2008
"Hi Uncle Chandler," Emma sighed, barely looking up from her Game Boy as Chandler slid into the passenger seat. "Let me guess. I'm *so* much bigger than the last time you saw me."
"Well, hey, Emma," he smiled, buckling his seatbelt. "I was just about to say -- did you *shrink*?"
"Oh, yeah," she said curtly, mesmerized in her beeping machine. "Almost forgot what you were like."
Chandler shot a quick look at Ross. "Six years old and already the master of the apathetic deadpan? You *sure* she's not mine?"
"She's the most popular kid in her class," Ross said.
"Yup," Chandler sighed, settling back into his seat. "Not mine." He paused. "You sure she's yours?"
Ross smiled, steering the car out of the airport. "She's all Rachel. Talk to me in ten years when I'm living in hell."
"Whaddya mean?"
"Remember Rachel, dating everything, me going nuts, popping blood vessels? Y'okay, now imagine *me*... being Rachel's *dad*."
"Ohhhh, man," Chandler said, patting Ross on the shoulder. "I'm sorry."
He sat back. "Where *is* Rachel?"
"She's with Monica. I thought we'd go pick them up, eat some lunch. The others said they'd meet us at the restaurant."
Chandler nodded. "How's Monica doing?"
"Not so great. Sorta shell-shocked. She's handling it, though, I think she's..."
Ross trailed off with a quick glance at Emma in the rearview mirror. Chandler didn't need him to finish his sentence, though.
Monica had been through death before.
They drove in relative silence for a while, the steady stream of synthesized music out of Emma's Game Boy the only accompaniment.
"How are you guys doing?" Chandler finally asked.
"We're doing well," Ross said pleasantly. "Rachel got a promotion a few months ago. I'm teaching a few extra subjects that I really enjoy. Ben has a girlfriend now, Emma got picked to play the lead in her play..."
Chandler suppressed a little frown... he hadn't asked for the 'Geller Yeller' version. Maybe he'd try again when Emma wasn't three feet away.
"And you?" Ross said, still sounding like he was at a cocktail party.
"Ah... I'm good, too... mainly trying to keep the studio from screwing my book up too much. They want to 'punch it up', make it more 'zow'. That's actually the word the guy I have to talk to keeps using... 'zow'... which, apparently, translates into 'big cleavage and bigger explosions'."
"Ouch," Ross murmured.
"So yeah, I'm fighting it, but don't be surprised if you and Rachel end up watching yourselves in gratuitous shower scenes."
"That will amuse Rachel."
"I'm glad somebody will be amused. I think it sucks."
Ross eased the minivan into a space in front of Richard's building and turned the engine off. "They'll be down in a second."
Sure enough, the front door jangled, and Monica and Rachel stepped out. Chandler let his jaw drop a little... better to get it over with here, where they couldn't see him.
Monica looked pale and washed-out... he'd expected that. She'd gained a little weight, but it looked good on her... privately, he'd thought she'd been a little too skinny. Still, in jeans and a silk blouse, she looked like the Monica he'd remembered... maybe just a little more formal.
Rachel, however... was *shockingly* frumpy.
It wasn't just that she was pregnant... Rachel had been the height of cool from conception to birth, with Emma. It was... everything else.
He'd never been able to see the resemblance to her mother before, ever... and now it screamed out at him. Rachel had chopped all her hair off into one of those 'easy-care' short layery things that he would forever associate with soccer moms and PTA leaders. Sensible loafers stuck out beneath the sort of baggy, khaki maternity dress that Rachel would have hurled away in horror six years ago.
Rachel's face turned to the light, and Chandler silently rescinded the 'frumpy'... Rachel was, and probably always would be, just too naturally beautiful for that one. But now, she looked... pleasantly attractive. Before, she'd been... exotically stunning. You could throw her into a Gymboree class now and not be able to pick her out.
Rachel looked like the sort of woman who'd own a bathing suit with slimming panels and a little flouncy skirt.
"Hey, you guys," Rachel called, sliding the minivan's huge side door open.
"You want shotgun?" Chandler asked.
"Nah... I like to annoy Emma by staring at her game," Rachel said, sliding into the far seat and putting her head on Emma's shoulder.
"Moooooooom," Emma groaned.
"Hey, Chandler," Monica said softly. Her voice was a little hoarse, and Chandler felt a little gut-stab at the thought of all the crying she'd been doing lately.
"Hey, Mon," he smiled. "You look pretty. I like that shirt."
"All right, guys, let's go... we're gonna be late," Ross said, breaking the moment. "Everybody have their seatbelt on?"
Chandler regarded Ross out of the corner of his eye. Ross Geller, super-dad. Just what he'd always wanted, right down to the minivan.
***
Chandler had to hold in his laughter when they pulled up in front of the Chuck E. Cheese on 48th.
"And the times, they are a changin'," Dylan sang in his head.
A stunning blonde woman ran over to their van excitedly, and it took Chandler a moment to process her as Phoebe. This was his shock over Rachel, only backwards... Phoebe had always looked nice, but she'd never looked like *this*.
Whatever they'd done to her... they'd done a good job. He'd caught her and Mike's music videos, and assumed that she looked that way because of filters and makeup, but he'd been mistaken. Pheebs was the oldest of all of them, but now she looked a good ten years younger. There was someone, someone she was reminding him of, someone he hadn't seen in a while...
Oh yeah. That would be Mom.
"Oh my god, you guys!" Phoebe shrieked, risking her flawless french manicure to wrench the door open. "Yaaaaaaay!"
Phoebe began to hop up and down in shoes clearly not designed for hopping, hands flying everywhere and perfectly highlighted layers flopping.
Apparently stardom had only changed Phoebe's exterior, and Chandler found himself grinning helplessly.
"Where is everybody?" Ross asked.
"They're inside. We may have to take Joey back with a fight, though... he's off playing Skee-Ball with the kids."
They headed inside the noisy restaurant. Mike and Kristen, Joey's wife, were sitting at a large table just outside the play area, supervising Joey and his cluster of small people.
