Bonus points for spotting vague foreshadowing of something else never discussed in the series. I'll even give you a hint -- it's something Chandler says when he's talking about his guitar. Edited slightly to explain who "Mario" is.

Also, since so many people can't visualize Chandler as a goth, I made a little image. It's at:

http://helgavonnutwimple.tripod.com/chandlerphoebe.html

-----------------------

Chandler walked back into "Hudson Hutch". All the cabins where they had group meetings had stupid names - like calling them "connection centers" wasn't stupid enough - of New York natural features.

Like anything in the Hudson was "natural" anymore, but whatever.

See, they should have named them after New York *City* natural features. He might have actually been able to "share and care" in a place called "Giant Roach Motel" or "Diseased Rat Trap".

But then, this place didn't exactly cater to the sarcastic. Well, except for providing endless things to sarcastically comment *about*.

His stomach sank as he noticed that their "Growth Guide" Sherri had already paired everyone off, and only the redheaded girl from outside sat alone. Sherri motioned for Chandler to sit with the girl, and he grudgingly crossed and sat down cross-legged.

"All right, everyone!" Sherri cried. "I think we did some excellent work before the break, and now, as you know, I've paired you off. I want us to work on some sharing and self-esteem exercises. So girls, you start. Ask your partner to tell you one thing about himself, and then let's give him some positive feedback! After that, fellows, it's your turn! And we'll just go back and forth. Got it? Begin!"

"Why are you dressed up like Siouxsie Sioux?" the redhead asked.

"You want the real answer, or the flippant, sarcastic one?" Chandler replied.

"Oooh, the flippant, sarcastic one. I'd hate to 'share and care'."

"Because black is so slimming. Now gimme my positive feedback."

"I bet you'd be cute if you weren't dressed like Siouxie Sioux."

"So. What's your name?"

"Oooh, *probing* question."

"Ahh, I think I know your brother, 'Lame-Ass Comment'."

"It's Phoebe. Phoebe Buffay. And your positive feedback?"

"It suits you much better than 'Probing Question'. You go."

"Fine, what's *your* name?"

"Chandler Muriel Bing."

"I can't give positive feedback about that. It's impossible."

"Oh, but try."

She swallowed, thinking. "It's... very nice... that you know what your middle name is."

He blinked. "You *don't*?"

"Nope. Now give me my positive feedback."

Chandler looked confused.

"You asked a question, I answered."

"Having no middle name's gotta be better than 'Muriel'. You go."

"Okay. If you could make up a middle name for me, what would it be?"

He surprised himself by answering before thinking. "Rhiannon."

"Huh?"

"Y'know," he said awkwardly, "the song, 'Rhiannon rings like a bell in the night...' and it doesn't sound too bad. 'Phoebe Rhiannon Buffay'."

"Has *Goth Boy* just revealed himself to be a closet Fleetwood Mac fan? Whatever will the other undead legions think?"

"Please," he drawled, fighting his blush back down and striving for coolness, "I'm sure the other undead legions have mothers who listen to it all the time. Besides, *I'm* not the one who broke into Stevie Nicks' house and stole all her clothes."

"Oooh, good save," Phoebe said, eyes flashing. "You came dangerously close to acting like a real human being there."

"You call that positive feedback?" he snapped, crossing his arms.

"Guys, guys," Sherri beamed, patting them both. "Come on, now. I sense a little bit of hostility here, and that's not what we want at all, is it? Remember, it's 'sharing and caring', not 'staring and glaring'! I'll give you guys some questions, okey-dokey? Why don't you guys ask each other about your *hobbies*. Wouldn't *that* be interesting?"

Chandler and Phoebe sat flaring their nostrils at each other under Sherri's watchful gaze. Finally, Chandler put on his fakest voice.

"Gee, Phoebe. What *are* your hobbies?"

"Well golly, Chandler, I play guitar," she said in an equally perky tone.

"Well that's intriguing," Chandler chirped. "Gosh-darnit if I don't, too."

"See?" Sherri sang out. "You guys have something in common. Isn't that exciting! Maybe you guys could play together some time!"

"Well, shucks. I didn't bring my guitar," Phoebe smirked.

"I didn't eith..." Chandler began.

Sherri looked at him sternly, perky hands on perky hips. "Now Chandler, I saw you with your guitar case when you got off the bus. And Phoebe, you can borrow mine. I think you two should perform a song for us at Campfire Night on Thursday. A duet. Wouldn't *that* be lovely? How about 'Kumbayah'? Oooh, or 'Where Have All The Flowers Gone'?"

