"Here we go," Rachel thought, her eyes on Ross as he shuffled nervously up the porch steps, her adrenaline rising in her throat. Her hands clutched out for the railing, her eyes roaming frantically, hunting distractions, putting off the moment.

Ross moved into the porch light, extending his hand. "C'mon... let's go for a walk."

She slid her hand into his, letting him pull her down the stairs, across the flagstones, through the archway. Rachel inhaled deeply; she'd spent a lot of time in this garden... not so much appreciating the roses as being scratched by them, throwing pebbles at Monica's window, trying to convince her straight-and-narrow best friend to come out and live a little.

She remembered: Monica's pale, puffy face at the window, shaking vigorously, biting her lip. Rachel could always tell Monica wanted to go, and that was why she always came back, ruining shoes in the mud between begonias and daylilies, morning glories and bleeding heart, for the same answer: Monica was too scared.

And now that fear, that anticipation, that dread... was Rachel's own.

It was too dark to read Ross' face, and maybe that was why he'd brought her out here; she could only imagine how hard this was for him.

That didn't make her want to run away any less.

"Yeah, uh... why don't... why don't we sit here," Ross stammered, and Rachel's knees touched bench. She sat down, warily, poised for flight, and heard the bench groan underneath Ross' weight.

"Rachel, I know this is... kinda weird..."

Chink.

Rachel's ears pricked. She knew that sound, had lived with her father too long to ever forget that sound. That was a Zippo lighter...

And several yards behind Ross' shoulder, light flared... and Rachel caught just a glimpse of cupped, elegant hands. A red dot glowed brighter, went dim, swung in a low arc and hung there.

Get me out of this, she thought frantically at the glowing ember.

It raised. Glowed. Lowered.

She was on her own.

"So... uh... Ross," Rachel said, running her fingers over the back of the bench. "What, uh... what happened with Julie?"

"It's a long story," he sighed. "And it's... not what I want to talk to you about."

"Well, I think we should talk about it... don't you? It's important, um. To, y'know. Vent your feelings."

"Well... that's what I'm doing. Venting the feelings. Only... different ones. Ones that I should have vented a long time ago, maybe."

Sparks in the distance; a nervous flick. Ash fell to the ground.

"Rachel, I... I talked to Monica." Ross paused. The cigarette flared. "I, well, I... Rach, I know about the airport."

"LaGuardia?" Rachel asked innocently. "What about it?"

"Um. I think you know."

"Well. Uh." Rachel picked at a loose splinter of wood. "How do you, uh, feel about that?"

"Um. Good. And kinda, also... terrified." Ross sighed. "Rachel, why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know! And then you, you got back, and things were..." her eye flashed unconsciously to the glow in the distance, "... complicated."

"Julie," Ross said flatly.

"Among... among other things."

Ross let out a defeated breath. "Well, I... I think it's pretty safe to say that Julie... is out of the picture."

"You can't know that, Ross," Rachel said quickly. "Anything is fixable, right? What's she so upset about? Come on." She moved to touch his hand, and thought better of it.

"Well... you. Sort of." Ross cleared his throat. "Mostly."

"Oh, no..."

"Well, Rach... maybe it... maybe it happened for a reason, y'know? I mean, I find out you like me, and five minutes later, y'know... exit Julie. Don't you think that's kinda... kinda like a... I dunno, a sign, or something?"

"A sign." Rachel looked out, watched the ember hover, poised, waiting. "I don't know about that, Ross."

"Look, Rachel, I'm... I'm kinda having a bad night here, okay? So if you could, y'know, not be vague... that'd be nice."

"I know, Ross... honey. I know." And now she did touch his hand. "That's what I'm saying. Maybe this... maybe this isn't the best time, right? I mean, you and Julie broke up, what? Fifteen minutes ago? We can talk about this later."

"Yeah..."

Ah, the patented Glum Ross voice. She hated herself for causing it... but what could she do? Dump on him for the second time tonight? Lie to him?