"Can Joey come play with the grown-ups?" Chandler called across the railing, and Joey looked up in delight.
"Dude!" he squealed, leaning down to press his tickets and remaining tokens into his stepdaughter's hand before running over and tackling Chandler in a bear hug.
"Daddy," Emma said firmly, pulling on Ross' sweater.
"Here you go, hon," Ross said, handing her some bills.
Emma ran into the play area, and Joey wrapped his arm around Chandler's shoulders. "C'mon... Mike and Kris got us a table where we can make sure they don't kill themselves."
Chandler shot an uneasy glance at Monica, watching her face. This was an awful lot of children and merriment to get rubbed in her face.
"I should have brought Evan and Caitlyn," she laughed softly, taking a seat next to Joey and reaching for her water glass.
"Who are Evan and Caitlyn, Mon?" Phoebe asked.
"Two of my grandkids. Harry's too little, and the others say Chuck E. Cheese is for 'babies'. Evan and Caitlyn still love it here, though... they'll be pissed that Memaw went without them."
"Grandkids, wow," Joey grinned. "You're waaaay ahead of us."
"Yeah, I skipped right to the ones that I can give back when they wet their pants," Monica smiled.
"Maybe we should have done that, huh?" Mike teased, poking Phoebe in the ribs.
"Hey, you knew twins and triplets ran in my family when you married my ass," Phoebe pointed a breadstick at him menacingly.
"Pheebs likes to get *all* the labor over at once," Mike said, brushing a piece of her hair back fondly.
"I just like my kids to match," Phoebe grinned, biting into her breadstick.
***
Chandler stubbed his cigarette out and walked back inside, stunned all over again by the sheer noise level, the electronic blips, the small screeches of joy and dismay.
"Don't worry, it just starts melding with your brain patterns after a while," Rachel said, coming up behind him.
"That doesn't sound like something I'd enjoy," Chandler laughed.
"Yeah, well, once you start dreaming to the soundtrack of 'Mario Kart', you pretty much surrender yourself to it."
"Rach... are you okay? You've been awfully quiet today."
Rachel smiled a little, hand smoothing over her stomach. "Yeah, I'm all right. Being with Monica this morning kinda took it out of me. She's just... so sad, you know?"
"She seems pretty okay right now..."
"She didn't want to bring everybody down. She was worried about it."
"It's her husband's funeral tomorrow... I think she's allowed!"
"Well, it's also the first time we've all been together in a while."
They walked back over to the table, shooting each other an amused look as two women in a booth talked excitedly about the presence of the Hannigans and the Tribbianis in the restaurant.
"So how are you doing?" Chandler asked.
"Oh, we're good. I got a promotion... Ross is teaching some extra classes that he enjoys..."
"Oh, for god's sake, not the same speech Ross gave me. How are you really doing?"
"Chandler... please don't make me cry in front of an animatronic mouse... it's embarrassing."
His voice dropped. "That bad, huh?"
"Not that bad," she smiled, then fingered the back of her head self-consciously. "You hate my hair."
"I don't... hate your hair..."
"It's totally okay to hate my hair," Rachel sighed. "I hate my hair."
"Why'd you cut it?"
"I went to this faculty party with Ross a few years ago," Rachel sighed, playing with her water glass. "Wearing, you know, my normal stuff. And everyone started saying to him how *sweet* it was that he'd brought his *daughter*."
"Hey, you should have been flattered!"
"Well I woulda been, if they hadn't been so *obviously* horrified when he told them I was his wife... and if they hadn't *stared* at me like I was the... Trailer Trash Whore Of Babylon."
"Aw, Rach, c'mon..."
"No, seriously, okay?" Rachel snapped. "You weren't there, it was horrible."
"I'm sorry, Rachel."
"Well, Ross has this professor friend... Dr. Michaels... and his wife, Nancy, she's really sweet. I was sort of..." Rachel sighed in embarrassment, "... crying, in a coat closet... and she found me, you know, and asked me to lunch the next day. Took me shopping, helped me pick stuff out, took me to her stylist. And he... did this... to my hair."
She let out another sigh, touching her hair gingerly. "Anyway... Ross really liked it... and everyone was so much nicer to me after that..."
Chandler stared at Rachel in dismay. "But Rach... your hair was gorgeous. And you're a *great* dresser. I mean, c'mon, you work at Ralph Lauren, it's not like you're reduced to drooling incompetence at the sight of pants."
"Yeah, but Chandler... you don't *know*, okay? We *live* on campus, we *eat* on campus, I mean, I walk around that place, and Ross... Ross might as well be wearing a t-shirt that says 'I'm With Stupid'."
"You are *not* stupid."
"Well... I *feel* like it. Every day. At least this way I can... blend into the background."
"Rachel... you don't *need* to blend into the *background*! You're awesome."
He reached across the table for her hand as a machine behind them came to life and began blaring. They both jumped, shocked into laughter.
"You know, Chandler... it's funny... I think I read 'Carolina Darkness' about ten times a year."
"You do?"
"It's nice to visit everybody." She ran a fingertip around the rim of her water glass. "It's nice to visit *me*."
Rachel's eyes focused on the play area in the distance, where Joey was holding his stepdaughter by her heels and tickling her tummy unmercifully.
"Rachel... why don't you just ask Ross if you could move off-campus? Get a house of your own... friends of your own."
"He's so *happy*, Chandler. He *loves* it there. I couldn't ask him to do that."
"So what, you're just gonna live the rest of your life trapped in the first half of 'Legally Blonde'?"
Rachel let out a surprised laugh, bending over. "I didn't really think about it that way... maybe I should get a little dog..."
"You don't need a little dog," Chandler spat. "You need some happiness of your own, some friends of your own. You'll wither up and die if you live your life for someone else, Rachel."
Rachel looked at him, a little smile playing over her face. "Chandler Bing," she laughed gently.
"What? What's that supposed to mean? What's so funny?"
