rolling her eyes adorably at him.
"Sure, that'd be fine," Rachel amended with a sigh.
She waited until the doors had shut behind Richard before turning on Monica with a glare. "You have something to tell me?"
"Rachel, it's not what it looks like."
"Oh really? You've been gone for *hours*, you're with *Richard*, you're wearing different *clothes*. I know what it *looks* like, so what is it?"
"I used his shower and took a nap in his guest room, Rachel. It was perfectly innocent. He had some of my old clothes."
"So can I ask you a question? Where's Chandler?"
"He's on his book tour, Rachel... you *know* that."
"Your father had a heart attack two *days* ago, Monica. Chandler would be here by now... if he knew. But he doesn't know, does he?"
"I don't want to bother him. There's nothing he can do!"
"Uh-huh. You don't think it's not gonna 'bother him' that you didn't even call him when something this huge happened?"
"Look, I don't want to call him, okay? We agreed... we're not really going to be in contact. We're on a..."
Monica remembered who she was talking to, and snapped her mouth shut... but not in time.
"Break?" Rachel finished, heat flaring in her eyes. "Is that the word you just ate?"
"Rachel, don't..."
"Don't what? Marvel in amazement at the universality of the Geller Dictionary?"
"Rachel, I didn't *do* anything, okay! I took a shower, I took a nap, I ate some soup!"
"Well, there's only one solution for *this*," Rachel announced, crossing her arms.
"What's that?"
"Well obviously, Richard has to sleep with Joey."
"What is *that* supposed to mean?"
"You practically glared the skin off that poor girl who cleans Chandler's house, but it's perfectly okay for you to go have *sleepovers* at Richard's?"
"Look," Monica snapped. "That 'poor girl' would move *into* Chandler's pants given a second's opportunity, okay? Richard's not like that."
"Uh-huh, yeah, 'cause Richard doesn't like *you* at *all*. Richard thinks you *smell*."
"It's not the same."
"Yeah, it's not, is it, Mon? 'Cause in the years you and Chandler have been together, *all* the cheating that I can recall... has been done by *you*."
"That's not fair!"
"Isn't it? Who kissed the waiter? *That* wasn't Chandler... he couldn't even kiss Phoebe, on a *bet*, with you *telling* him to! Who nearly went back to Richard? That wasn't Chandler either, was it? Who had lunch with Richard behind Chandler's back and lied to him about it? Who let me set them up on a date just to get back at Chandler? Funny, I don't think Chandler did *any* of those things. Hell, Monica... the man *quit* his *job* because you got worried about his hot co-worker!"
"He quit his job because he *hated* it, Rachel!"
"He *stayed* there for a *decade*! He *quit* the day you went all woofy over that Wendy girl!"
Rachel pulled her cellphone out of Emma's diaper bag and thrust it at Monica. "Call him. Tell him."
"Rachel..."
"Call him, or I will! And won't *that* make you look good?"
Monica took the cellphone and dialed Chandler's cellphone number. She listened for a moment, then pressed the "end" button. "See? It says he's out of range."
"So call his agent, leave a message."
Monica groaned, reaching in her purse for Chandler's agent's card.
"Hello?" Neil answered.
"Neil? It's Monica Bing."
"Hey, Monica! What's up?"
"Um, Neil? My father had a heart attack."
"Oh my god, Monica, is he okay? Do you need me to get a message to Chandler?"
"Yes, he's fine. And yes, please. I tried to call his cellphone, but he was out of range..."
"Oh," Neil said. "He ended up having Saturday off, he went up to that little house of his... one of his friends picked him up."
"Was her name 'Megan'?" Monica asked, and Rachel's eyes flew open.
"Um... yeah... I think so? She told me she caretakes the house for you guys."
"Thanks, Neil," Monica said pleasantly. "I'll try him there. Thanks!"
She hung up, passing the phone to Rachel with a smirk on her face. "You were saying...? Something, let's see, I *think* it was about me being *paranoid*?"
Rachel's face was ashen. "C'mon, Monica, at least give him the benefit of the doubt..."
"You didn't give *me* the benefit of the doubt!"
"Yes I did! Mostly! I *asked* you about it, anyway!" Rachel bit her lip. "Monica, at least call him at the house. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation."
Monica took the phone back, dialing the house number and letting it ring. "He's not picking up. You know *why* he's not picking up? Because he's *naked*!"
"Or he could be out getting pizza. Monica, be reasonable."
"I *am* being reasonable, Rachel. I asked him not to talk to her. He's obviously talking to her...! I asked him not to see her, and he's sleeping in the same house... probably in the same bed. If he's not doing anything wrong, why didn't he call me and tell me where he was going to be?"
"Maybe he did! You haven't been home in days!"
"You and Ross have been there!" Monica put her hands on her hips. "Look, Rachel. My marriage is *over*. It's been over for a while, I was just too blind to see it."
She thrust the cellphone into Rachel's hand. "And if you'll excuse me... I think I'll go see how Richard is doing."
"Monica..." Rachel began, dropping to a whisper as Monica pushed through the double doors, "... I think you're making a mistake."
***
Megan turned the car off, moaned, and dropped her head against the steering wheel.
Marjorie was the deadest woman in the history of really dead women, seconded only by Lucy, who's been an hour late.
It was thirty minutes until her party... and she had made *no* food, gotten *no* drinks, done *no* decorating. She hadn't showered, she looked like absolute hell, and she was covered in an aromatic blend of puppy puke and bunny pee.
Worse, someone was already here... there was a green Honda parked by the guard rail. She'd warned Chandler that people were coming over in her note, but she hadn't meant for him to have to play host to total strangers. If he was even still here... if she hadn't missed the last moments of his visit completely.
She slid the seatbelt off, noting with a groan that she'd managed to smear it in doggie vomit, and dragged herself to the end of the pier.
Where her jaw fell open.
The fairy lights she'd bought for the party had been hung up all over the railings. There were streamers and balloons, a huge "Happy Birthday Megan" sign over the front door, and from the charcoal smell in the air, the grill was already going.
Oh My God. Oh My God. Oh My God!
She launched herself down the pier, flinging the front door open. Chandler stood, dressed up and grinning, behind a huge, lit birthday cake on the kitchen counter.
"Happy Birthday to you..." he sang, shocking her with how pleasant his singing voice was. "Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday..." he coughed a little, "... girl who smells really weird... Happy Birthday to you!"
"Oh my god," Megan shrieked in joy. "If I weren't covered in dog vomit, you would be so covered in kisses right now!"
"Everything's ready for your party," Chandler smiled. "It's a good thing you make detailed to-do lists."
"Oh my god, you are so, so awesome," she blurted.
"Come blow 'em out. Upwind from me, if possible."
Megan laughed out loud and crossed to Chandler, blowing the candles out in one smooth motion.
"Very impressive for a smoker," he said, and they shared a grin. He pushed a white box towards her. "Open it."
"Chandler, no! You've done so much more than enough!"
"Open it, dammit," he demanded.
"I'm so gross," she said. "You open it."
Chandler smiled and opened the box, pulling out an apple-green sundress and holding it against his body. "It's really not my color, though."
"Chandler...!" Megan breathed. "It's my *favorite* color. How'd you know?"
"I didn't," he said, blushing a little. "It, um, matched your eyes." He cleared his throat in embarrassment, putting on a serious tone. "Anyway, I thought you'd like to have something pretty to wear for your party. There's shoes, too."
