"Now... you say you love me..."

Chandler sipped his martini by the light of the single candle burning on his table, watching his father scoot himself across a grand piano, sequins a riot of white sparkles in the spotlight.

"You cry the whole night through..."

He couldn't believe he was actually here, back here, in the dark little room with its flickering tables, the darkened faces, the site of so many onstage humiliations and offstage awkward confrontations. Of all the places he'd ever thought he'd want to escape... here wasn't one he'd ever thought would make the list.

"Well you can cry me a river... cry me a river..."

He'd never expected to want to come here, been shocked by the words even as they left his mouth... certainly never expected this place to be so... weirdly, surreally... comforting. His dad's throaty alto, the way his blonde wig gleamed in footlights, his slow sashays through the crowd, Mr. Garibaldi's plaintive piano...

"I cried a river, over you..."

It was freakish, sure, but... it was familiar, too... part of him. And maybe, somehow, it was an explanation. Plus... it definitely, definitely wasn't New York. Chandler let his eyelids droop, the wistful rhythms of the song weaving through his spine, slowing his heartbeat to match.

"Remember, I remember all that you said..."

Charles caught his eye, smiling slightly, and Chandler found himself wondering how much he'd had to do with this song choice; Charles usually stuck to the up-tempo stuff. Charles knew something was wrong, but Chandler hadn't felt like sharing. Not yet.

"Told me you were through with me..."

But it sounded like his dad had guessed, pretty accurately.

"And now, you say you love me..."

Chandler lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply, letting his breath keep time with the bass notes... dysfunctional meditation. The martinis were probably helping with the relaxation, maybe a little too much, but under the circumstances? He felt pretty justified.

"Well, just to prove you do..."

Inhale. Exhale. Thin strings of blue curled up around him, and Chandler blew a perfectly round smoke ring.

"Go on and cry me a river... cry me a river..."

He tapped ash languidly, enjoying the heaviness, the slight numbness, the slowness with which he moved, the nothing inside his head. Martinis good.

"I... cried a river... over you..."

The crowd burst into applause, and Chandler joined them, his cigarette clenched between his lips. Charles slithered off the piano, stepping delicately onto the bench and then the stage, never missing a step in his six-inch heels.

"Thank you," Charles said huskily. "Thank you so much."

A swish of skirt, and Charles was in the audience, moving in between visitors, touching, joking.

"Some of you may not know this," Charles smiled, "But my son is in the audience."

Scattered applause. Chandler's spine tightened... then contracted completely as the spotlight shone on him.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking," Charles tossed his head. "A girl so young, with a son?"

The audience laughed, and Charles grinned the joy of a joke perfectly timed, perfectly told.

God, Chandler thought uneasily. We really are a lot alike...

"And what almost none of you know is... my son used to perform here sometimes."

Oh no, dad, no...

"Oh, not like that," Charles laughed, lowering his voice like he was telling a particularly nasty secret. "He's straight."

More laughter.

"You try to raise your kids right..." Charles sighed long-sufferingly, and another wave of chuckles burst out. "And I'm wondering... if he would grace us with a song. C'mon, kids, clap for him if you want him to."

Frantic clapping. Chandler shook his head, panicked.

"He's shy," Charles purred. "He has a lovely voice, though. And I know he hasn't forgotten the words to his old number..."

The clapping grew even louder. Chandler was frozen in place.

"C'mon, son. They're not gonna stop until you get up there..."

Charles was right. Chandler was trapped.

Chandler's knees regained sensation, and he stood awkwardly, crushing out his cigarette. Now the applause was deafening. Charles handed him the microphone. "It'll be fun," he whispered.

"Define 'fun'," Chandler hissed back. "You ever heard of 'Oedipus'?"

"You're way too old for Nora," Charles laughed, pushing him towards the stage, and Chandler stumbled forward on uncooperative legs. "His name is 'Chandler'," Charles informed the audience.

"Chand-ler! Chand-ler!" the crowd chanted, led by Charles.

The stairs to the stage loomed large, the spotlight impossibly bright, the glare off the gleaming piano blinding.

"Um. Hi," he whispered into the microphone, his breath feeding back, his eyes flaring open.

Mr. Garibaldi began to play, nodding to him.

No, he hadn't forgotten the words.

"If someone stood up in a crowd," Chandler said awkwardly, "And raised his voice up way out loud..."

Speaking to the rhythm came a little easier, the words flowing back, the audience hanging on him. "And waved his arm and shook his leg... you'd notice him."