"You are. Do you have any idea how much you've changed?"
"We've all changed."
"Yeah, but..." Rachel reached out, touching the grey streaks at the sides of Chandler's hair wistfully. "You know what? I think you did the best job at it."
***
"Monica, c'mon," Phoebe begged. "You should stay at the hotel tonight! We'll all be there! We can have a slumber party."
"There's no room for me, Pheebs," Monica sighed, forcing her lips into a smile as she slid out of the van. "I have stuff I need to do at the house..."
"Of course there's room! Chandler has two beds just like the rest of us. You don't mind bunking in with Monica, do you, Chandler?"
"Of course not," Chandler said. "But Pheebs, I think Monica *wants* to go home."
Monica looked up at her apartment building, up to the two windows that belonged to her and Richard's apartment. It was dark inside, and the curtains hung heavy and limp against the windows.
Another night alone, staring at nothing...
"I'll come with you guys," she said, stepping back into the van.
"Yaaaaaay!" Phoebe and Joey cried in unison.
***
"So, um..." Chandler said awkwardly as they entered the room. "Which, uh, bed do you want?"
"Is this too weird? Should I not have come?"
"Hell no, Mon. None of us wanted you to be alone tonight. I just wanna know where to drop my suitcase."
Monica flopped down on the bed closest to the window, and Chandler set his suitcase on the other one and flipped the latches open.
"I feel so guilty," Monica said, staring at the ceiling.
"Why?"
"Because I'm so happy to see you guys. Because I'm actually having a good time. It feels... disrespectful."
"Do you really think Richard would have wanted you to roll around in sackcloth and ashes? He'd be glad you had friends with you."
He paused, hands in suitcase, wondering if this was the right time. "Um... I brought you something."
He pulled the book out of his case and passed it to her.
"Is this your new book?"
"Open it."
Monica did, her eye falling onto the dedication. "Oh... Chandler..."
She burst into violent tears, setting the book aside and burying her face in her hands. Chandler's face plummeted.
"Oh, dammit... I didn't mean to upset you..."
"You didn't, you didn't, Chandler... it's sweet, it's so sweet. It's just... god... he loved your books so much... I just wish he could see this."
"We all wish he were here, Mon." Chandler sat on the bed beside her, and Monica turned with a sob to wrap her arms around him.
"C'mon," Chandler said soothingly, laying down on the bed and pulling Monica with him, her head snuggling into its old spot on his chest. "Let it out, babe. It's okay."
He rubbed her back gently, and Monica clutched a fistful of his shirt. "I just miss him... oh my god, I miss him... and I don't, I just don't believe he's gone... I mean, I know, I really do know, but I keep turning around and expecting to see him... I think I *do* see him, out of the corner of my eye, and I just... god, Chandler, I screwed it all up so bad!"
"You didn't screw anything up, Mon," Chandler sighed.
"Yes I did! Yes I did! If I hadn't dumped him when I did, we could have had so much longer together... you might have ended up with Megan..."
Chandler stiffened, and Monica raised herself up on an elbow. "I shouldn't have brought that up..."
"No, no, it's okay, I was just surprised. Lay back down."
She did. "How *is* Megan?"
"Still married..."
"Oh Chandler, Chandler, I'm sorry," Monica moaned, burying her face in his neck.
"Mon... it wasn't meant to be, you know?"
She sniffled. "I think it was..."
"Well, maybe it was. I guess that gets filed under 'Tough Shit', though, doesn't it?"
Monica craned her neck up to meet his eyes.
"Chandler... do you ever worry that our whole lives are going to end up in that file?"
***
"Hey, man," Joey said as he opened the door. "Where's Monica?"
"She fell asleep. Where's your brood?"
"Kristen took the kids down to stay at my parents. She's... just not that comfortable hanging out with you guys."
"Why?"
"Okay, she's not that comfortable hanging out with Rachel," Joey amended, sitting down on the bed.
"Jesus, Joe... all that stuff happened years ago."
"I know. It's just... me bein' around Rachel pisses Kris off. We actually got into it a little, y'know, before she left... I mean, not bad, 'cause the kids were here, but... you know when you're talkin' to someone, and nothin' you're actually sayin' is all that bad... but you walk out of it wanting to cry anyway?"
"Oh, yeah."
"It was one of those. She said I 'couldn't stop looking at her the whole night'. Which I woulda been more pissed off about, y'know, if it hadn't been true."
"Oh," Chandler said softly.
Joey flung himself onto his back. "I just wonder, y'know? I mean, how much longer is this gonna take? How many more years until I forget about her? I keep goin' through these milestones, you know? And at each one, I keep thinkin... this is it, this is gonna be the thing that gets Rachel outta my mind. And it never happens."
"You love your wife, though..."
"Honestly? Not that much, man. You know I thought Mary was mine when I married her, right?"
"Wow, Joe... no, no I didn't."
"Well, it wasn't exactly the kinda thing I wanted to take out a bulletin board in Times Square about, right? I just wonder, though... I mean, sometimes I just feel like she's riding me as far as I'll go."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, her first husband... Ashley and Brian's dad. He was a director, got her the first roles she ever had. And then there was Derek, everybody knows about him... and now me... and I just kinda wonder who's next, you know? I love her kids and god, they've had so many dads already..."
"Wow."
"And you know... sometimes I look at her outta the corner of my eye, when we're at a party or somethin'... and she's just scannin' the room. Like the Terminator, y'know? Wheels in her head clicking. You know what it makes me think about?"
"What."
"That party on the roof. You know, all these soap guys there, really hot -- I mean, most of them were gay, but whatever -- and Rachel just wanted me. Just me."
"She's married," Chandler pointed out needlessly.
"I know, dude. Believe me. I know. And she loves Ross. I mean, me and Rachel, we were like... five minutes. They're a lifetime."
Joey sighed. "I mean... they're lobsters."
Joey sat up, grinning at Chandler. "How about us, huh? Two famous guys pinin' over married chicks. How sad are we?"
