A/N: Ok, amusing story time. I was showering this morning, and I took my squishy shower thingamaboger (dunno what they're called) and I put my shampoo on it. As I was squeezing my shampoo bottle, I realized, "This isn't shampoo!" so I washed it off and put soap on, instead. Ok, so that story was a hell of a lot funnier when I had been awake for only 5 minutes, but that's ok! Oh, btw, this is Becca telling the story. It should be fairly obvious because Yen uses bigger words than me in her a/n's.;) Deeewd alert, Yen! Um, that really had no reason to be said except because I wanted to. Anyway, here's the next chapter! We don't really have anything to say about it, so I'm just gonna shut up. Thanks for all the great reviews last chapter. Please read and review this chapter, thanks!:)

CHAPTER 6

Chandler woke up the next morning feeling determined. He would not go to bed tonight feeling as he had the night before - like a failure. He would not sleep knowing that Monica was out there and he was here alone. He would find her, he would talk to her, and he would ask her out.

He went to the diner where she worked, went inside, and sat down, this time ordering breakfast from a guy with dark jeans, a faux-leather jacket, and greased hair that made him look way too much like John Travolta on crack. Chandler kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Monica's dark ebony hair or felt poodle skirt, praying he saw her before she saw him and had the chance to run away.

Because today, he would talk to her.

And then, suddenly, there she was. Standing behind the counter, pushing her blond wig back from her face, one fake boob higher then the other, with dirty plates in her hands and a tiny pencil clutched between her teeth. He had never seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

She came out from behind the counter and walked toward the table next to Chandler. He felt tongue-tied and stupid, and then finally called

out, "Monica!"

She stopped and looked at him. Her eyes widened and one of the plates slipped out of her hand, crashing to the floor.

"Oh, shit," she mumbled, dropping to the floor to pick up the shards of glass. When no one else who worked there came to help, Chandler knelt beside her to help.

"Thanks," she said, glancing up at him from under long, dark eyelashes. Chandler's breath caught in his throat as she smiled faintly.

"No problem," he said. "Listen, do you think we could, you know, talk, or walk or maybe both?" He searched deep into her violet eyes, showing her that he was kind.

Monica bit her lip. "I - I don't know."

"Monica, I just want to talk to you," he whispered. "Please, just give me five minutes."

Monica sighed, nodding twice.

"I get off in fifteen minutes," she said.

"Okay. I guess I'll just - eat this breakfast - my breakfast, then,'' he said, looking at the food now sitting on the table, his mouth barely able to make words.

"Okay," Monica said. "Enjoy." With a half-smile, she walked away. Chandler fell into the booth, his heart pounding. This woman had some kind of effect on him that made him want to talk a lot but also seemed to remove the part of his brain that gave him intelligent speech.

He ate his food without tasting it, watching, waiting always for Monica to appear from the kitchens, to bus a table near him or carry food from the counter. Finally, she walked up to him and said, "I just have to go change. I hate this outfit."

"I think it's adorable on you," Chandler said sincerely. Monica giggled and blushed, hurrying back to the kitchen area. Chandler blushed too, realizing that the little conversation they'd just had was the closest they'd come to flirting.

"Ready?" she said. Chandler jumped and looked around. The woman standing before him didn't look like any woman he'd ever seen before. The Monica he'd met as a prostitute was pale and gaunt, had been wearing trashy clothes, and had dry, brittle hair - but he'd thought she was beautiful. He'd even thought Fifties Monica, with her gaudy poodle skirt, cardigan, curly blond wig, and over-stuffed breasts was gorgeous.

But now - now, she was an angel. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, framing her porcelain face. Her worn-in jeans and blue sweater accentuated her natural curves.

"You okay?" she asked, and Chandler realized he'd been staring.

"Yeah, sorry," he stammered. "So, uh, do you want to go for a walk?"

"Sure," Monica said. They left the restaurant and walked down the breezy street.