Smiles from the audience, looks of warm approval. Chandler smiled a little, hesitantly at first, getting just a bit of ham on. "If someone in the movie show yelled, 'Fire in the second row! This whole place is a powder keg!'"

They sprang back from his shout, his hand gestures -- they were with him.

"You'd notice him," Chandler sang. Mr. Garibaldi threw him his hat, and Chandler caught it, pressing it to his chest melodramatically.

The notes came easier, his voice warming up, his nervousness receding, replaced by the secret, stunning joy he'd always felt at being onstage, the audience in the palm of his hand.

God... we really are a lot alike...

"Cellophane, Mister Cellophane, shoulda been my name, Mister Cellophane," Chandler sang, doing a little vaudeville-walk across the stage, letting his body curve and bend, shaking the hat in his hand.

They adored him now that he was into it, everyone in the theatre believing his original shyness had been part of the act, their eyes glued to him, the warmth of their regard spreading through Chandler, encouraging him to new heights.

"Suppose you was a little cat, residin' in a person's flat... who fed you fish and scratched your ears?" Chandler said with real anger, letting the whole Rachel mess flow through him, making it a tool, using it. "You'd notice him!"

"A human being's made of more than air... with all that bulk, you're bound to see him there... unless that human bein' next to you..."

Chandler dropped his voice, pushing all his self-pity out into the notes, "Is unimpressive, undistinguished... you... know... who..."

Mr. Garibaldi began to trill the piano, and Chandler discovered that he remembered not only the words, but the dance. He did a little soft-shoe, throwing his arms out for the crowd.

"'Cause you can look right through me... walk right by me... and never know I'm there..."

He gathered all his breath, lungs expanding to depths they hadn't in a decade, belting out the last chorus. A moment's hesitation -- could he still hit these notes? -- and then he did, his own voice shocking him.

And finally, the kicker line.

"I hope I haven't taken up too much of your time," Chandler said bashfully, hanging his head, passing the hat back to Mr. Garibaldi.

The crowd was on their feet, clapping wildly, cheering and whistling. Chandler jogged down the stairs and handed the mike back to his father.

"You see why I don't let him do that too often," Charles grinned into the microphone. "The little brat steals my show."

Chandler plopped back into his chair, adrenaline still thudding in his ears, the afterglow not yet faded.

A woman at the next table leaned back. "You were awesome."

He blushed. "Thanks."

"Are you going to be on tomorrow night? I'd come back to see that again."

"No, no... believe it or not, Dad actually did spring that on me."

"No way."

"Yes way -- I'm just in town for a visit."

"Me too," the woman smiled. "So, do you sing professionally, or...?"

"Oh god no."

"An actor?"

"Nope... my roommate is. I'm a data analyst."

"Well, just judging from that -- you're wasted as a data analyst."

"I tell myself that every day."

"And your name was Chandler? Chandler, um, Handbasket...?"

"Chandler Bing," he laughed, holding out his hand.

"I'm Kathy. Kathy Collins." They shook on it. "I actually am an actress."

"Well, I'm not gonna ask 'Have I seen you in anything', cause that's my roommate's least favorite question ever."

"Oh, you haven't seen me in anything," Kathy grinned. "I'm not from anywhere around here -- I live in New York."

"Actually...? Me too."

"You still probably haven't seen me in anything. My biggest part so far has been playing Anna in this god-awful musical about Freud."

Chandler's eyes bulged. "You were in Freud!?"

"You saw it?"

"My roommate's Joey Tribbiani!"

"Oh, my god! Small world! Joey's awesome, I love him. Well... wow, then you're the Chandler. I think he's mentioned you before."

"All bad, I'm sure."

"All good, of course." Kathy lifted her purse, looked at the seat next to him. "You mind?"

"Not at all."

***

"Hey, everybody!" Joey cried, hanging up his coat on the peg and heading for the orange couch. "Guess what? Chandler called!"

"How's he liking Vegas?" Ross asked, breaking off a piece of muffin.

"Sounded like he's havin' a great time." Joey dropped into the green chair. "You're not gonna believe this, but he actually got on stage during his dad's show and sang a song."

"No way," Phoebe laughed.

"Yeah, he did. And hey, you guys remember Freud!?"

"I think it's pretty safe to say it's seared into our memory," Ross chuckled.

"Yeah, well, okay, remember Kathy? That like, super-crazy-hot chick who played Anna? The one, I think I told you this, Ross... the one who was like Chandler with boobies? I was gonna set him up with her, but he was with that Aurora chick."