"Pretty sad, Joe," Chandler grinned back, laying down across the other bed.
"You ever tell Megan how you feel?"
"Keith's my friend and my illustrator. How could I do that to him?"
"You think she knows?"
"Maybe. I don't think so, though. I've been really careful."
"You seen anybody else?"
"Nope."
"Not even to..."
"Nope."
"You haven't had sex in three years?"
"Nope."
Joey raised himself up on an elbow, shaking his head. "Damn. You know what this means, right?"
"What's that?"
"We are so crackin' into that minibar."
***
Chandler opened the door to his room unsteadily, aiming for his pocket twice before successfully putting the key back into it.
"Where were you?" Monica's voice asked from the darkness.
"With Joey... I thought you were asleep."
"I was. Are you drunk?"
"I'm soooper-drunk." He tried to set his wallet on the nightstand, and it fell to the carpet with a soft thump.
"Oh, god," Monica sighed, clicking on the light. "C'mere."
Chandler crashed face-down on his bed, and Monica pulled his shoes and socks off.
"C'mon, flip over, I'm taking off your pants."
"I like my pants. They feel nice on my legs."
"Chandler, you can't sleep in your pants. Roll over."
"Cantoosleepinmypants."
Monica groaned, hefting him over, and attacked his belt buckle.
"Sssh, you'll wake it up."
"I'm not even touching it... or I wouldn't be, if you'd quit squirming."
"Squirm," Chandler said happily. "That's such a *bitchin'* word."
"I... can't... believe..." Monica huffed, yanking off his pants a few inches at a time, "I... was... telling... Rachel... how... mature... you'd... become."
She overestimated the force of her last yank and ended up falling on her butt on the floor, holding his pants.
"I'm drunk... and yet you are the one falling down," Chandler noticed, enunciating carefully.
"Do you want me to beat you with these pants?"
"I'm not afraid of you..."
Monica leapt up and began whapping Chandler with his khakis. Chandler giggled and held up his arms, and she crawled onto the bed, straddling him and whipping the cuffs at his head.
"No more! No more!" Chandler shrieked, grabbing Monica by the wrists and forcing her down on the bed.
They lay there, panting, staring at each other, heat building.
"Sorry," Chandler said awkwardly, rolling off of her. "Got a little out of hand there."
"Yeah," she said briskly, brushing her hair back into place with her hands. "Sorry about that."
"You're... you're still on my bed."
"So I am, so I am," Monica quickly hopped over to her bed. "Well, goodnight then."
"Goodnight."
Monica turned out the light and they lay on their backs in the darkness, struggling to get their breath under control.
***
Monica groped for the ringing phone, wrestling it to her ear. "Hello?"
Silence for a moment. "Um... is this Chandler Bing's room?"
A woman... crying, by the sound of it. "Yes, it is... is it really important? If it is, I can wake him up... we were asleep."
"Um... no. No thank you. That's okay. Don't wake him up. It's not important. I'm sorry I woke you up."
"Um... it *sounds* important. Do you want me to take a message?"
"No message. Thanks, Monica."
Dial tone. Monica hung up the phone, rolling back underneath the covers with a yawn, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
***
"Hey, man," Ross called, pushing the sliding glass doors to the Gellers' back porch open. "Whatcha doing out here?"
"Ah... just needed some fresh air," Chandler said, quickly sliding his cigarette pack into his suit pants.
"Uh-huh," Ross said dubiously. "*Smells* fresh."
"How you doing?"
"Well, it's a funeral," Ross smiled. "Not really doin' cartwheels."
"I meant in general. And please -- not the faculty party version."
Ross' face slid for a moment, then rearranged itself. "I'm fine. Everything's fine."
"Sure. I believe that." Chandler tapped ashes into Mrs. Geller's hydrangea bushes.
"I have everything I've wanted since the ninth grade," Ross said. "Why wouldn't I be fine? I'm spectacular."
"You know," Chandler said, looking out at the back garden, "When I was in ninth grade, I wanted to be a fighter pilot."
Ross shot him a confused look. "Okaaay..."
"Yeah, I really did. I wanted the cool shades, y'know, to be the master of the sky, hang around with tough fighter-pilot guys, have Tom Cruise's hair."
"I'm glad we're sharing..."
"I would have been a shitty fighter pilot."
"Excuse me?"
"Yeah, I would have been total crap at it. I mean, assuming I quit throwing up long enough to land the plane. But I didn't know myself back then, y'know? I only knew what looked neat."
"What are you trying to say?" Ross' voice glistened with frost.
"Nothing." Chandler put his cigarette out on his shoe and stuck the butt in his pocket. "Just rambling."
"Not everything is like one of your books, Chandler." Ross leaned against the railing. "I mean, you have your little fantasy-world, and that works for you, and that's great, man... I'm happy for you. Pining artistically's your thing, and you're good at it."
Chandler's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Real relationships take compromise... compromise and work. Not everything is... doin' it in rainstorms, okay? I mean, do people have to have sex in a rainstorm in *every* book you write?"
"Are you criticising me, or my love scenes?"
"I'm just defending myself, that's all. Defending my *life*. Since you seem to be looking down on it from your lofty romantic pinnacle of... sainted celibacy."
"Joey talks too much," Chandler muttered.
"Get over her, man," Ross said flatly. "She's married. You have to respect that. That's the most important thing. It's been *years*, Chandler... and you're getting *old*. Find someone else, be happy."
"I'll find someone else."
"Good...!"
"When I find someone else who makes me feel the way she does. Because no one else does, Ross. And now that I've felt that way... I'm not settling for anything else."
"You have to let go first. It doesn't work that way."
"Who are you to talk about letting go? C'mon, Ross, listen to yourself. Look at who you married!"
"I'm going inside."
"Ross, wait..."
"No, man, I'm going inside. I'm not getting into a fight at my brother-in-law's funeral, okay?"
The sliding glass door shut, and Chandler turned away, shaking his head.