Sparks falling onto the pebbles. She wished she could see Chandler's face...

"Ross, I just think... um. I think maybe you should take your time, y'know? Not rush into anything. Let yourself mourn."

"Yeah, okay, yeah... good idea."

Rachel let out a small sigh of relief... and then Ross grabbed her hand.

"Rach. Rach. Tell me something, though. When I'm done... mourning, or whatever... are you gonna be there? I need to know that."

The dot in the distance froze.

"Ross, I... I... I don't know what to..."

"It doesn't have to be that complicated, Rachel. When I'm, y'know, a reasonable amount of time has passed so that you don't think I'm on the, the rebound, or whatever... will you, or will you not, go on a date with me? Movies, dinner, maybe a picnic. Yes, or no. It's that simple."

Her heart thudded in her ears. God, he's just been dumped...

"Yes," she whispered. "Sure. Yeah..."

Ross leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers.

The glow in the distance was thrown to the ground, smashed out violently.

And Chandler was gone.

***

"Hey, everybody," Ross called, pulling her back inside. "You guys ready to get back?"

Let go of my hand, Ross... let go of my hand...

"Joey and I are ready," Phoebe said, rising to get her coat. "Monica and Chandler... already left."

"When... when did they do that?" Rachel kept her voice as light as she could.

"Just a minute ago... there's some birthday party for one of the other chefs at Monica's restaurant."

"You didn't go?"

"No, but maybe you should," Phoebe said pointedly.

"Rach... why don't ya... why don't you hang out with me tonight?" Ross said, pulling her closer to him. "C'mon... we can rent movies or something... pop some popcorn..."

"Monica's little party-thing sounds fun," Rachel said, trying to worm her hand out of his grip.

"Look, I think if Monica had wanted us to come, she would have told us about it. I'm not in a really... party place anyway."

"Hey, if you need someone to vent to, Ross, I'm the master," Phoebe said, trying to take Ross' other hand. "And I give massages..."

"Yeah, I... I think I'll stick with Rach." Ross pulled Rachel even closer.

***

"This still doesn't taste like it has any alcohol in it," Chandler said, raising his glass with a slightly unsteadily hand.

"That's 'cause it's the good stuff," Monica smiled, leaning across him for the bottle, letting her breasts brush his arm. "You can't taste the good stuff... that's why it's good. But if you don't believe me... here ya go..."

She sloshed another large dose of vodka into his screwdriver.

"Whoa-whoa," Chandler raised a hand defensively. "Don't kill me."

"Aw, c'mon... that itty-bitty drink? It's mostly orange juice anyway."

"It was mostly orange juice," Chandler said, taking another sip. "How much have you had since we got here?"

"Please... it's a party, not Sunday Brunch with Auntie, Chandler."

"Oh, we drank way more than this at Sunday Brunch With Auntie," Chandler smirked. "You forget -- Auntie? Related to Dad."

"So you've built up a tolerance," Monica grinned, tipping the bottle into his glass again.

"Cut it out," Chandler said, holding his hand over his glass and sliding it away from her.

"I'm just trying to cheer you up, grumpypants," Monica laughed, tipping the bottle and drinking from the mouth.

"Grumpypants?" Chandler put his hand over hers, lowering the bottle from her lips. "Mon? Look... I know you're competitive... but this is the kind of competitive where you die, okay? Slow down."

"Finish your drink, and I will."

"Jesus, Mon." Chandler tipped his glass back, draining it. "You happy? Gimme the bottle."

"Wait-wait-wait, you need a refill first..." she poured vodka into his glass. "What are you all pouty about, anyway?"

"I'm not... pouty..."

"You've been bummed out ever since the other party! C'mon, we're celebrating! I got a promotion... Ross is old... and look, buddy, as much time as we've spent listening to Ross and Rachel bitch about each other...? Tonight should be a damn ticker tape parade!"

"I'm screaming with joy on the inside," Chandler spat, raising his glass and tipping it back.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Monica laughed, refilling his glass.