"I remember, I think," Ross said, not noticing the downward slide that had begun on Rachel and Monica's faces.

"Well, she's in Vegas too! She went to the show the night Chandler sang!"

"She lives in Vegas, though... right?" Phoebe said carefully.

"Nah, she lives here in New York. She's just on vacation." Joey grinned. "Think my little Chandler mighta made the luuuuv connection."

"How nice for him," Monica snapped.

"Well yeah -- how long has it been for him, huh?" Joey grinned.

"Joey, did he -- did he give you a number to call him?" Rachel asked. "I... need to ask him something about computers."

"Called from a pay phone," Joey shrugged. "He and Kathy were going to go see Siegfried and Roy. I'm gonna get a muffin -- anybody want one?"

He bounded off, and Ross turned to Rachel. "Hey, Rach... there's this little film festival playing tonight. You wanna go? I mean, it's no Siegfried and Roy, but it might be cool."

Rachel's eyes flickered to Joey, and she sighed. "Yeah, sure, Ross. Why not."

***

"No she did not," Kathy gasped, pausing in her tracks on the sidewalk.

"No, she did. Totally kissed him. So you see, Dad is actually the normal one, in some respects." Chandler took her arm, leading her forward down the Strip.

"Wow. It must have been so great, growing up like you did."

"Did you not hear that story?"

"No, it's just... my parents were so boring. I'm kinda envious."

"Okay, obviously I need to tell you more stories."

Kathy hugged his arm. "I like your stories."

"You, uh... you wanna get a cup of coffee or something? Believe me, if you like screwed-up family anecdotes, I can talk all night."

"Coffee sounds great," Kathy grinned.

***

Rachel surreptitiously checked her watch by the faint glow of the screen.

Oh, dear god. They'd only been in here an hour? There was another hour of this?

She could feel her life ticking away.

Russian voices rose and fell, a couple arguing in black and white. Near as Rachel could tell, the dude had stolen the girl's jelly donut, and now they were somehow involving the cat.

Or something like that. Ross had failed to warn her that the films would be subtitled, so she hadn't worn her glasses; the plot, if there indeed was one, was contained in that fuzzy, white, gave-her-a-headache-to-squint-at-it line along the bottom of the screen. Ross had been fairly patient the first three times she'd asked him to explain what the hell was going on, but the last two had earned her glares and steely sssh!es.

She'd thought a movie would distract her; instead, she'd somehow ended up with lots of time to think, in the dark, with a soundtrack of depressing Russian music and the sounds of people fighting.

Perfection.

Rachel racked her brain for the thousandth time, trying to remember that damned production of Freud!, trying to remember the girl who'd played Anna. Unfortunately, all the was coming up with were tall, lanky, and wearing a wig... not helpful.

So let's recap, shall we? Rachel's brain supplied. You let Ross kiss you in front of Chandler. Then, instead of telling Chandler the truth, you (a) accused him, (b) insulted him, (c) lied to him, (d) dumped him evilly. Now, he thinks you hate him, he thinks you're practically engaged to Ross, and he's off in the Sin Capital of the World with a girl who is, quote, 'Chandler with boobies'.

Oh, and did I mention that you wounded him with shoes?

Brilliant, Rach. Seriously. Have you thought about writing relationship books?


***

"This is me," Kathy said, pulling the keycard out of her purse. "Would you, uh... like to come in for some minibar?"

"Minibar?" Chandler grinned. "I don't want to end the evening by devastating you financially."

"Well, okay, screw the minibar," Kathy said, meeting Chandler square in the eyes. "Would you like to come in?"

"I... uh, well, I..."

What the hell are you doing? This gorgeous, funny girl is asking you to come in! It's not like you have a girlfriend, you know...

"Chandler?" Kathy asked, watching his face curiously.

"Sure... in. I like in. In is good."

Kathy leaned up, pressing her lips to his.

***

"So what did you think of the movie?" Ross asked. "I thought the cinematographer's use of shadow was particularly effective."

"Yeah!" Rachel hid a yawn behind her hand. "That was really effective."

Amusement played over Ross' lips. "You weren't paying attention for a single second, were you."

"I couldn't read the subtitles, Ross," Rachel replied, trying to keep her irritation out of her voice.

"Well, that kills the movie as a potential dinner topic. Where you wanna eat?"

"Oh, I dunno, I guess I..." Rachel trailed off; Ross was staring off into the distance. "Ross?"

"Julie," he whispered, pointing surreptitiously.