"Hi Uncle Chandler," Emma sighed, barely looking up from her Game Boy as Chandler slid into the passenger seat. "Let me guess. I'm *so* much bigger than the last time you saw me."
"Well, hey, Emma," he smiled, buckling his seatbelt. "I was just about to say -- did you *shrink*?"
"Oh, yeah," she said curtly, mesmerized in her beeping machine. "Almost forgot what you were like."
Chandler shot a quick look at Ross. "Six years old and already the master of the apathetic deadpan? You *sure* she's not mine?"
"She's the most popular kid in her class," Ross said.
"Yup," Chandler sighed, settling back into his seat. "Not mine." He paused. "You sure she's yours?"
Ross smiled, steering the car out of the airport. "She's all Rachel. Talk to me in ten years when I'm living in hell."
"Whaddya mean?"
"Remember Rachel, dating everything, me going nuts, popping blood vessels? Y'okay, now imagine *me*... being Rachel's *dad*."
"Ohhhh, man," Chandler said, patting Ross on the shoulder. "I'm sorry."
He sat back. "Where *is* Rachel?"
"She's with Monica. I thought we'd go pick them up, eat some lunch. The others said they'd meet us at the restaurant."
Chandler nodded. "How's Monica doing?"
"Not so great. Sorta shell-shocked. She's handling it, though, I think she's..."
Ross trailed off with a quick glance at Emma in the rearview mirror. Chandler didn't need him to finish his sentence, though.
Monica had been through death before.
They drove in relative silence for a while, the steady stream of synthesized music out of Emma's Game Boy the only accompaniment.
"How are you guys doing?" Chandler finally asked.
"We're doing well," Ross said pleasantly. "Rachel got a promotion a few months ago. I'm teaching a few extra subjects that I really enjoy. Ben has a girlfriend now, Emma got picked to play the lead in her play..."
Chandler suppressed a little frown... he hadn't asked for the 'Geller Yeller' version. Maybe he'd try again when Emma wasn't three feet away.
"And you?" Ross said, still sounding like he was at a cocktail party.
"Ah... I'm good, too... mainly trying to keep the studio from screwing my book up too much. They want to 'punch it up', make it more 'zow'. That's actually the word the guy I have to talk to keeps using... 'zow'... which, apparently, translates into 'big cleavage and bigger explosions'."
"Ouch," Ross murmured.
"So yeah, I'm fighting it, but don't be surprised if you and Rachel end up watching yourselves in gratuitous shower scenes."
"That will amuse Rachel."
"I'm glad somebody will be amused. I think it sucks."
Ross eased the minivan into a space in front of Richard's building and turned the engine off. "They'll be down in a second."
Sure enough, the front door jangled, and Monica and Rachel stepped out. Chandler let his jaw drop a little... better to get it over with here, where they couldn't see him.
Monica looked pale and washed-out... he'd expected that. She'd gained a little weight, but it looked good on her... privately, he'd thought she'd been a little too skinny. Still, in jeans and a silk blouse, she looked like the Monica he'd remembered... maybe just a little more formal.
Rachel, however... was *shockingly* frumpy.
It wasn't just that she was pregnant... Rachel had been the height of cool from conception to birth, with Emma. It was... everything else.
He'd never been able to see the resemblance to her mother before, ever... and now it screamed out at him. Rachel had chopped all her hair off into one of those 'easy-care' short layery things that he would forever associate with soccer moms and PTA leaders. Sensible loafers stuck out beneath the sort of baggy, khaki maternity dress that Rachel would have hurled away in horror six years ago.
Rachel's face turned to the light, and Chandler silently rescinded the 'frumpy'... Rachel was, and probably always would be, just too naturally beautiful for that one. But now, she looked... pleasantly attractive. Before, she'd been... exotically stunning. You could throw her into a Gymboree class now and not be able to pick her out.
Rachel looked like the sort of woman who'd own a bathing suit with slimming panels and a little flouncy skirt.
"Hey, you guys," Rachel called, sliding the minivan's huge side door open.
"You want shotgun?" Chandler asked.
"Nah... I like to annoy Emma by staring at her game," Rachel said, sliding into the far seat and putting her head on Emma's shoulder.
"Moooooooom," Emma groaned.
"Hey, Chandler," Monica said softly. Her voice was a little hoarse, and Chandler felt a little gut-stab at the thought of all the crying she'd been doing lately.
"Hey, Mon," he smiled. "You look pretty. I like that shirt."
"All right, guys, let's go... we're gonna be late," Ross said, breaking the moment. "Everybody have their seatbelt on?"
Chandler regarded Ross out of the corner of his eye. Ross Geller, super-dad. Just what he'd always wanted, right down to the minivan.
***
Chandler had to hold in his laughter when they pulled up in front of the Chuck E. Cheese on 48th.
"And the times, they are a changin'," Dylan sang in his head.
A stunning blonde woman ran over to their van excitedly, and it took Chandler a moment to process her as Phoebe. This was his shock over Rachel, only backwards... Phoebe had always looked nice, but she'd never looked like *this*.
Whatever they'd done to her... they'd done a good job. He'd caught her and Mike's music videos, and assumed that she looked that way because of filters and makeup, but he'd been mistaken. Pheebs was the oldest of all of them, but now she looked a good ten years younger. There was someone, someone she was reminding him of, someone he hadn't seen in a while...
Oh yeah. That would be Mom.
"Oh my god, you guys!" Phoebe shrieked, risking her flawless french manicure to wrench the door open. "Yaaaaaaay!"
Phoebe began to hop up and down in shoes clearly not designed for hopping, hands flying everywhere and perfectly highlighted layers flopping.
Apparently stardom had only changed Phoebe's exterior, and Chandler found himself grinning helplessly.
"Where is everybody?" Ross asked.
"They're inside. We may have to take Joey back with a fight, though... he's off playing Skee-Ball with the kids."
They headed inside the noisy restaurant. Mike and Kristen, Joey's wife, were sitting at a large table just outside the play area, supervising Joey and his cluster of small people.