"You... you... oh my god. How'd you even know it was my birthday?"
"Well, I got your note about people coming over, and I saw it on your calendar. Found your to-do list, realized you'd never have time to-do it... and that I didn't have a present for you... so... I rented a car, and... to-did it."
"Chandler... I... I don't even know what to say. Look, if you and Monica *ever* want my first-born child..."
Chandler's face fell suddenly. Megan gasped.
"What'd I say? Oh god, please tell me I didn't ruin this."
"You didn't ruin anything, Leia," Chandler said sadly. "Go shower -- your guests will be here any minute."
Megan hopped nervously. "Okay... you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine, I swear. Go shower! You stink."
"Chandler..." Megan cried, running to the bathroom with her box of goodies in hand, "I'm never gonna forget this. I can't believe you did all this... and got me all this..."
She shut the bathroom door behind her, and Chandler sighed aloud.
"Yeah," he muttered, pulling candles out of the cake and setting them aside. "Got you pretty much everything but the crystal duck."
***
"Richard," Monica whispered, grabbing him by the arm. "Richard... could we go somewhere and talk, please?"
"Sure, Mon... what's up?"
Monica led him through the hospital, out into a greenway, and sat down on a bench. Richard followed suit.
"Mon, are you okay? You look weird."
"I'm leaving Chandler."
"You're... you're what?"
"I've decided to leave Chandler."
"Why?"
"He went down to see that Megan girl again, Richard. It's so over. I mean, he's sneaking around to see her... I'm basically sneaking around to see you... that *says* something, all right?"
"Monica... look. You're upset right now. Why don't you take some time and really think about this before you make a decision?"
"I thought you wanted me back!"
"I do! But Monica... you came back to me the *last* time you got mad at Chandler. And just when I'd gotten my hopes up, you left me. That didn't *feel* so great, okay? And call me selfish, but I'm not going through that again. You come to me when you're *ready* and you *mean it*."
"Richard..."
"Monica... I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, ever. I can't be your safety net. It hurts too bad. I... feel too much."
"Richard... I'll be back. I've made up my mind. If you need time to believe that I've made up my mind, that's fine. But I'll be back."
***
Chandler leaned against the railing, sipping his beer and reveling in the very strange feeling of being surrounded by people... and allowed to smoke.
"So you must be Chandler."
He swiveled towards the sound of the voice, a painfully thin man a few years younger than him, losing a constant battle to keep a floppy set of bangs out of his eyes.
"Guilty as charged."
"I'm Keith... I'm an old friend of Megan's."
"Nice to meet you, Keith..."
"Okay, look... I've been working up the nerve to do this all night... and you can shoot me down if you want to..."
Chandler stared at Keith curiously, and Keith swallowed hard.
"Um. I'm an artist. Not professionally. But I'd like to be. And Megan, well, she told me you love comics. I read 'Noon Shadow', and I think... well... I think it'd make a great graphic novel."
Keith held out a battered sketchbook. "I did some drawings... I thought maybe you might want to look at them."
Chandler took the sketchbook, racking his brain for ways to let the poor kid down easy. "I'd never really thought about that... graphic novels, I mean..."
He took a breath, mentally preparing himself to have to say nice things about the standard 'I wanna be in comics' fare... big-breasted women, impossibly pecced-out guys in tights...
Chandler flipped the cover. And gasped.
"This is... this is the Mannot house," he said, reaching out to touch the image, then pulling back for fear of smudging the pencils. "It's... it's exactly how it was in my mind."
Keith smiled shyly. "You described it pretty good."
Chandler flipped another page, laughing in recognition. "The farm, right? Your shadow work... it's just incredible..."
"And there's the squirrel from page 72," Keith pointed out, tapping the book with a fingernail.
"You have an amazing eye for detail," Chandler said, impressed, as he flipped another page.
And stopped breathing.
"This... this is *Megan*," Chandler breathed. And it was. Small details had been changed... the hair length and color, most noticeably... but otherwise, it was Megan... nearly leaping off the page, caught in mid-laugh.
"Well... yeah... didn't you base Sookie on her?"
"No, no... I didn't."
"C'mon, man," Keith laughed nervously. "I read the book five times doing this. Sookie *is* Megan. I'd know, 'cause..."
"'Cause you're in love with her," Chandler finished.
Keith blushed deeply. "Um. Yeah. A little. How'd you know?"
"Don't think anyone who wasn't could draw her like this," Chandler said honestly.
"Well, um, no offense... but that's kinda the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Look, like I said, I read the book five times. And to steal your own words... I don't think anyone who wasn't in love with Megan could *write* her like that."
"I'm married," Chandler stammered. "Sookie is based on my *wife*."
"I didn't come over here to fight with you, man," Keith smiled awkwardly. "I'm sorry I misunderstood."
"No, wait... don't go," Chandler said, catching Keith by the arm. "Look... I don't think I want to do 'Noon Shadow' over, but I have some new ideas that might work. You're really talented, Keith. Do you have a card or something where I could call you, talk to you about some plots?"
Keith's entire face lit up. "I don't have a card, but..."
"Well... could I keep this? Show it to my agent? You could write your number in it..."
"It's got all my contact information in the front," Keith said, tapping the cover lightly. "I've got other notebooks, too... other genres of stuff... I'll go out to my car..."
Keith jogged away, and Chandler opened the notebook again, sighing at the portrait of Megan. My god, that kid could draw.
He *hadn't* based Sookie on Megan, had he? He'd written Sookie to show Monica that he could write a nice character based on her... something to make up for the serial killer debacle.
He touched the page lightly, remembering the article that had come out a month or two ago. "Chandler Bing, dispelling all rumors from last year, has written a poignant and terrifying love letter to his wife... and caused America to fall in love in the process."
His sex life had improved *considerably* after Monica had read that one.
Of course Sookie was based on Monica. She looked like her... had eleven categories of towels... had that frenchy poster thing hanging in her apartment. Keith was just reading too much into it... y'know, he probably *projected* Megan onto the character.
Yeah, that's the ticket.
Chandler headed inside to put the notebook in a safe place, still building a fort of rationalizations as he went.
***
"Pheebs," Mike called, catching her by the arm as they headed upstairs. "Hey, wait up."
"Huh?" Phoebe asked, turning around slightly, a vague look in her eyes.
"Honey... what happened to you out there? Y'know, 'Smelly Cat' doesn't usually include a two-minute piano solo while the lead singer sort of stares into the audience blankly."
"Sorry, Mike... I was preoccupied."
Mike laughed gently. "Yeah, I caught *that*, babe. What's up?"
"Um, just one of my things."
"Your..." Mike struggled to make his face properly respectful and serious, "Future visions?"
"Yeah," Phoebe said casually. "How much longer until the first leg of the tour is up?"
"Another month... why?"
"Ah, that's soon enough," Phoebe said, kissing Mike on the cheek and hurrying up the stairs to the dressing room.
"Phoebe... Phoebe! Aw, man..."
And Mike began to run up the stairs after her.
***
"So you must be Chandler," the girl said, taking a swig from her plastic cup and extending her hand.
"Is that some kind of standard greeting around here?" Chandler demanded. "You're like the fifth person to say that to me."
"We've just been waiting a while to meet the wonderful, amazing, fabulous, perfect and special Chandler Bing," the girl replied. "The name's Becca, by the way."
"Nice to meet you, Becca. But you'll soon discover that I'm the rather mediocre Chandler Bing."