Rachel whirled. Julie was standing over by the stairwell, chatting to two friends... and as Rachel watched, Julie saw Ross, flinching visibly, her eyes wide.

That was a little weird...

A brief disagreement with her two friends... them laying restraining hands on her, Julie shaking her head violently... and Julie was approaching them.

"Hey guys," she said, her voice quivering only slightly. "What's up?"

"I didn't think you'd be here," Ross said quietly.

"Are you kidding? I've been waiting for this movie to come here for months. Don't you think the cinematographer's use of shadow was particularly effective?"

"Definitely," Rachel said awkwardly.

"So, are you guys... together?"

Rachel and Ross' eyes met. "We, uh, came to see this movie together," Ross stammered.

And now Rachel was freaked. This wasn't like Ross at all. She'd figured he'd be all over her at this point, practically wearing a "I AM FINE WITHOUT YOU!! JUST FINE!!" neon sign on his head. It was The Way Of The Ross. Why didn't he want Julie to know they were on a date?

"Really?" Julie asked pointedly. "Rach, you didn't strike me as a likely fan."

The words were bitchy... should have been bitchy, even... but all Rachel could see on Julie's face was deep, deep concern... concern for her.

"Well, I like to expand my horizons," Rachel smiled. What the hell was going on?

"Right. Well... I should be getting back to my friends." Julie patted Rachel's arm, turning on her heel, returning to her friends... who wrapped protective arms around her, shooting strange looks over their shoulders at Ross and Rachel.

"Well, that was awkward," Ross fake-laughed.

"Yeah, that was... that was definitely... awkward..."

***

Kathy and Chandler rolled across the bed, tangled up, kissing frantically. Kathy pulled back, gasping, working the buttons on Chandler's shirt, spreading it back with her palms.

Kathy inhaled sharply. "What the hell happened to you?"

"It's a nubbin!" Chandler cried... then realized that wasn't what Kathy was looking at. "Oh, that. It's just a scratch."

"Hell of a scratch," Kathy marveled, running her fingers along the angry red length of it. "How did you get this? It looks brand new."

"It is new," Chandler sighed. "Let's just say I had a disagreement with a lady friend... and she had heels in her hand at the time."

"How, um... how recent is this lady friend?"

Chandler flopped back onto the bed. "Spleen-through-the-wringer recent. I'm sort of on 'vacation' avoiding her... and my best friend, who she dumped me for."

"Ouch. Should we be doing this?"

"Well, I was definitely enjoying it..."

"Yeah, I was too, but... what happened?"

***

"And I will have the Grilled Prawns." Ross handed the menu back to the waiter.

I hate the way he says 'Grilled Prawns', Rachel thought fiercely, then stopped herself.

What was going on? Ross was her friend, her very good friend. He hadn't tied her up and dragged her out here... and he hadn't really been the one to mess up things... that'd been her.

She supposed it was just disappointed anger... that feeling she'd had whenever her dad had gotten back from a business trip, and Amy and Jill had gotten to him first. Even if the souvenir she'd ended up with was perfectly nice... she'd always had a bizarre urge to drop-kick it. She didn't want that one!

God, Chandler's right... I am a brat.

But when Ross said things in that over-accented way, it was... pompous, and kinda obnoxious. Chandler could have said the exact same thing, in the exact same way, and it would have made her giggle. It would have been meant to make her giggle.

Chandler would have slid lower in his seat at that movie, leaning in, whispering hilarious fake lines for the actors into her ear, making her laugh even as her knees went a little weak. Or they could have just bailed on the movie altogether, hurrying back to his apartment, all over each other in the cab, him pressing her up against the kitchen counter, melting into kisses...

"Rach?"

"Sorry, Ross. Mind wandering a little bit."

"That's okay," Ross said benevolently. "I was just asking how you were liking your new job."

"Oh, it's... it's good."

"I gotta tell you, Rach," Ross smiled. "I'm glad to see you get out of that coffeeshop. You keep on doing what you're doing at Bloomingdale's, you could wind up with a real career."

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Define 'real career'?"

"Oh, you know," Ross laughed. "Something with a future, benefits, a stable salary. I'd love to see you get out of the service industry altogether."

"Monica and Phoebe are in the service industry..."

"And look at what it's done for them! Phoebe scrapes by, and Monica's under constant stress. And don't get me started on Joey."

"And Chandler's job...?"

"Well, I know it wasn't exactly what he wanted to do, but look at what it's given him! He has a 401K, benefits, a great salary, stability. He's right on track."