"Can Joey come play with the grown-ups?" Chandler called across the railing, and Joey looked up in delight.
"Dude!" he squealed, leaning down to press his tickets and remaining tokens into his stepdaughter's hand before running over and tackling Chandler in a bear hug.
"Daddy," Emma said firmly, pulling on Ross' sweater.
"Here you go, hon," Ross said, handing her some bills.
Emma ran into the play area, and Joey wrapped his arm around Chandler's shoulders. "C'mon... Mike and Kris got us a table where we can make sure they don't kill themselves."
Chandler shot an uneasy glance at Monica, watching her face. This was an awful lot of children and merriment to get rubbed in her face.
"I should have brought Evan and Caitlyn," she laughed softly, taking a seat next to Joey and reaching for her water glass.
"Who are Evan and Caitlyn, Mon?" Phoebe asked.
"Two of my grandkids. Harry's too little, and the others say Chuck E. Cheese is for 'babies'. Evan and Caitlyn still love it here, though... they'll be pissed that Memaw went without them."
"Grandkids, wow," Joey grinned. "You're waaaay ahead of us."
"Yeah, I skipped right to the ones that I can give back when they wet their pants," Monica smiled.
"Maybe we should have done that, huh?" Mike teased, poking Phoebe in the ribs.
"Hey, you knew twins and triplets ran in my family when you married my ass," Phoebe pointed a breadstick at him menacingly.
"Pheebs likes to get *all* the labor over at once," Mike said, brushing a piece of her hair back fondly.
"I just like my kids to match," Phoebe grinned, biting into her breadstick.
***
Chandler stubbed his cigarette out and walked back inside, stunned all over again by the sheer noise level, the electronic blips, the small screeches of joy and dismay.
"Don't worry, it just starts melding with your brain patterns after a while," Rachel said, coming up behind him.
"That doesn't sound like something I'd enjoy," Chandler laughed.
"Yeah, well, once you start dreaming to the soundtrack of 'Mario Kart', you pretty much surrender yourself to it."
"Rach... are you okay? You've been awfully quiet today."
Rachel smiled a little, hand smoothing over her stomach. "Yeah, I'm all right. Being with Monica this morning kinda took it out of me. She's just... so sad, you know?"
"She seems pretty okay right now..."
"She didn't want to bring everybody down. She was worried about it."
"It's her husband's funeral tomorrow... I think she's allowed!"
"Well, it's also the first time we've all been together in a while."
They walked back over to the table, shooting each other an amused look as two women in a booth talked excitedly about the presence of the Hannigans and the Tribbianis in the restaurant.
"So how are you doing?" Chandler asked.
"Oh, we're good. I got a promotion... Ross is teaching some extra classes that he enjoys..."
"Oh, for god's sake, not the same speech Ross gave me. How are you really doing?"
"Chandler... please don't make me cry in front of an animatronic mouse... it's embarrassing."
His voice dropped. "That bad, huh?"
"Not that bad," she smiled, then fingered the back of her head self-consciously. "You hate my hair."
"I don't... hate your hair..."
"It's totally okay to hate my hair," Rachel sighed. "I hate my hair."
"Why'd you cut it?"
"I went to this faculty party with Ross a few years ago," Rachel sighed, playing with her water glass. "Wearing, you know, my normal stuff. And everyone started saying to him how *sweet* it was that he'd brought his *daughter*."
"Hey, you should have been flattered!"
"Well I woulda been, if they hadn't been so *obviously* horrified when he told them I was his wife... and if they hadn't *stared* at me like I was the... Trailer Trash Whore Of Babylon."
"Aw, Rach, c'mon..."
"No, seriously, okay?" Rachel snapped. "You weren't there, it was horrible."
"I'm sorry, Rachel."
"Well, Ross has this professor friend... Dr. Michaels... and his wife, Nancy, she's really sweet. I was sort of..." Rachel sighed in embarrassment, "... crying, in a coat closet... and she found me, you know, and asked me to lunch the next day. Took me shopping, helped me pick stuff out, took me to her stylist. And he... did this... to my hair."
She let out another sigh, touching her hair gingerly. "Anyway... Ross really liked it... and everyone was so much nicer to me after that..."
Chandler stared at Rachel in dismay. "But Rach... your hair was gorgeous. And you're a *great* dresser. I mean, c'mon, you work at Ralph Lauren, it's not like you're reduced to drooling incompetence at the sight of pants."
"Yeah, but Chandler... you don't *know*, okay? We *live* on campus, we *eat* on campus, I mean, I walk around that place, and Ross... Ross might as well be wearing a t-shirt that says 'I'm With Stupid'."
"You are *not* stupid."
"Well... I *feel* like it. Every day. At least this way I can... blend into the background."
"Rachel... you don't *need* to blend into the *background*! You're awesome."
He reached across the table for her hand as a machine behind them came to life and began blaring. They both jumped, shocked into laughter.
"You know, Chandler... it's funny... I think I read 'Carolina Darkness' about ten times a year."
"You do?"
"It's nice to visit everybody." She ran a fingertip around the rim of her water glass. "It's nice to visit *me*."
Rachel's eyes focused on the play area in the distance, where Joey was holding his stepdaughter by her heels and tickling her tummy unmercifully.
"Rachel... why don't you just ask Ross if you could move off-campus? Get a house of your own... friends of your own."
"He's so *happy*, Chandler. He *loves* it there. I couldn't ask him to do that."
"So what, you're just gonna live the rest of your life trapped in the first half of 'Legally Blonde'?"
Rachel let out a surprised laugh, bending over. "I didn't really think about it that way... maybe I should get a little dog..."
"You don't need a little dog," Chandler spat. "You need some happiness of your own, some friends of your own. You'll wither up and die if you live your life for someone else, Rachel."
Rachel looked at him, a little smile playing over her face. "Chandler Bing," she laughed gently.
"What? What's that supposed to mean? What's so funny?"