"Not on Planet Megan," Becca laughed. "She told me what you did for her today. Big thumbs-up. The dress is nice, too."
"Well, she looks great in it."
"Aren't you married?"
"Yeah, yeah I am," Chandler said defensively. "I think I'm still allowed to say she looks nice... but I could call my wife and check..."
"Just sayin'. You seemed *awfully* interested in her conversation with Brent."
"Is that his name?" Chandler said lightly. The guy had been shadowing Megan all afternoon and had finally pulled her off into a private conversation that Megan didn't seem too happy to be in.
"You never met her ex-fiance?"
Chandler felt a pang of jealousy shoot through his heart and shoved it back down immediately. "Nope, never."
"Lucky you," Becca said darkly.
Chandler changed the subject quickly. "So, can I ask you a question? What's with the uniform?"
"What?"
"Well, you and like, half the girls here have on the same pants, same shirt, and have the same haircut. Are you in a cult?"
Becca sipped her beer. "Thought they *had* lesbians up in the Big Apple."
"Yeah, but they don't have a *dress code*," Chandler replied.
Becca snorted. "You're okay. I guess it's so we can pick each other out in a crowd. Y'know, down here, ya gotta know whether someone's gonna flirt back or shoot you in the name of Jesus."
She set her cup down. "So do you want the dirt on Brent and Megan? I can tell you're dyin' for it."
"You always this blunt?"
"You always this deep in denial? C'mon, ask me."
"Fine. Hand over the dirt."
"Well, first off... he wasn't invited. He just showed up, all hurt to the quick that he wasn't. Brent's your basic bloodsucking whiny-ass leech. And you know what a soft touch Megan is, especially for anything wounded. And Brent's... all wound. Pretty much self-inflicted, too, I mean... a waiter forgets his garlic bread, and it's soul-rending trauma."
"Charming," Chandler spat.
"Yeah, your mom hated his guts."
"My... mom met him?"
"Yeah, we all knew her, pretty much. You know 'Evelyn' in 'Yes, Mistress'? That was me."
"Mom based characters on people she knew?"
"Pretty much all of 'em, yeah... why?"
"That's just... funny. I do it too." He took a sip of his drink. "So can I ask you...? The novel I finished... who were those characters based on? I mean, originally."
"Dunno," Becca said, biting her fingernail. "I mean, Nora didn't write that one."
Chandler nearly lost his grip on his cup. "*What?*"
"She was pretty sick by then. Megan was writing it for her. Nora gave her the basic plot, though."
Chandler took a deep breath. "Megan... wrote... the first half... of 'Carolina Darkness'?"
"Well, yeah... I thought you knew."
"No. No, I didn't know. Excuse me."
Chandler barreled over to Megan and Brent, taking Megan by the arm. "Excuse me, Brent, I need to borrow her."
He hauled Megan around the side of the house.
"Chandler... what... are you mad at me?"
"I am *furious* with you!"
"What... what did I do?"
"You work in a hellhole where dogs vomit on you! You drive an eleven-year-old car! You fall all over yourself thanking me for a *dress* I picked out at *Wal-Mart*, and you didn't tell me that you wrote half a book I made a *shitload* of money on?"
"Oh," Megan said quietly.
"Yeah, 'oh'! That's a pretty big freakin' 'oh'! Megan, I owe you hundreds of thousands of dollars! Not to mention your name on the cover! I can't... I can't *believe* you didn't tell me!"
"Chandler, please don't be mad..."
"I can't help it! You're crazy! You're completely insane!"
"No I'm not, Chandler, seriously. Look. I was *ghost-writing* that book for your mom, okay? She had a deadline, she was sick, I was trying to help. My part of the book wasn't any good! It was the changes *you* made that were so awesome!"
"The first part of the book was *brilliant*," Chandler said through gritted teeth. "I changed it because I had no idea where to go with your story. No other reason."
"Chandler... please don't do this to your mother. What are you going to do, take her name off her last book? She came up with the ideas, Chandler! I was just the writing tool. Seriously, think about this. It would totally tarnish her memory."
"It's not fair," Chandler muttered. "It is totally... *totally*... not fair."
"Okay, I tell you what," Megan said, putting a consoling arm on his sleeve. "I'll write another book someday! And when I do, well, you can *totally* pimp me to your agent, and write me a super-glowing review, okay?"
"You don't have *time* to write," Chandler spat. "You work *two* jobs, Megan. I'm putting your name on the cover."
"Chandler, no! Chandler... please? If you do that, you'll *ruin* what I was trying to do for her. Everything would have been for nothing! Look, Chandler, I'm basically begging you here. Why would you do something *for me* that I really, really don't want you to do?"
"Quit your jobs," Chandler stated.
"What...? I can't..."
"Quit your jobs. You have a new job. You work for me."
"I already work for you, Chandler... I'm your caretaker, remember?"
"So now you work for me full-time. You're my new assistant. Answer my fan mail, shoot my stalkers. You know."
"You don't have any stalkers."
"Which is why *you* will be required to diligently spend all your time writing and waiting for me to *get* stalkers."
"Chandler. I don't want a sugar daddy."
"Yeah, well, *I* want an assistant, and I want it to be you. I get a lot of fan mail, you know. There would be real work involved."
"Chandler... I don't even live in the same *city*..."
"Megan! Do you have any idea how *insane* this is going to drive me? You won't let me be honest and put your name on the cover. You won't let me pay you the money I owe you. You're basically setting me up to be the planet's biggest shithead, here... do you realize that?"
"I would never, never think you were a shithead..."
"I don't care! I would! Would you *please* at least let me do this half-assed, not-nearly-enough thing!"
She crossed her arms and looked at him defiantly. Chandler groaned. "Look, Megan. Do you *like* getting puked on by dogs? Cleaning out disgusting cages? Getting called in at six in the morning on your birthday?"
"Not... really..."
"So take this job, *please*. I'll agree to all the other crap. Just do this one thing for me... for my sanity?"
"I'm just not comfortable with this..."
Chandler crossed his arms, readying his killing blow. "You said you'd give me your liver, your first-born child, *anything* I wanted. *This* is what I want. Give it to me, or you are a damn dirty liar."
Megan sighed. "Fine. You're an ass, but fine."
"Damn skippy."
He broke into a smile. "You really... you really do look just amazingly beautiful."
Megan thrust a finger in his face. "No way, Bing. You can't piss me off and then get all sweet on me. I'm not gonna forgive you for at *least* fifteen more minutes. And until then, buddy, you just better start sufferin'."
She started to stalk off, then turned around. "And for your information...? I'm gonna be the most ruthlessly efficient assistant, *ever*. In two weeks, you're going to wonder how you ever functioned without me."
She turned and power-walked over to some of her friends. Chandler laughed and took a sip of his beer.
"Already wondering that, Leia," he sighed. "Been wondering that for months."
***
Monica let herself into the apartment, sighing a little.
Home. Finally.
"Hey, Aunt Monica," Ben called, standing at the door of the guest room. "How's Grandpa?"
Oh... Ben. She'd forgotten Carol and Susan were going to drop him off here. This sort of ruined her "angrily throw everything Chandler owned into boxes" plan.
"He's doing a *lot* better, sweetie." She looked at Ben and saw tears in his eyes. "Aw, honey... c'mere."
Ben rushed into her arms, his head colliding with her breasts. Monica sprang back involuntarily. "Ow!"
Ben's face fell even further. "I hurt you?"
"No, no, sweetie, sorry. My fault. Give me a hug."