"I mostly do my own stuff," Phoebe said, looking at Chandler nervously.

"Yeah, and I, I play a classical, it's not really..."

"I'll let you guys out of 'Sharing and Caring' *and* Arts and Crafts all week to practice," Sherri offered.

Chandler and Phoebe shared a look.

"Yeah, okay," Phoebe said.

"Woo-hoo, Kumbayah," Chandler added.

***

Phoebe stepped over a log, borrowed guitar case banging against her knee. She finally spotted Chandler, sitting cross-legged in the clearing, filing his nails.

"Wow," she drawled, leaning against a tree. "You remind me of a painting I saw once. 'Flamer By Stream'. What's with the manicure?"

Chandler looked up in annoyance, finishing his right index fingernail and moving on to the middle one. "I thought you played guitar."

"Yes, hello, with a pick. Ever heard of one?"

"You can't play classical with a *pick*. You need all your fingers. Well, except one pinky. Where the hell did you learn to play?"

"I taught myself. With help from Brian."

"Brian...?"

"Brian, the guy who lives in Central Park and thinks he's an antelope. Don't scoff, he was quite the virtuoso before, you know, the seven *million* hits of acid."

Chandler decided not to antagonize her further. He slid his nail file back into its pouch. "So. What do you want to play?"

"What do you know?"

Chandler opened his guitar case and pulled out his guitar lovingly. "I don't suppose they'd be interested in any selections from Andres Segovia."

"Who?"

Chandler began to play, fingers flying over the strings, impossibly fast notes rippling out. Phoebe's jaw dropped in astonishment.

"You're... you're really good," she said grudgingly.

"Thanks," he grinned. "I screwed up some, though. My instructor Mario would kill me if he knew I'd been wearing nail polish."

"I noticed you took it off. Don't suppose 'Mario' has any rules about eyeliner?" She paused. "No? Too bad."

He just glared, and Phoebe dropped to the ground next to him, pulling out the loaner guitar. "So. 'Kumbayah', or 'Where Have All The Flowers Gone'?"

"Kumbayah, I guess. We can practice for five minutes, and I can devote the rest of the week to apologizing to my guitar."

"Okay," Phoebe said, handing him her extra pick. "Teach me."

He blinked. "You don't know Kumbayah? I don't know whether to be horrified or totally jealous."

"Like I said, I do my own stuff."

"It's a three-chorder, just d's, a's, and e's. You'll get it in two minutes. First chord is an A, okay, let's go..."

Phoebe stared intently at his hand. "Ohhhh, 'Bear Claw'."

"Huh?"

"Oh, I don't use the letter chord names."

"You... you don't."

"Nope. I do it by the way my hand looks playing them. See?" She moved her fingers over the frets. "Bear Claw... Turkey Leg... Old Lady... Dragon... Iceberg..."

Chandler bit his lip to keep from mocking. "Ooookay. So the song is Bear Claw, Old Lady, Bear Claw. Dragon. Bear Claw, Old Lady, Bear Claw. Old Lady, Bear Claw, Dragon, Bear Claw."

"Ohhh, that *is* easy," Phoebe smiled.

"Yeah," he smiled. "So let's... uh... take it from the Bear Claw."

***

"So we played Kumbayah together at the thing on Thursday, and the rest, as they say, is history," Phoebe finished.

"Yup, that's the end," Chandler added, sipping his coffee.

"How can that be the end?" Janice said.

"Yeah!" Rachel added. "I mean, we've left you a guitar-playing goth boy, and then a few years later, you show up in a sweatervest? How come you don't play guitar anymore?"

"You know how it is," Chandler said uneasily. "Every teenage boy plays guitar. Ross and I didn't keep going with the band, I'm all rusty and stuff now."

"But Pheebs said you were really good," Joey said.

"You didn't play classical with me," Ross added. "I didn't even know you knew how. We could have added a whole dimension to 'the sound'!"

"Ah yes, 'the sound'," Monica moaned. "Ross and his dorky keyboards..."

Chandler and Phoebe shot each other a look of relief as everyone moved on to torturing Ross.

Joey leaned over to Phoebe and whispered in her ear. "You're gonna tell me the rest of this story later, right?"

"There is no more story," she hissed back.

"Yeah, right."

"Look, I'll come over later, okay? If Chandler's okay with it, then maybe. But not in front of everyone."

"Oh my god," Joey whispered excitingly. "This sounds like a *good* story!"

"No," Phoebe whispered back sadly. "No, it definitely isn't."

-----------------------

To be continued...