"Where's the orange juice?"

"This is Kettle One, Chandler. Mixing Kettle One with orange juice is blasphemy, it's like..." Monica swayed on her bar stool, hands searching the air for a metaphor, "Eating a baloney sandwich with Beluga caviar."

"Which I would do, if I could stand caviar. C'mon, where's the orange juice?"

"Don't be a weenie... you just said you couldn't taste it."

"Monica, you're toasted. Look, okay, if there was a competition, for who could not be sober? You won it! C'mon, let's get a cab."

"I'm not going anywhere," Monica said, snagging a tartlet off a passing tray. "C'mon, Chandler... just think about it! All those years, all that drama, cats and Italians and everything else, and they finally made it. Doesn't that cheer you up even a little? And you know what's so great about it?"

Chandler didn't answer, staring into his glass.

"Chandler, c'mon, you know what's so great about it?"

"What's so great about it?"

"They're friends. I mean, they've known each other so long, y'know? Know each other so well. I just think it's... really, really great... when that happens for people... don't you?"

"Unless your name is Julie," Chandler said pointedly.

"Aw, c'mon, Chandler, Julie was a... Julie was a complication. I mean, hello, your mom said it! Ross and Rachel are the kind of couple that sells books. Overcoming obstacles... all that history... and then one day, their eyes meet... and bam," Monica said dreamily. "They're meant to be, y'know? It's fate. And Paolo and Julie and everyone... are just more obstacles to be overcome on the path to love. Just like in the books."

"Well, for Ross' sake, I hope the book wasn't 'Mistress Bitch'," Chandler snapped.

Monica rolled her eyes. "God, what is with you tonight?"

"You think Julie knows she was 'just a complication'?"

"Julie will find someone else," Monica sighed, waving her arm dismissively. "C'mon, Chandler... no one can own as many Broadway soundtracks as you do and not have a little romantic streak..."

"Oh, I have a romantic streak."

"Well, then..."

"It's thinking about Julie, crying herself to sleep on her couch." Chandler finished his drink, grimacing. "I mean... don't you think this is kinda soon, like instantaneous soon? The man broke up with Julie five minutes ago."

"It doesn't matter when it's true love, Chandler," Monica said, letting her fingers play over his arm. "See, this whole thing... it's like, my number two scenario."

"Number two scenario," Chandler repeated, pouring himself another glass.

"Well, yeah! Number One, of course, dark handsome stranger from a foreign country, tearful goodbyes at the airport, et cetera. But falling for your friend... that's definitely number two..."

Monica raised her glass. "So... here's to Ross and Rachel, on their first night together. We wish them joy and happiness... c'mon, Chandler, raise your glass!"

"Gimme the bottle," Chandler growled.

***

"This is... this is nice, isn't it?" Ross said awkwardly, pressing the pause button. "Um, Rach, ya wanna... ya wanna sit down?"

"I'm worried." Rachel paced behind the couch. "I'm worried about Monica and Chandler... they've been out a long time, don't you think?"

"They're big kids. C'mon, let's finish the movie."

"I'm gonna... I'm just gonna call Chandler's cellphone, okay? Just make sure they're all right."

"Yeah, sure, okay..."

Rachel lunged for the phone, dialing Chandler's number.

Be home already, be playing Hammer Darts with Joey, be somewhere that I can explain...

"Shanfler Beanfone," Monica answered.

"Hey, Mon! How are you guys doing? Where's Chandler?"

"Baffooom," Monica laughed. "Yooat home?"

"No, I'm... watching a movie with Ross."

"Imnot cominhome," Monica said. "Lessus say... operfation Nekkid Bing? On scheffulle."

"Um... what?"

"Ressaunt inna hotelll..." Monica trilled. "Harmonica's not comfin home zoonight!"

"Mon... you're drunk... why don't Ross and I come get you?"

"Hellno Green, getchasome hot Ross!"