Ben did so, tentatively, and Monica bit her lip not to cry out in pain as his head snuggled into her chest. She wrapped her arms around him. "Ben, honey. Grandpa's going to be fine. Tell you what... after I shower and take a nap, we'll both go back to the hospital and see him, okay?"
"Okay," Ben said, swallowing hard.
"I'm just gonna get a shower," Monica said weakly, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door.
She touched her breast experimentally. Ow. Ow. Ow! What the hell? They'd never hurt like this before her period before.
She turned on the water, stripping off her clothes, removing her shirt and bra very gingerly. Under the faucet, she lathered up her hair, trying to remember when her period was supposed to start anyway. Once she and Chandler had given up on conceiving, she'd basically stopped tracking it.
Twenty-eight days... and the last time had been, huh. Just a little bit before Chandler went on tour, so...
Two weeks ago.
It should have started two *weeks* ago.
Monica jumped out of the shower, conditioner dripping from her hair, and began to fumble in the drawers for a pregnancy test.
***
"Caaaaaaaake," Megan intoned, holding up her arms like Frankenstein and lumbering across the living room. "Must... have... more... caaaaaaaaaake..."
Chandler turned around from putting another CD on and caught her around the waist with an arm. Megan continued to Frankenstein in place.
"Look, I didn't buy you the cake so you could kill yourself with it. You've already had two pieces."
"Caaaaaaaaake..."
"Nope."
"Caaaaaaaaake..."
"Nope. No more cake for you." Chandler tightened his grip around her.
Megan squirmed like a cat, reaching in the air towards the forbidden box. "C'mon, Chandler, I'll take an extra Glucophage. It's my *birthday*! Don't be mean. I'll test my glucose, right now. You'll see -- it's fine. One more piece."
"Nope, sorry," he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. "You're just going to have to hang out here while I clean."
"Okay, either I'm too short, or you're too strong."
"I'm burly and buff. Also, you're a midget."
"I'm a midget who needs cake! C'mon, let me eat one of the flowers off the top."
"Nope. I'm cuttin' you off." Chandler finished changing the CD and began to pick up plastic cups from around the room. "See, I can do this all night. Because of the buffness. There's no escaping for you."
"I'll tickle your knees!" Megan threatened, reaching down with her fingers. "Muahahahaaa!"
"My knees aren't ticklish, nyah."
"Well hey there, you guys," an angry voice said from the back door. Chandler turned to see Brent, holding a trash bag and wearing a look of jealous rage. "Megan... *darling*... I can see your *underwear*."
"Well, there's only one solution for *that*," Megan chirped. "Cake! More cake is the cure for all underwear visibility!"
"See... you're not even making sense," Chandler laughed, throwing cups in the trash. "No more sugar, no way."
"The cake/underwear correlation has been proven in many double-blind trials," Megan protested. "And I should at least get half a piece for using 'correlation' in a sentence."
Brent spun on his heel and slammed the back door. Megan let out a wet raspberry in his general direction.
"Ah, young love," Chandler gushed.
"Bite me, Bing."
"I just might. I mean, your butt's right here in my face..."
"No butt biting! No butt biting!" Megan shrieked, beating his back with her fists.
The phone rang, and Chandler jogged for it, bouncing Megan up and down. He grabbed the phone and put it to his ear.
"House of a Thousand Butt-Bites..."
"Chandler?"
"Hey, Neil, sorry. What's up?"
"Chandler, finally. Look. Your father-in-law had a heart attack. I've canceled the next week's worth of signings, and I got you a plane ticket home. Can you be at the Atlanta airport in an hour?"
Chandler lowered Megan to the ground. She stared at him with a look of concern.
"Sure, Neil. I can be there. I'll leave right now."
"Okay, Chandler. I'll call you in a week, see how it's going, okay?"
"Thanks, Neil..."
Chandler hung up the phone.
"Chandler... what's wrong?"
"Jack Geller... that's my wife's dad... had a heart attack. I'm going to New York."
"Oh my god! Do you need me to drive you to the airport?"
"I still have the rental car."
"I'll help you pack."
"Megan, it's your birthday. Go be with the birthday people."
"It's my birthday, and I want to be with *you*."
"Okay, fine. Help me pack. Freak."
"Bigger freak. I'll get your suitcase."
***
Positive.
Monica set the stick down on the countertop, sliding back into the shower... she'd gotten conditioner all over the floor.
This... changed everything.
***
"Well, bye," Megan said, hugging Chandler tight. "I'll miss you. See you... next year, I guess."
He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "I mean it, now. No more cake. Seriously."
He kissed the top of her head, then turned abruptly and headed out to the rental car.
Megan raised her hand in farewell, not dropping it until he drove away.
She made it all the way upstairs to the guest bathroom before she started crying, curling herself into a ball against the bathroom door and pulling down a hand towel to muffle the sounds.
What was she doing? How colossally, incredibly stupid was she?
This was wonderful, just wonderful. Because nothing was a better way to get past being engaged to an emotional vacuum cleaner than falling in love with a *married guy*.
And she *was* in love with him. She couldn't deny that anymore.
But mostly... mostly she just *missed* him. All the time. It seemed like she was constantly looking around for him, wanting to tell him something... like he'd been in the bathroom, for a year.
There was no one she could talk to like she talked to him, no one. Her friends were great, but there wasn't that spark, that sort of click, where she felt comfortable spouting off whatever crazy thing came into her head.
And he was so *sweet*. And so *good*. One of the reasons she *liked* him so much was how faithful he was to his wife... which basically meant she'd never be with him, ever.
And every time he touched her... oh, god. It was like every pore on her skin woke up and started screaming for attention. Even when he'd grabbed her, yanked her down the deck... part of her had been flying, hoping that he'd toss her against the house, press his body into hers, kiss her until her lips bruised and her knees gave out...
She dropped the hand towel, sighing. She was an idiot. He loved his wife, and that was all there was to it. She just needed to get over it, move on, quit being a freak. If she wanted to stay his friend, she was going to have to quit following him around like a puppy dog.
She hung the towel back up, crossed to the sink, and splashed water on her face.
Right. Birthday. Party. She could do this.
Megan reached for her cellphone groggily, wiping sleep out of her eyes. "Hello?"
"Megan? It's Bill."
"Hey..." she glanced over for the clock, then remembered she was in the guest room. "What's up?"
"Well, it's Saturday morning, and Marjorie was supposed to open. Guess what that means?"
"Oh, god... she called in 'sick' again?"
"Like clockwork."
"Bill -- why do you even schedule her for Saturdays?"
"Because if she does this one more time, I can fire her ass. Megan... please?"
"Bill... it's my *birthday*. I'm having a party at three o'clock! And I have... a houseguest... that I *really* want to spend time with..."
"Meg, honey, I *know* it's your birthday. Believe me, I already called everyone else. Lucy can come in at one... could I just get you from eight until then?"
"Bill..."
"I'll have you out by one on the dot... I'll kill Lucy personally if she's late... I'll give you Sunday off!"
Megan flopped back on the bed. "Fine... I'll be there in a few minutes. But Bill... you owe me like you've never owed me before."
***
"Honey, sssh. Emma, ssssh," Rachel soothed, bouncing Emma up and down outside the hospital doors. "Hospitals are a quiet place, honey, c'mon... we can't go back in and see daddy until you're quiet..."