"Right on track for... what, exactly?"

"Adulthood, y'know? Having children, getting married. I mean, okay... what if Pheebs got pregnant right now? How would she ever support a child?"

"I think Phoebe would be a great mom."

"And I'm sure she would. Emotionally. I'm talking about practical stuff here."

"Chandler's job bores the crap out of him, Ross. It's like eight hours of misery a day."

"Well, y'know, I'm sorry for him, but in a way, he's lucky. I mean, in college... the man would not pick a major! He could have been good at so many things, had his pick of several career paths... and he got that joke English degree. What the hell do you do with an English degree, besides teach English? If he hadn't taken that temp job, I don't know what would have happened for him."

Rachel's nostrils flared.

"Your salads," the waiter said, setting bowls in front of them.

Rachel plunged her fork in, spearing a wedge of carrot violently, and taking great pleasure at ripping it apart with her teeth.

***

"No-no-no, wait," Kathy shook her head. "She's so in love with Ross that she leaves their first night together, comes to the hotel in the middle of the right, and runs from floor to floor screaming your name... to tell you she's with him? Chandler, that doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, well, lately she hasn't made any sense." Chandler pulled his pack out. "You mind?"

"Nah, there should be an ashtray in the desk drawer." Kathy popped the top of the Coke she'd run down the hall for a few minutes before, watching Chandler light his cigarette. "You sure that's the whole story?"

"Look, I asked her why she came, and that's what she told me."

"After she'd wounded you, so pissed off that you'd slept with Monica?"

"I didn't sleep with Monica."

"I know that, she doesn't. I gotta tell you, Chandler -- this whole thing is playing out way differently in my head."

"Mon's her best friend. She's protective, y'know? She probably thought I'd used her. Hence the wounding."

"I don't know, Chandler. You know, you... you don't strike me as the world's most confident guy, now that I'm really talking to you... you don't think that might have, uh, clouded your vision a bit?"

***

"Dr. Geller?"

"Dr. Stevens! Dr. Caldwell!" Ross pushed his chair back, extending his hand. "Good to see you!"

"And who's your lovely lady friend?" Dr. Caldwell asked.

"Ah, this is Rachel. Rachel Green, this is Michael Stevens and Stephanie Caldwell."

"Hi," Rachel waved.

"Would you like to sit with us?" Ross asked. "We're still working on salads, you can catch up."

The hostess moved plates and napkins over, and Rachel plucked her purse off the chair to make room.

"Ross, we've been reading your paper on the connection between geographic isolation and rapid mutagenesis," Dr. Caldwell said. "It's fascinating."

"Right up there with your 'Punctuated Equilibrium in the Devonian Era'," Dr. Stevens agreed.

"Oh, but that's a classic," Dr. Caldwell laughed.

"Oh, well, it's... it's hardly a classic," Ross said demurely. "Do you, uh... really call it a classic?"

Rachel could feel her brains melting into goo and running out her ears. She nodded and smiled, the fake plastic grin beginning to make her cheeks ache as the dino-talk continued.

Her pasta arrived, and she ate it as slowly as possible, making sure her mouth stayed full just in case she was invited to participate, mentally replaying last Friday's "Guiding Light".

"Rachel?"

The Spauldings really were assholes... well, except for Philip, sometimes...

"Rachel?"

She looked up, caught. "Yes?"

"What do you think?"

She reapplied her fake smile. "Oh, I think it's fascinating."

Ross raised an eyebrow. "Your pasta... is fascinating?"

"Well sure, yeah! Monica's been training me to uh, pick out the ingredients in food." She turned her dazzling fakeness on the two other PhD's. "My roommate's a chef."

"Oh, wow!" Dr. Caldwell said. "So... what's in the sauce?"

"Um..." Rachel ran a mental eye over Monica's spice rack. "Some, uh. Cumin."

"In alfredo sauce?"

Oops. Rachel toyed with her fork. "Must be some secret recipe."

"Wow, cumin," Dr. Caldwell mused. "I'd never thought of using that..."

Dr. Caldwell raised her fork, tasting gingerly. "You know... now that you mention it... I can almost taste it, I think."

"Well there you go," Rachel smiled.

Oh, dear god. Get me out of here get me out of here get me out of here get me out of here...

***

"I'm just saying... you should at least try to repair the friendship."

"I don't know, Kathy..."