Click.

***

"Was'at my phone?" Chandler asked, collapsing onto his barstool.

"Talkinna Rashel," Monica grinned, helping him up. "She'be all up some Ross."

Chandler blinked. "Huh?"

"Playina skin floooot," Monica brayed. "Ridin'a baloneypony." She slid off her barstool, grabbing her purse and Chandler's hand. "Sheza 'Geller Yeller'. C'mon, Chanfler."

***

"Ross... Monica is plastered, I mean, hammered...! You should have heard her! And she's at some strange hotel..."

"The hotel her restaurant is in...!"

"I don't care! She could get hurt! She could get taken advantage of! You didn't hear her, Ross!"

"Jesus, Rach, calm down. She's twenty-eight."

"She's your little sister! Look, Amy is twenty-nine, and I still wouldn't leave her in that situation!"

"You hate Amy," Ross said.

"I don't... hate her, hate her!"

"Yeah ya do."

Rachel let out a scream of frustration. "Ross, this is not about my twisted sibling relationships! This is about yours! Get your ass off that couch!"

"Look!" Ross said. "Chandler will take care of her! He always has! Will you calm down! Don't you trust Chandler?"

"I... trust Chandler," Rachel said defensively.

"You don't sound like it," Ross sighed. "Sit down, Rachel."

"I... Ross, I can't, I'm too worried. You don't have to go with me, but... I'm going."

"Monica's going to be pissed at you."

"Right now? I don't care."

***

"Moniffa... gerroff," Chandler moaned into the bedspread. "M'gonna puke. Leemy belalone."

His head weighed seven million pounds, his temples pulsing dully, each throb punctuated by the memory of Monica's laugh.

Playing the skin flute...

Riding the baloney pony...

She's all up some Ross...


Was Monica right? Was he a... a complication... in the epic wuv story of Ross and Rachel? A character even his mother couldn't love?

"Yernatgonna puke," Monica laughed, pulling his belt out of its loops and dropping it off the side of the bed. "C'mon."

"Amtoo gon'puke." Chandler reached off the edge of the bed, fumbling with his fingers for the bedside trashcan. "I nee'is."

He groped for the plastic can, his mind soggily replaying A Thousand Embarrassing Moments In Chandler History. Stupid jokes, botched pick-up lines, the countless occasions where Rachel had stared at him like he was something nasty that welled up in her shower drain.

She'd been drunk, and sad, and miserable over Julie... and he'd been convenient, a source of body heat that didn't require a cab to Paolo's house.

And he'd been the perfect choice, hadn't he? Chandler the pathetic, Chandler the loser, Chandler the relationship moron, Chandler the charity case who'd never turn down a drunken proposition from a pretty girl...

He'd told her he loved her. Jesus.

Doubt washed over him, seeping through his brain, repainting his memories to match. A grimace on Rachel's face he'd been too lust-drunk to notice, a look of pity in her eyes when she said she loved him, longing gazes at Ross he'd never noticed before.

He'd begged her not to forget him, begged her to tell him she loved him.

Pathetic.

Monica cut off his thoughts, crushing his mouth with hers, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Owowowow," he muttered, then yelped as she twisted his nipple. "Owww!!"

"Y'like that?" she cooed.

"No! Whaddyoofink ow means...?"

And Monica was on him again, lips and teeth grinding painfully against his, Chandler's head shaking back and forth. "Serisslygonpuke... stoppit..."

Monica reached down, her hand kneading him through his pants. "C'mon..."

"Monnifa... Imoodrun... gerroff..."

Monica tore at his pants, ripping them back, reaching through his boxers. "Dunworry... m'goodatthis... y'need a'lil help."

And she grabbed him, misjudging, her hands digging into sensitive flesh, Chandler whimpering in pain.

"N'gon worf," Chandler pleaded, trying to bat her hand away with an uncooperative arm.

"Illwork!" Monica cried in frustration. "Thuddup!"