Rachel felt nearly ready to have a tantrum herself... the muscles in her arms were quaking with exhaustion, and her eardrums were nearly bleeding. Emma'd gone into one of her screamy moods and would not be stopped. She didn't understand what was wrong with her grandfather... and apparently, her preferred method of dealing with it was to do a four-hour impression of an air-raid siren.
"Emma... sweetie..." Rachel pleaded. "C'mon, honey..."
She blushed as another cab pulled up and Emma's wails only grew louder. God, everyone who walked by probably thought she was some sort of evil mother-monster.
And as suddenly as it began, Emma's hideous noisemaking stopped. "Aunnmonifa," Emma stated calmly, as if she hadn't been screaming bloody murder five seconds before.
"Where, sweetie?"
Rachel turned around to see Monica getting out of the cab... followed closely by Richard. Rachel's eyes narrowed.
"Hey, you guys!" she called, as casually as she could.
Richard smiled and waved, changing direction to come say hello, but Monica froze mid-step, guilt creeping up over her face.
"Hey, Rachel," Richard said. "Hey, Emma. How are you doing?"
"We're fine," Rachel replied, eyes still on Monica.
"Hey, Rach," Monica said nervously.
"Hey, Richard... would it be okay if I talked to Monica alone for a few minutes? Girl stuff."
"Sure... want me to take her up to Ross?"
"I don't know, she's been kind of fussy..."
But Emma, the tiny traitor, went happily into Richard's arms, rolling her eyes adorably at him.
"Sure, that'd be fine," Rachel amended with a sigh.
She waited until the doors had shut behind Richard before turning on Monica with a glare. "You have something to tell me?"
"Rachel, it's not what it looks like."
"Oh really? You've been gone for *hours*, you're with *Richard*, you're wearing different *clothes*. I know what it *looks* like, so what is it?"
"I used his shower and took a nap in his guest room, Rachel. It was perfectly innocent. He had some of my old clothes."
"So can I ask you a question? Where's Chandler?"
"He's on his book tour, Rachel... you *know* that."
"Your father had a heart attack two *days* ago, Monica. Chandler would be here by now... if he knew. But he doesn't know, does he?"
"I don't want to bother him. There's nothing he can do!"
"Uh-huh. You don't think it's not gonna 'bother him' that you didn't even call him when something this huge happened?"
"Look, I don't want to call him, okay? We agreed... we're not really going to be in contact. We're on a..."
Monica remembered who she was talking to, and snapped her mouth shut... but not in time.
"Break?" Rachel finished, heat flaring in her eyes. "Is that the word you just ate?"
"Rachel, don't..."
"Don't what? Marvel in amazement at the universality of the Geller Dictionary?"
"Rachel, I didn't *do* anything, okay! I took a shower, I took a nap, I ate some soup!"
"Well, there's only one solution for *this*," Rachel announced, crossing her arms.
"What's that?"
"Well obviously, Richard has to sleep with Joey."
"What is *that* supposed to mean?"
"You practically glared the skin off that poor girl who cleans Chandler's house, but it's perfectly okay for you to go have *sleepovers* at Richard's?"
"Look," Monica snapped. "That 'poor girl' would move *into* Chandler's pants given a second's opportunity, okay? Richard's not like that."
"Uh-huh, yeah, 'cause Richard doesn't like *you* at *all*. Richard thinks you *smell*."
"It's not the same."
"Yeah, it's not, is it, Mon? 'Cause in the years you and Chandler have been together, *all* the cheating that I can recall... has been done by *you*."
"That's not fair!"
"Isn't it? Who kissed the waiter? *That* wasn't Chandler... he couldn't even kiss Phoebe, on a *bet*, with you *telling* him to! Who nearly went back to Richard? That wasn't Chandler either, was it? Who had lunch with Richard behind Chandler's back and lied to him about it? Who let me set them up on a date just to get back at Chandler? Funny, I don't think Chandler did *any* of those things. Hell, Monica... the man *quit* his *job* because you got worried about his hot co-worker!"
"He quit his job because he *hated* it, Rachel!"
"He *stayed* there for a *decade*! He *quit* the day you went all woofy over that Wendy girl!"
Rachel pulled her cellphone out of Emma's diaper bag and thrust it at Monica. "Call him. Tell him."
"Rachel..."
"Call him, or I will! And won't *that* make you look good?"
Monica took the cellphone and dialed Chandler's cellphone number. She listened for a moment, then pressed the "end" button. "See? It says he's out of range."
"So call his agent, leave a message."
Monica groaned, reaching in her purse for Chandler's agent's card.
"Hello?" Neil answered.
"Neil? It's Monica Bing."
"Hey, Monica! What's up?"
"Um, Neil? My father had a heart attack."
"Oh my god, Monica, is he okay? Do you need me to get a message to Chandler?"
"Yes, he's fine. And yes, please. I tried to call his cellphone, but he was out of range..."
"Oh," Neil said. "He ended up having Saturday off, he went up to that little house of his... one of his friends picked him up."
"Was her name 'Megan'?" Monica asked, and Rachel's eyes flew open.
"Um... yeah... I think so? She told me she caretakes the house for you guys."
"Thanks, Neil," Monica said pleasantly. "I'll try him there. Thanks!"
She hung up, passing the phone to Rachel with a smirk on her face. "You were saying...? Something, let's see, I *think* it was about me being *paranoid*?"
Rachel's face was ashen. "C'mon, Monica, at least give him the benefit of the doubt..."
"You didn't give *me* the benefit of the doubt!"
"Yes I did! Mostly! I *asked* you about it, anyway!" Rachel bit her lip. "Monica, at least call him at the house. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation."
Monica took the phone back, dialing the house number and letting it ring. "He's not picking up. You know *why* he's not picking up? Because he's *naked*!"
"Or he could be out getting pizza. Monica, be reasonable."
"I *am* being reasonable, Rachel. I asked him not to talk to her. He's obviously talking to her...! I asked him not to see her, and he's sleeping in the same house... probably in the same bed. If he's not doing anything wrong, why didn't he call me and tell me where he was going to be?"
"Maybe he did! You haven't been home in days!"
"You and Ross have been there!" Monica put her hands on her hips. "Look, Rachel. My marriage is *over*. It's been over for a while, I was just too blind to see it."
She thrust the cellphone into Rachel's hand. "And if you'll excuse me... I think I'll go see how Richard is doing."
"Monica..." Rachel began, dropping to a whisper as Monica pushed through the double doors, "... I think you're making a mistake."
***
Megan turned the car off, moaned, and dropped her head against the steering wheel.
Marjorie was the deadest woman in the history of really dead women, seconded only by Lucy, who's been an hour late.
It was thirty minutes until her party... and she had made *no* food, gotten *no* drinks, done *no* decorating. She hadn't showered, she looked like absolute hell, and she was covered in an aromatic blend of puppy puke and bunny pee.
Worse, someone was already here... there was a green Honda parked by the guard rail. She'd warned Chandler that people were coming over in her note, but she hadn't meant for him to have to play host to total strangers. If he was even still here... if she hadn't missed the last moments of his visit completely.
She slid the seatbelt off, noting with a groan that she'd managed to smear it in doggie vomit, and dragged herself to the end of the pier.
Where her jaw fell open.
The fairy lights she'd bought for the party had been hung up all over the railings. There were streamers and balloons, a huge "Happy Birthday Megan" sign over the front door, and from the charcoal smell in the air, the grill was already going.
Oh My God. Oh My God. Oh My God!