"You are. Do you have any idea how much you've changed?"
"We've all changed."
"Yeah, but..." Rachel reached out, touching the grey streaks at the sides of Chandler's hair wistfully. "You know what? I think you did the best job at it."
***
"Monica, c'mon," Phoebe begged. "You should stay at the hotel tonight! We'll all be there! We can have a slumber party."
"There's no room for me, Pheebs," Monica sighed, forcing her lips into a smile as she slid out of the van. "I have stuff I need to do at the house..."
"Of course there's room! Chandler has two beds just like the rest of us. You don't mind bunking in with Monica, do you, Chandler?"
"Of course not," Chandler said. "But Pheebs, I think Monica *wants* to go home."
Monica looked up at her apartment building, up to the two windows that belonged to her and Richard's apartment. It was dark inside, and the curtains hung heavy and limp against the windows.
Another night alone, staring at nothing...
"I'll come with you guys," she said, stepping back into the van.
"Yaaaaaay!" Phoebe and Joey cried in unison.
***
"So, um..." Chandler said awkwardly as they entered the room. "Which, uh, bed do you want?"
"Is this too weird? Should I not have come?"
"Hell no, Mon. None of us wanted you to be alone tonight. I just wanna know where to drop my suitcase."
Monica flopped down on the bed closest to the window, and Chandler set his suitcase on the other one and flipped the latches open.
"I feel so guilty," Monica said, staring at the ceiling.
"Why?"
"Because I'm so happy to see you guys. Because I'm actually having a good time. It feels... disrespectful."
"Do you really think Richard would have wanted you to roll around in sackcloth and ashes? He'd be glad you had friends with you."
He paused, hands in suitcase, wondering if this was the right time. "Um... I brought you something."
He pulled the book out of his case and passed it to her.
"Is this your new book?"
"Open it."
Monica did, her eye falling onto the dedication. "Oh... Chandler..."
She burst into violent tears, setting the book aside and burying her face in her hands. Chandler's face plummeted.
"Oh, dammit... I didn't mean to upset you..."
"You didn't, you didn't, Chandler... it's sweet, it's so sweet. It's just... god... he loved your books so much... I just wish he could see this."
"We all wish he were here, Mon." Chandler sat on the bed beside her, and Monica turned with a sob to wrap her arms around him.
"C'mon," Chandler said soothingly, laying down on the bed and pulling Monica with him, her head snuggling into its old spot on his chest. "Let it out, babe. It's okay."
He rubbed her back gently, and Monica clutched a fistful of his shirt. "I just miss him... oh my god, I miss him... and I don't, I just don't believe he's gone... I mean, I know, I really do know, but I keep turning around and expecting to see him... I think I *do* see him, out of the corner of my eye, and I just... god, Chandler, I screwed it all up so bad!"
"You didn't screw anything up, Mon," Chandler sighed.
"Yes I did! Yes I did! If I hadn't dumped him when I did, we could have had so much longer together... you might have ended up with Megan..."
Chandler stiffened, and Monica raised herself up on an elbow. "I shouldn't have brought that up..."
"No, no, it's okay, I was just surprised. Lay back down."
She did. "How *is* Megan?"
"Still married..."
"Oh Chandler, Chandler, I'm sorry," Monica moaned, burying her face in his neck.
"Mon... it wasn't meant to be, you know?"
She sniffled. "I think it was..."
"Well, maybe it was. I guess that gets filed under 'Tough Shit', though, doesn't it?"
Monica craned her neck up to meet his eyes.
"Chandler... do you ever worry that our whole lives are going to end up in that file?"
***
"Hey, man," Joey said as he opened the door. "Where's Monica?"
"She fell asleep. Where's your brood?"
"Kristen took the kids down to stay at my parents. She's... just not that comfortable hanging out with you guys."
"Why?"
"Okay, she's not that comfortable hanging out with Rachel," Joey amended, sitting down on the bed.
"Jesus, Joe... all that stuff happened years ago."
"I know. It's just... me bein' around Rachel pisses Kris off. We actually got into it a little, y'know, before she left... I mean, not bad, 'cause the kids were here, but... you know when you're talkin' to someone, and nothin' you're actually sayin' is all that bad... but you walk out of it wanting to cry anyway?"
"Oh, yeah."
"It was one of those. She said I 'couldn't stop looking at her the whole night'. Which I woulda been more pissed off about, y'know, if it hadn't been true."
"Oh," Chandler said softly.
Joey flung himself onto his back. "I just wonder, y'know? I mean, how much longer is this gonna take? How many more years until I forget about her? I keep goin' through these milestones, you know? And at each one, I keep thinkin... this is it, this is gonna be the thing that gets Rachel outta my mind. And it never happens."
"You love your wife, though..."
"Honestly? Not that much, man. You know I thought Mary was mine when I married her, right?"
"Wow, Joe... no, no I didn't."
"Well, it wasn't exactly the kinda thing I wanted to take out a bulletin board in Times Square about, right? I just wonder, though... I mean, sometimes I just feel like she's riding me as far as I'll go."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, her first husband... Ashley and Brian's dad. He was a director, got her the first roles she ever had. And then there was Derek, everybody knows about him... and now me... and I just kinda wonder who's next, you know? I love her kids and god, they've had so many dads already..."
"Wow."
"And you know... sometimes I look at her outta the corner of my eye, when we're at a party or somethin'... and she's just scannin' the room. Like the Terminator, y'know? Wheels in her head clicking. You know what it makes me think about?"
"What."
"That party on the roof. You know, all these soap guys there, really hot -- I mean, most of them were gay, but whatever -- and Rachel just wanted me. Just me."
"She's married," Chandler pointed out needlessly.
"I know, dude. Believe me. I know. And she loves Ross. I mean, me and Rachel, we were like... five minutes. They're a lifetime."
Joey sighed. "I mean... they're lobsters."
Joey sat up, grinning at Chandler. "How about us, huh? Two famous guys pinin' over married chicks. How sad are we?"