"Come on, Chandler. Look, I know you're hurting... but y'know? Even if she is a bitch, even if she is with Ross... she's still the girlfriend of one of your best friends, the roommate of another. You don't want to... how did you phrase it earlier? 'Kip' yourself."

"Yeah, I guess..."

***

They walked down the street, Ross waiting until the two doctors were out of earshot.

"To quote the Great Chandler Bing... could you have been paying less attention?" Ross snapped.

Oh, don't you dare quote the Great Chandler Bing...

"Ross, I don't have a paleontology degree, okay? I had nothing to contribute to that discussion!"

"You could have at least pretended to pay attention."

"I wasn't snoring! Count your blessings!"

"My job bores you that much."

"I'm sure your job is lovely, Ross. I just... well, how bored would you have been if I'd been talking about, oh, I don't know, a-line skirts with my co-workers?"

"You at least could have learned something," Ross protested. "Look, it's okay, I'll loan you some books..."

"I don't want to be loaned any books, Ross. Can't you just accept that we have different interests?"

Ross' face softened. "Of course. Of course, Rach."

"Thank you," she replied.

"And next time I'll remind you to bring your glasses, okay?"

"Well... maybe next time we could go see a movie that's actually in English."

Ross took a step back, then plastered on his game face. "Sure, sure... that too." He fell into step beside her. "So, uh... you wanna come back to my apartment? Watch a movie in English?"

"I think I'm kinda movied out for tonight, Ross. Rain check?"

He tried unsuccessfully to keep the disappointment off his face. "Sure. Rain check. No problem."

"So... I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

Ross leaned in for a kiss, and Rachel turned her head so it landed on her cheek.

"Right," Ross said flatly, hailing a cab.

***

"Joey? Hey, Joe?"

Rachel pushed the door further open, craning her head around the crack. With Chandler gone, Joey was doing a lot more naked cooking, and suddenly, it wasn't so safe to barge right in.

"Joey?"

She opened the door a little wider, greeted by the sounds of soft snores. Joey was passed out on the couch.

Well no, no, not quite... Joey was passed out on the couch, clutching a stuffed penguin in a ski vest. Rachel slapped her hand over her mouth to keep the giggles in.

Joey shivered a little in his sleep, and Rachel crossed behind the couch, reaching for the blanket, pulling it down to cover him. She tucked him in gently, moving his arm to cover it...

There was something written on his arm.

And the last four letters she could see were "DLER".

Carefully, carefully, Rachel slid Joey's sleeve up his arm, watching his closed eyelids. They never moved.

SUNDAY PICK UP CHANDLER
GATE 22 10:45

Rachel's eyes flicked to the little alarm clock Joey had perched on the sofa arm. 10:00.

And the "alarm set" light was on.

Rachel finished tucking Joey in, and he let out a little sigh of contentment, squeezing his penguin tighter. Rachel crossed to the alarm, flicking the "alarm set" button to "off".

Rachel erased the Magnadoodle, leaving Joey a note so he wouldn't feel guilty when he woke up, and slipped out the door.

***

"Just this," Rachel said, digging out her wallet and pushing the copy of Cosmopolitan across the counter.

Her eye lit on something in a cold case, and she smiled. "Oh... could I get that Yoo-Hoo, too?"

She paid for her purchases, rolling the magazine and stuffing it under her arm.

This would work. It'd be good. He'd be surprised, sure, but she could fix this. She strode to Gate 22, taking a seat, opening the magazine to "21 Ways To Drive Him Crazy In Bed".

Maybe she'd learn a little something to use on him later.

The first-class passengers began to stream out, embracing their loved ones, heading for baggage claim. Rachel closed her magazine, gripped the glass bottle, touched at her hair nervously.

And then she saw him, his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Her heart leapt.

And Chandler turned, speaking to a woman behind him... a woman who came up and straightened his collar, dropping her own bag at his feet.

Oh dear god. Not again.

Not again.

What was she gonna do this time? Get drunk and fall in love with Joey?

Well, she knew what she wasn't gonna do this time.

Rachel ducked around a column, attaching herself to the end of a long line of vacationing seniors in Hawaiian shirts, keeping the crowd between her and Chandler, letting them lead her out.

She passed a trash can, and pitched the bottle into it.

Outside the concourse, she hailed a cab, sliding into it and slinging her magazine across the vinyl seat, giving the driver directions.

"And hey, look -- if I'm ever in your cab again, and I ever ask you to take me to LaGuardia?"

"Uh-huh?" the cab driver asked, eyebrows soaring.

Rachel crossed her arms. "Kick me out the door on my ass."