She launched herself down the pier, flinging the front door open. Chandler stood, dressed up and grinning, behind a huge, lit birthday cake on the kitchen counter.
"Happy Birthday to you..." he sang, shocking her with how pleasant his singing voice was. "Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday..." he coughed a little, "... girl who smells really weird... Happy Birthday to you!"
"Oh my god," Megan shrieked in joy. "If I weren't covered in dog vomit, you would be so covered in kisses right now!"
"Everything's ready for your party," Chandler smiled. "It's a good thing you make detailed to-do lists."
"Oh my god, you are so, so awesome," she blurted.
"Come blow 'em out. Upwind from me, if possible."
Megan laughed out loud and crossed to Chandler, blowing the candles out in one smooth motion.
"Very impressive for a smoker," he said, and they shared a grin. He pushed a white box towards her. "Open it."
"Chandler, no! You've done so much more than enough!"
"Open it, dammit," he demanded.
"I'm so gross," she said. "You open it."
Chandler smiled and opened the box, pulling out an apple-green sundress and holding it against his body. "It's really not my color, though."
"Chandler...!" Megan breathed. "It's my *favorite* color. How'd you know?"
"I didn't," he said, blushing a little. "It, um, matched your eyes." He cleared his throat in embarrassment, putting on a serious tone. "Anyway, I thought you'd like to have something pretty to wear for your party. There's shoes, too."
"You... you... oh my god. How'd you even know it was my birthday?"
"Well, I got your note about people coming over, and I saw it on your calendar. Found your to-do list, realized you'd never have time to-do it... and that I didn't have a present for you... so... I rented a car, and... to-did it."
"Chandler... I... I don't even know what to say. Look, if you and Monica *ever* want my first-born child..."
Chandler's face fell suddenly. Megan gasped.
"What'd I say? Oh god, please tell me I didn't ruin this."
"You didn't ruin anything, Leia," Chandler said sadly. "Go shower -- your guests will be here any minute."
Megan hopped nervously. "Okay... you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine, I swear. Go shower! You stink."
"Chandler..." Megan cried, running to the bathroom with her box of goodies in hand, "I'm never gonna forget this. I can't believe you did all this... and got me all this..."
She shut the bathroom door behind her, and Chandler sighed aloud.
"Yeah," he muttered, pulling candles out of the cake and setting them aside. "Got you pretty much everything but the crystal duck."
***
"Richard," Monica whispered, grabbing him by the arm. "Richard... could we go somewhere and talk, please?"
"Sure, Mon... what's up?"
Monica led him through the hospital, out into a greenway, and sat down on a bench. Richard followed suit.
"Mon, are you okay? You look weird."
"I'm leaving Chandler."
"You're... you're what?"
"I've decided to leave Chandler."
"Why?"
"He went down to see that Megan girl again, Richard. It's so over. I mean, he's sneaking around to see her... I'm basically sneaking around to see you... that *says* something, all right?"
"Monica... look. You're upset right now. Why don't you take some time and really think about this before you make a decision?"
"I thought you wanted me back!"
"I do! But Monica... you came back to me the *last* time you got mad at Chandler. And just when I'd gotten my hopes up, you left me. That didn't *feel* so great, okay? And call me selfish, but I'm not going through that again. You come to me when you're *ready* and you *mean it*."
"Richard..."
"Monica... I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, ever. I can't be your safety net. It hurts too bad. I... feel too much."
"Richard... I'll be back. I've made up my mind. If you need time to believe that I've made up my mind, that's fine. But I'll be back."
***
Chandler leaned against the railing, sipping his beer and reveling in the very strange feeling of being surrounded by people... and allowed to smoke.
"So you must be Chandler."
He swiveled towards the sound of the voice, a painfully thin man a few years younger than him, losing a constant battle to keep a floppy set of bangs out of his eyes.
"Guilty as charged."
"I'm Keith... I'm an old friend of Megan's."
"Nice to meet you, Keith..."
"Okay, look... I've been working up the nerve to do this all night... and you can shoot me down if you want to..."
Chandler stared at Keith curiously, and Keith swallowed hard.
"Um. I'm an artist. Not professionally. But I'd like to be. And Megan, well, she told me you love comics. I read 'Noon Shadow', and I think... well... I think it'd make a great graphic novel."
Keith held out a battered sketchbook. "I did some drawings... I thought maybe you might want to look at them."
Chandler took the sketchbook, racking his brain for ways to let the poor kid down easy. "I'd never really thought about that... graphic novels, I mean..."
He took a breath, mentally preparing himself to have to say nice things about the standard 'I wanna be in comics' fare... big-breasted women, impossibly pecced-out guys in tights...
Chandler flipped the cover. And gasped.
"This is... this is the Mannot house," he said, reaching out to touch the image, then pulling back for fear of smudging the pencils. "It's... it's exactly how it was in my mind."
Keith smiled shyly. "You described it pretty good."
Chandler flipped another page, laughing in recognition. "The farm, right? Your shadow work... it's just incredible..."
"And there's the squirrel from page 72," Keith pointed out, tapping the book with a fingernail.
"You have an amazing eye for detail," Chandler said, impressed, as he flipped another page.
And stopped breathing.
"This... this is *Megan*," Chandler breathed. And it was. Small details had been changed... the hair length and color, most noticeably... but otherwise, it was Megan... nearly leaping off the page, caught in mid-laugh.
"Well... yeah... didn't you base Sookie on her?"
"No, no... I didn't."
"C'mon, man," Keith laughed nervously. "I read the book five times doing this. Sookie *is* Megan. I'd know, 'cause..."
"'Cause you're in love with her," Chandler finished.
Keith blushed deeply. "Um. Yeah. A little. How'd you know?"
"Don't think anyone who wasn't could draw her like this," Chandler said honestly.
"Well, um, no offense... but that's kinda the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Look, like I said, I read the book five times. And to steal your own words... I don't think anyone who wasn't in love with Megan could *write* her like that."
"I'm married," Chandler stammered. "Sookie is based on my *wife*."
"I didn't come over here to fight with you, man," Keith smiled awkwardly. "I'm sorry I misunderstood."
"No, wait... don't go," Chandler said, catching Keith by the arm. "Look... I don't think I want to do 'Noon Shadow' over, but I have some new ideas that might work. You're really talented, Keith. Do you have a card or something where I could call you, talk to you about some plots?"
Keith's entire face lit up. "I don't have a card, but..."
"Well... could I keep this? Show it to my agent? You could write your number in it..."
"It's got all my contact information in the front," Keith said, tapping the cover lightly. "I've got other notebooks, too... other genres of stuff... I'll go out to my car..."
Keith jogged away, and Chandler opened the notebook again, sighing at the portrait of Megan. My god, that kid could draw.
He *hadn't* based Sookie on Megan, had he? He'd written Sookie to show Monica that he could write a nice character based on her... something to make up for the serial killer debacle.
He touched the page lightly, remembering the article that had come out a month or two ago. "Chandler Bing, dispelling all rumors from last year, has written a poignant and terrifying love letter to his wife... and caused America to fall in love in the process."
His sex life had improved *considerably* after Monica had read that one.
Of course Sookie was based on Monica. She looked like her... had eleven categories of towels... had that frenchy poster thing hanging in her apartment. Keith was just reading too much into it... y'know, he probably *projected* Megan onto the character.
Yeah, that's the ticket.
Chandler headed inside to put the notebook in a safe place, still building a fort of rationalizations as he went.
***
"Pheebs," Mike called, catching her by the arm as they headed upstairs. "Hey, wait up."
