A.N. – Okay, I know it's been a while since I last updated. For those of you that even remember this story, I apologize profusely. I guess you can say I had a prolonged writers block. Not to mention that I decided to write this story at the worst time, leave it to me to be convenient. Anyway, I'm back with this chapter, and not to worry, I have the next one on layaway. So again, to those of you who have read this, I apologize. And if you haven't read it yet, well what are you waiting for? Get to it kids, you have six chapters to catch up on.

You know the drill; I'll never own any of themever.

Monica, confusion and doubt plaguing her mind, left the restaurant. With no explanation for her family, she ran from their confused and worried stares. Once outside she took several frantic glances to her sides, hoping to catch Chandler and question him about his abrupt leave. Doesn't he realize how important this dinner is to me?' she asked herself. After several seconds, however, she gave up her search, deeming it hopeless.

As she made her way to find a cab she heard a familiar voice behind her. She looked, but saw no one. His voice continued from somewhere, hushed and hurried, and it was then Monica saw Chandler in the alley to the side of the restaurant. His head down, a cell phone to his ear, and a cigarette in one hand, Chandler did not notice Monica glaring at him from the sidewalk. Monica watched as Chandler continued speaking into the phone, it was then that she realized he was not speaking English. It was a language that Monica could not recognize, and even if she had known what it was Chandler was speaking too quickly and quietly for her to hear it. Monica also noticed that despite the fact that Chandler was speaking quietly his voice was harsh and callous, unlike his normal carefree tone. Monica watched for several more minutes as Chandler continued his rant to the unknown person on the other end. She felt as if she was watching a different person as Chandler, with his back still turned to her, took several drags from his cigarette as he became more involved in his conversation.

He finally seemed to be ending his heated discussion and Monica became nervous, she was suddenly unsure if she wanted to be there when he turned around. As she moved to make her getaway Chandler shoved his cell phone into his pocket and haphazardly put his cigarette out on the wall as he turned to leave the alley.

"Monica?" Chandler questioned, catching her as she tried to escape being seen. Monica was too late, he had caught her. "Monica, what are you doing here? Were you watching me?" Chandler asked, confused to see his girlfriend there, he thought she would still be in the restaurant with her family.

"Iuh," Monica started, unsure how she should explain herself. She noticed that his voice had transformed back to the one she was familiar with, but the one she had just heard him using still lingered in the back of her mind. It scared her. Wait a minute,' she thought, he's the one who left me in the middle of dinner without an explanation, he should be explaining himself to me.' Monica, no longer worried, was now even angrier than she had been to begin with. "What are you doing here?!" Monica questioned, unable to mask her frustration. "We were supposed to be having dinner with my family, and instead I find you out here chatting on your cell phone."

"Monica, I" Chandler began, but he didn't know how to finish. He was stuck. What was he supposed to say, Monica, I was having a conversation with an officical from the Russian government warning them of a possible terrorist attack.' He didn't know what to do, she'd laugh if he told her the truth. "Monica, I can't explain it, I'm sorry."

"What? What do you mean you can't? You can, you just don't want to. What language were you speaking anyway?" She was becoming more frustrated by the minute, she couldn't understand his unwillingness to tell her what was going on.

Chandler sighed, knowing that he had royally pissed her off. He thought it'd be best to at least answer this question. "Russian," he answered. He looked down, knowing what question would be next.

"Who do you know who speaks Russian? Better yet, how do you know how to speak Russian?" Monica asked, amazed that Chandler knew this language that was completely foreign to her.

"I can't tell you," Chandler managed to get out, knowing that this conversation was going nowhere good.

"You can't tell me?" Monica asked, not being able to believe Chandler's resistance to explain himself to her. "Well then maybe you can tell me what was so important that you felt compelled to get up and leave me in the middle of dinner?" Monica questioned agaian, but again she received the same response as Chandler slowly shook his head. "Well, you can at least tell me when you started smoking," Monica asked quietly, more hurt than angry with Chandler.

"I'm sorry, it's just something I do when I'm nervous or stressed. I didn't mean for you to see me." Chandler tried to explain, he knew Monica hated smoking, she thought of it as a weakness.

"I guess you didn't mean for a lot of things to happen tonight, Chandler." Monica said sadly, holding back the tears brimming on the edge of her eyes. With that she turned around and walked away from Chandler.

"That's just great," Chandler said to himself as he watched Monica hurry away. He felt terrible. He had an overwhelming urge to go after her, to tell her that he was sorry and that he loved her, to tell her all about his job and what he did, but he was too afraid. Chandler laughed at himself, of all things, he had to be afraid of this. Sure, he could stare down the barrel of a gun, no problem; but this, this was something entirely new to Chandler. Ignoring his new and terrifying feelings Chandler pulled out another cigarette and began to make his way to his office. It would be a long night.

Okay, that one was short; but I didn't want to post too much if no one was into it anymore. So let me know if you want the next one.