"Pretty sad, Joe," Chandler grinned back, laying down across the other bed.
"You ever tell Megan how you feel?"
"Keith's my friend and my illustrator. How could I do that to him?"
"You think she knows?"
"Maybe. I don't think so, though. I've been really careful."
"You seen anybody else?"
"Nope."
"Not even to..."
"Nope."
"You haven't had sex in three years?"
"Nope."
Joey raised himself up on an elbow, shaking his head. "Damn. You know what this means, right?"
"What's that?"
"We are so crackin' into that minibar."
***
Chandler opened the door to his room unsteadily, aiming for his pocket twice before successfully putting the key back into it.
"Where were you?" Monica's voice asked from the darkness.
"With Joey... I thought you were asleep."
"I was. Are you drunk?"
"I'm soooper-drunk." He tried to set his wallet on the nightstand, and it fell to the carpet with a soft thump.
"Oh, god," Monica sighed, clicking on the light. "C'mere."
Chandler crashed face-down on his bed, and Monica pulled his shoes and socks off.
"C'mon, flip over, I'm taking off your pants."
"I like my pants. They feel nice on my legs."
"Chandler, you can't sleep in your pants. Roll over."
"Cantoosleepinmypants."
Monica groaned, hefting him over, and attacked his belt buckle.
"Sssh, you'll wake it up."
"I'm not even touching it... or I wouldn't be, if you'd quit squirming."
"Squirm," Chandler said happily. "That's such a *bitchin'* word."
"I... can't... believe..." Monica huffed, yanking off his pants a few inches at a time, "I... was... telling... Rachel... how... mature... you'd... become."
She overestimated the force of her last yank and ended up falling on her butt on the floor, holding his pants.
"I'm drunk... and yet you are the one falling down," Chandler noticed, enunciating carefully.
"Do you want me to beat you with these pants?"
"I'm not afraid of you..."
Monica leapt up and began whapping Chandler with his khakis. Chandler giggled and held up his arms, and she crawled onto the bed, straddling him and whipping the cuffs at his head.
"No more! No more!" Chandler shrieked, grabbing Monica by the wrists and forcing her down on the bed.
They lay there, panting, staring at each other, heat building.
"Sorry," Chandler said awkwardly, rolling off of her. "Got a little out of hand there."
"Yeah," she said briskly, brushing her hair back into place with her hands. "Sorry about that."
"You're... you're still on my bed."
"So I am, so I am," Monica quickly hopped over to her bed. "Well, goodnight then."
"Goodnight."
Monica turned out the light and they lay on their backs in the darkness, struggling to get their breath under control.
***
Monica groped for the ringing phone, wrestling it to her ear. "Hello?"
Silence for a moment. "Um... is this Chandler Bing's room?"
A woman... crying, by the sound of it. "Yes, it is... is it really important? If it is, I can wake him up... we were asleep."
"Um... no. No thank you. That's okay. Don't wake him up. It's not important. I'm sorry I woke you up."
"Um... it *sounds* important. Do you want me to take a message?"
"No message. Thanks, Monica."
Dial tone. Monica hung up the phone, rolling back underneath the covers with a yawn, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
***
"Hey, man," Ross called, pushing the sliding glass doors to the Gellers' back porch open. "Whatcha doing out here?"
"Ah... just needed some fresh air," Chandler said, quickly sliding his cigarette pack into his suit pants.
"Uh-huh," Ross said dubiously. "*Smells* fresh."
"How you doing?"
"Well, it's a funeral," Ross smiled. "Not really doin' cartwheels."
"I meant in general. And please -- not the faculty party version."
Ross' face slid for a moment, then rearranged itself. "I'm fine. Everything's fine."
"Sure. I believe that." Chandler tapped ashes into Mrs. Geller's hydrangea bushes.
"I have everything I've wanted since the ninth grade," Ross said. "Why wouldn't I be fine? I'm spectacular."
"You know," Chandler said, looking out at the back garden, "When I was in ninth grade, I wanted to be a fighter pilot."
Ross shot him a confused look. "Okaaay..."
"Yeah, I really did. I wanted the cool shades, y'know, to be the master of the sky, hang around with tough fighter-pilot guys, have Tom Cruise's hair."
"I'm glad we're sharing..."
"I would have been a shitty fighter pilot."
"Excuse me?"
"Yeah, I would have been total crap at it. I mean, assuming I quit throwing up long enough to land the plane. But I didn't know myself back then, y'know? I only knew what looked neat."
"What are you trying to say?" Ross' voice glistened with frost.
"Nothing." Chandler put his cigarette out on his shoe and stuck the butt in his pocket. "Just rambling."
"Not everything is like one of your books, Chandler." Ross leaned against the railing. "I mean, you have your little fantasy-world, and that works for you, and that's great, man... I'm happy for you. Pining artistically's your thing, and you're good at it."
Chandler's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Real relationships take compromise... compromise and work. Not everything is... doin' it in rainstorms, okay? I mean, do people have to have sex in a rainstorm in *every* book you write?"
"Are you criticising me, or my love scenes?"
"I'm just defending myself, that's all. Defending my *life*. Since you seem to be looking down on it from your lofty romantic pinnacle of... sainted celibacy."
"Joey talks too much," Chandler muttered.
"Get over her, man," Ross said flatly. "She's married. You have to respect that. That's the most important thing. It's been *years*, Chandler... and you're getting *old*. Find someone else, be happy."
"I'll find someone else."
"Good...!"
"When I find someone else who makes me feel the way she does. Because no one else does, Ross. And now that I've felt that way... I'm not settling for anything else."
"You have to let go first. It doesn't work that way."
"Who are you to talk about letting go? C'mon, Ross, listen to yourself. Look at who you married!"
"I'm going inside."
"Ross, wait..."
"No, man, I'm going inside. I'm not getting into a fight at my brother-in-law's funeral, okay?"
The sliding glass door shut, and Chandler turned away, shaking his head.