"Huh?" Phoebe asked, turning around slightly, a vague look in her eyes.
"Honey... what happened to you out there? Y'know, 'Smelly Cat' doesn't usually include a two-minute piano solo while the lead singer sort of stares into the audience blankly."
"Sorry, Mike... I was preoccupied."
Mike laughed gently. "Yeah, I caught *that*, babe. What's up?"
"Um, just one of my things."
"Your..." Mike struggled to make his face properly respectful and serious, "Future visions?"
"Yeah," Phoebe said casually. "How much longer until the first leg of the tour is up?"
"Another month... why?"
"Ah, that's soon enough," Phoebe said, kissing Mike on the cheek and hurrying up the stairs to the dressing room.
"Phoebe... Phoebe! Aw, man..."
And Mike began to run up the stairs after her.
***
"So you must be Chandler," the girl said, taking a swig from her plastic cup and extending her hand.
"Is that some kind of standard greeting around here?" Chandler demanded. "You're like the fifth person to say that to me."
"We've just been waiting a while to meet the wonderful, amazing, fabulous, perfect and special Chandler Bing," the girl replied. "The name's Becca, by the way."
"Nice to meet you, Becca. But you'll soon discover that I'm the rather mediocre Chandler Bing."
"Not on Planet Megan," Becca laughed. "She told me what you did for her today. Big thumbs-up. The dress is nice, too."
"Well, she looks great in it."
"Aren't you married?"
"Yeah, yeah I am," Chandler said defensively. "I think I'm still allowed to say she looks nice... but I could call my wife and check..."
"Just sayin'. You seemed *awfully* interested in her conversation with Brent."
"Is that his name?" Chandler said lightly. The guy had been shadowing Megan all afternoon and had finally pulled her off into a private conversation that Megan didn't seem too happy to be in.
"You never met her ex-fiance?"
Chandler felt a pang of jealousy shoot through his heart and shoved it back down immediately. "Nope, never."
"Lucky you," Becca said darkly.
Chandler changed the subject quickly. "So, can I ask you a question? What's with the uniform?"
"What?"
"Well, you and like, half the girls here have on the same pants, same shirt, and have the same haircut. Are you in a cult?"
Becca sipped her beer. "Thought they *had* lesbians up in the Big Apple."
"Yeah, but they don't have a *dress code*," Chandler replied.
Becca snorted. "You're okay. I guess it's so we can pick each other out in a crowd. Y'know, down here, ya gotta know whether someone's gonna flirt back or shoot you in the name of Jesus."
She set her cup down. "So do you want the dirt on Brent and Megan? I can tell you're dyin' for it."
"You always this blunt?"
"You always this deep in denial? C'mon, ask me."
"Fine. Hand over the dirt."
"Well, first off... he wasn't invited. He just showed up, all hurt to the quick that he wasn't. Brent's your basic bloodsucking whiny-ass leech. And you know what a soft touch Megan is, especially for anything wounded. And Brent's... all wound. Pretty much self-inflicted, too, I mean... a waiter forgets his garlic bread, and it's soul-rending trauma."
"Charming," Chandler spat.
"Yeah, your mom hated his guts."
"My... mom met him?"
"Yeah, we all knew her, pretty much. You know 'Evelyn' in 'Yes, Mistress'? That was me."
"Mom based characters on people she knew?"
"Pretty much all of 'em, yeah... why?"
"That's just... funny. I do it too." He took a sip of his drink. "So can I ask you...? The novel I finished... who were those characters based on? I mean, originally."
"Dunno," Becca said, biting her fingernail. "I mean, Nora didn't write that one."
Chandler nearly lost his grip on his cup. "*What?*"
"She was pretty sick by then. Megan was writing it for her. Nora gave her the basic plot, though."
Chandler took a deep breath. "Megan... wrote... the first half... of 'Carolina Darkness'?"
"Well, yeah... I thought you knew."
"No. No, I didn't know. Excuse me."
Chandler barreled over to Megan and Brent, taking Megan by the arm. "Excuse me, Brent, I need to borrow her."
He hauled Megan around the side of the house.
"Chandler... what... are you mad at me?"
"I am *furious* with you!"
"What... what did I do?"
"You work in a hellhole where dogs vomit on you! You drive an eleven-year-old car! You fall all over yourself thanking me for a *dress* I picked out at *Wal-Mart*, and you didn't tell me that you wrote half a book I made a *shitload* of money on?"
"Oh," Megan said quietly.
"Yeah, 'oh'! That's a pretty big freakin' 'oh'! Megan, I owe you hundreds of thousands of dollars! Not to mention your name on the cover! I can't... I can't *believe* you didn't tell me!"
"Chandler, please don't be mad..."
"I can't help it! You're crazy! You're completely insane!"
"No I'm not, Chandler, seriously. Look. I was *ghost-writing* that book for your mom, okay? She had a deadline, she was sick, I was trying to help. My part of the book wasn't any good! It was the changes *you* made that were so awesome!"
"The first part of the book was *brilliant*," Chandler said through gritted teeth. "I changed it because I had no idea where to go with your story. No other reason."
"Chandler... please don't do this to your mother. What are you going to do, take her name off her last book? She came up with the ideas, Chandler! I was just the writing tool. Seriously, think about this. It would totally tarnish her memory."
"It's not fair," Chandler muttered. "It is totally... *totally*... not fair."
"Okay, I tell you what," Megan said, putting a consoling arm on his sleeve. "I'll write another book someday! And when I do, well, you can *totally* pimp me to your agent, and write me a super-glowing review, okay?"
"You don't have *time* to write," Chandler spat. "You work *two* jobs, Megan. I'm putting your name on the cover."
"Chandler, no! Chandler... please? If you do that, you'll *ruin* what I was trying to do for her. Everything would have been for nothing! Look, Chandler, I'm basically begging you here. Why would you do something *for me* that I really, really don't want you to do?"
"Quit your jobs," Chandler stated.
"What...? I can't..."
"Quit your jobs. You have a new job. You work for me."
"I already work for you, Chandler... I'm your caretaker, remember?"
"So now you work for me full-time. You're my new assistant. Answer my fan mail, shoot my stalkers. You know."
"You don't have any stalkers."
"Which is why *you* will be required to diligently spend all your time writing and waiting for me to *get* stalkers."
"Chandler. I don't want a sugar daddy."
"Yeah, well, *I* want an assistant, and I want it to be you. I get a lot of fan mail, you know. There would be real work involved."
"Chandler... I don't even live in the same *city*..."
"Megan! Do you have any idea how *insane* this is going to drive me? You won't let me be honest and put your name on the cover. You won't let me pay you the money I owe you. You're basically setting me up to be the planet's biggest shithead, here... do you realize that?"
"I would never, never think you were a shithead..."
"I don't care! I would! Would you *please* at least let me do this half-assed, not-nearly-enough thing!"
She crossed her arms and looked at him defiantly. Chandler groaned. "Look, Megan. Do you *like* getting puked on by dogs? Cleaning out disgusting cages? Getting called in at six in the morning on your birthday?"
"Not... really..."
"So take this job, *please*. I'll agree to all the other crap. Just do this one thing for me... for my sanity?"
"I'm just not comfortable with this..."
Chandler crossed his arms, readying his killing blow. "You said you'd give me your liver, your first-born child, *anything* I wanted. *This* is what I want. Give it to me, or you are a damn dirty liar."