Chandler moaned, nausea rising, his limbs heavy, his neurons drifting, connecting slowly, each time they did, a new flash of pain.

Rachel and Ross...

Rachel and Ross...

Chandler thought about Rachel, his Rachel, being with Rachel... the way her eyes got that mischevious glint, the way her hair felt sliding across his stomach, her laugh, the little sounds she made when she dreamt...

The way she would look kissing Ross...

Chandler coughed, his stomach spasming, and he rolled out from underneath Monica, lurching for the trash can.

***

"Chandler Bing. B-I-N-G," Rachel pleaded.

"I'm sorry, we don't have anyone registered under that name."

"Monica Geller. G-E-L-L-E-R."

The desk clerk tapped keys. "That name, either."

"Oh, c'mon... she works here! She works in the restaurant! Didn't you recognize her?"

"I'm sorry, miss."

"Didn't you see two drunk people go up to a room?"

"We value our guests' privacy, miss."

"Do you value your testicles?" Rachel cried. "My boyfriend is up there, drunk off his ass, nailing my best friend!"

"I'm very sorry, miss."

"Couldn't you just look up who were the last people to rent a room?"

"We value our guests' privacy, miss."

"You suck!" Rachel cried, slamming her fist down on the counter. "You just... you just suck!"

"I'm sorry, miss. Hotel policy."

"Well, I hope you don't have a policy about disturbing the peace," Rachel spat, running over to the elevator.

***

Chandler retched one last time, his weakened muscles collapsing beneath him, rolling onto the carpet, ribs aching.

"Chanfler... y'kay?" Monica said weakly, her head popping over the end of the bed.

"I nee'water," Chandler groaned, rolling up onto his knees. "You too."

He lurched into the bathroom, knocking the sanitary covers off the glasses, filling them unsteadily. He raised his own and chugged it, gasping, tiny pricks of light piercing the fog.

Jesus... had he been making out with Monica?

He poured the second glass of water over his head, slicking his hair back with a hand, shaking his head at his own reflection.

"Chandler?" a faint voice cried.

"What is it, Mon?"

"That wa'n me," Monica groaned in the other room.

"Chandler! Monica! Chandler!"

Rachel.

Chandler slammed the glasses down, falling against the bathroom doorway, lurching past Monica's sprawled out form.

"Chanfler? Wheroogoin?"

***

Rachel ran down the hallway, tears stinging her cheeks, calling Chandler's name into a double line of looming, anonymous doors. She tripped, ankle wrenching, and she doubled over, ripping off her heels.

She knew she was insane, and she couldn't make herself stop, a stitch throbbing in her side, her thighs quaking, her voice growing hoarse, throwing herself into the elevator again and again, each new floor beginning with fresh hope and ending with deeper desolation.

Into the elevator again, her sweaty forehead pressing against the cool metal, gasping for breath... and back out, stocking feet sinking into carpet, hallway stretching in front of her, the doors -- those damn inpenetrable, secret-keeping doors -- seeming to taunt her.

"Chandler," she cried, voice breaking. "Monica? Chandler?"

No answer. Of course.

Rachel leaned against the wall, pressing her hand to the stitch at her ribs...

And a door opened.

"Chandler," she whispered.

He walked towards her, his hair drenched, his shirt off...

His... his pants unzipped.

Rage welled up inside her, and she ran at him, beating her fists against his chest. "Bastard... fucking bastard... asshole... shithead..."

"Rachel... Rach..."

"Tell me you didn't do anything," Rachel begged, her tears hot on her cheeks. "Tell me."

"I..." he trailed off. "I can't tell you that."

She swung the hand holding the heels around, whipping them at his chest, her eyes full of tears. "Bastard."

She took off running towards the elevator, and he stumbled after her, the hallway spinning. "Rachel... I didn't do... the thing...!"

She turned, her face set, his heart breaking.

"Don't lie to me, Chandler."

She dropped her shoes, shoved her feet into them.

"And for god's sake... zip up your pants."