Megan sighed. "Fine. You're an ass, but fine."
"Damn skippy."
He broke into a smile. "You really... you really do look just amazingly beautiful."
Megan thrust a finger in his face. "No way, Bing. You can't piss me off and then get all sweet on me. I'm not gonna forgive you for at *least* fifteen more minutes. And until then, buddy, you just better start sufferin'."
She started to stalk off, then turned around. "And for your information...? I'm gonna be the most ruthlessly efficient assistant, *ever*. In two weeks, you're going to wonder how you ever functioned without me."
She turned and power-walked over to some of her friends. Chandler laughed and took a sip of his beer.
"Already wondering that, Leia," he sighed. "Been wondering that for months."
***
Monica let herself into the apartment, sighing a little.
Home. Finally.
"Hey, Aunt Monica," Ben called, standing at the door of the guest room. "How's Grandpa?"
Oh... Ben. She'd forgotten Carol and Susan were going to drop him off here. This sort of ruined her "angrily throw everything Chandler owned into boxes" plan.
"He's doing a *lot* better, sweetie." She looked at Ben and saw tears in his eyes. "Aw, honey... c'mere."
Ben rushed into her arms, his head colliding with her breasts. Monica sprang back involuntarily. "Ow!"
Ben's face fell even further. "I hurt you?"
"No, no, sweetie, sorry. My fault. Give me a hug."
Ben did so, tentatively, and Monica bit her lip not to cry out in pain as his head snuggled into her chest. She wrapped her arms around him. "Ben, honey. Grandpa's going to be fine. Tell you what... after I shower and take a nap, we'll both go back to the hospital and see him, okay?"
"Okay," Ben said, swallowing hard.
"I'm just gonna get a shower," Monica said weakly, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door.
She touched her breast experimentally. Ow. Ow. Ow! What the hell? They'd never hurt like this before her period before.
She turned on the water, stripping off her clothes, removing her shirt and bra very gingerly. Under the faucet, she lathered up her hair, trying to remember when her period was supposed to start anyway. Once she and Chandler had given up on conceiving, she'd basically stopped tracking it.
Twenty-eight days... and the last time had been, huh. Just a little bit before Chandler went on tour, so...
Two weeks ago.
It should have started two *weeks* ago.
Monica jumped out of the shower, conditioner dripping from her hair, and began to fumble in the drawers for a pregnancy test.
***
"Caaaaaaaake," Megan intoned, holding up her arms like Frankenstein and lumbering across the living room. "Must... have... more... caaaaaaaaaake..."
Chandler turned around from putting another CD on and caught her around the waist with an arm. Megan continued to Frankenstein in place.
"Look, I didn't buy you the cake so you could kill yourself with it. You've already had two pieces."
"Caaaaaaaaake..."
"Nope."
"Caaaaaaaaake..."
"Nope. No more cake for you." Chandler tightened his grip around her.
Megan squirmed like a cat, reaching in the air towards the forbidden box. "C'mon, Chandler, I'll take an extra Glucophage. It's my *birthday*! Don't be mean. I'll test my glucose, right now. You'll see -- it's fine. One more piece."
"Nope, sorry," he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. "You're just going to have to hang out here while I clean."
"Okay, either I'm too short, or you're too strong."
"I'm burly and buff. Also, you're a midget."
"I'm a midget who needs cake! C'mon, let me eat one of the flowers off the top."
"Nope. I'm cuttin' you off." Chandler finished changing the CD and began to pick up plastic cups from around the room. "See, I can do this all night. Because of the buffness. There's no escaping for you."
"I'll tickle your knees!" Megan threatened, reaching down with her fingers. "Muahahahaaa!"
"My knees aren't ticklish, nyah."
"Well hey there, you guys," an angry voice said from the back door. Chandler turned to see Brent, holding a trash bag and wearing a look of jealous rage. "Megan... *darling*... I can see your *underwear*."
"Well, there's only one solution for *that*," Megan chirped. "Cake! More cake is the cure for all underwear visibility!"
"See... you're not even making sense," Chandler laughed, throwing cups in the trash. "No more sugar, no way."
"The cake/underwear correlation has been proven in many double-blind trials," Megan protested. "And I should at least get half a piece for using 'correlation' in a sentence."
Brent spun on his heel and slammed the back door. Megan let out a wet raspberry in his general direction.
"Ah, young love," Chandler gushed.
"Bite me, Bing."
"I just might. I mean, your butt's right here in my face..."
"No butt biting! No butt biting!" Megan shrieked, beating his back with her fists.
The phone rang, and Chandler jogged for it, bouncing Megan up and down. He grabbed the phone and put it to his ear.
"House of a Thousand Butt-Bites..."
"Chandler?"
"Hey, Neil, sorry. What's up?"
"Chandler, finally. Look. Your father-in-law had a heart attack. I've canceled the next week's worth of signings, and I got you a plane ticket home. Can you be at the Atlanta airport in an hour?"
Chandler lowered Megan to the ground. She stared at him with a look of concern.
"Sure, Neil. I can be there. I'll leave right now."
"Okay, Chandler. I'll call you in a week, see how it's going, okay?"
"Thanks, Neil..."
Chandler hung up the phone.
"Chandler... what's wrong?"
"Jack Geller... that's my wife's dad... had a heart attack. I'm going to New York."
"Oh my god! Do you need me to drive you to the airport?"
"I still have the rental car."
"I'll help you pack."
"Megan, it's your birthday. Go be with the birthday people."
"It's my birthday, and I want to be with *you*."
"Okay, fine. Help me pack. Freak."
"Bigger freak. I'll get your suitcase."
***
Positive.
Monica set the stick down on the countertop, sliding back into the shower... she'd gotten conditioner all over the floor.
This... changed everything.
***
"Well, bye," Megan said, hugging Chandler tight. "I'll miss you. See you... next year, I guess."
He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "I mean it, now. No more cake. Seriously."
He kissed the top of her head, then turned abruptly and headed out to the rental car.
Megan raised her hand in farewell, not dropping it until he drove away.
She made it all the way upstairs to the guest bathroom before she started crying, curling herself into a ball against the bathroom door and pulling down a hand towel to muffle the sounds.
What was she doing? How colossally, incredibly stupid was she?
This was wonderful, just wonderful. Because nothing was a better way to get past being engaged to an emotional vacuum cleaner than falling in love with a *married guy*.
And she *was* in love with him. She couldn't deny that anymore.
But mostly... mostly she just *missed* him. All the time. It seemed like she was constantly looking around for him, wanting to tell him something... like he'd been in the bathroom, for a year.
There was no one she could talk to like she talked to him, no one. Her friends were great, but there wasn't that spark, that sort of click, where she felt comfortable spouting off whatever crazy thing came into her head.
And he was so *sweet*. And so *good*. One of the reasons she *liked* him so much was how faithful he was to his wife... which basically meant she'd never be with him, ever.
And every time he touched her... oh, god. It was like every pore on her skin woke up and started screaming for attention. Even when he'd grabbed her, yanked her down the deck... part of her had been flying, hoping that he'd toss her against the house, press his body into hers, kiss her until her lips bruised and her knees gave out...
She dropped the hand towel, sighing. She was an idiot. He loved his wife, and that was all there was to it. She just needed to get over it, move on, quit being a freak. If she wanted to stay his friend, she was going to have to quit following him around like a puppy dog.
She hung the towel back up, crossed to the sink, and splashed water on her face.
Right. Birthday. Party. She could do this.