"Okay, um - I know we didn't get off to the best start a few weeks ago. I don't usually sleep with girls who come to my apartment looking for Joey, but I was really drunk and horny and - okay, wow, this is so not going well," he muttered, putting his face in his hands.

"No, it's okay," Monica said with a laugh in her voice.

"It's just that I don't - usually do this - "

"What, try to pick up a prostitute?"

"No, try to pick up a woman," Chandler admitted, slightly struck by how unabashed she was. "I suck at it, in fact."

"Don't worry about it," Monica said. "It's kinda cute."

"What, my discomfort?"

"No, your determination."

Chandler took a deep breath. "Okay, this is not going how I planned. Let's start over." He held out his hand. "Hi. Chandler Bing."

Monica grinned. "Monica Geller. So, Chandler Bing. Interesting name."

"I think I really hurt my mother during labor," Chandler joked.

"That would make a lot of sense."

Monica stared at Chandler as they walked along. His eyes were light blue but seemed to pierce right into you. Monica had always been drawn to eyes and she had never seen ones quite so stunning as his.

What are you doing? she reprimanded herself. She couldn't think of him like that... fantasizing about a man's eyes, about lying in bed next to him and staring into them all night, it was utterly ridiculous. All she was doing was walking and talking.

She'd been hoping that by talking to Chandler, her idea that he was a selfish, horrible, uncaring person would be reinforced. Unfortunately, none of those adjectives came to mind as she stared into Chandler's face.

But maybe he just hid it really well.

"Let's get some coffee," Chandler suggested, motioning to the coffeehouse they were standing outside of.

"Oh, um, I kind of don't have any money right now," Monica said.

"That's okay, I'll treat," Chandler said easily.

"I'd rather not," Monica said abruptly. "I don't like to owe anyone anything."

"Why not?" He looked surprised and doubtful. Monica felt a bubble of anger arise.

"If I've got anything, I've got my dignity," she snapped.

"Coulda fooled me," Chandler said, raising his eyebrows and averting his gaze disbelievingly. Monica realized that he was probably joking around, but she suddenly felt the urge to destroy whatever they had here.

"Excuse me?" Monica asked.

"Well, I wouldn't think someone like you would put much importance on having dignity," Chandler said with a condescending smile.

If Monica had been the type of person who had moments of speechlessness, this would have been one of them. But she wasn't, and she didn't. Instead, she burst out, "Someone like me? You mean, a prostitute?" A mother walking by with a little boy gaped at her and hurried her son away, shooting Monica and Chandler disgusted glances.

"Well, yeah, I mean, I guess," Chandler said a little quieter, seeminglu realizing he'd made a mistake. "I mean, it's not the most respectful of professions."

"And whatever you do is more respectful?"

"It's a hell of a lot more dignified than screwing people for money," Chandler spat. "And at least it's legal."

"Have you ever considered that there might be a reason I do what I do?" Monica asked furiously. This was getting so blown out of proportion - she liked Chandler, she really did, but the fact that she thought all the things he was saying every single day made it so much worse.

"Well, no, not really - " Chandler muttered.

Monica clenched her fists in an effort not to slap him. "Then I have something to tell you, Chandler," she said evenly. "I tried to get a normal job. I worked at a deli downtown; I sold tokens at a subway station in Queens; I scrubbed the fucking toilets in Central Park for less than minimum wage, but I got fired from every single job. I finally found a job at the diner that's remotely connected to the field I plan to work in, but I think I'm going to be fired from that soon anyway. And I'll just have to go get another job, because that's what I have to do so my - so I can live. I don't have anybody to go home to, I don't have any money, nothing." Monica took a deep, shuddering breath, staring defiantly up at Chandler, who looked shell-shocked. Inside, Monica was shaking. She'd almost said it - she'd almost told him...

"I - I'm sorry, I didn't know - "

"Damn right you didn't know. You didn't know cause you didn't bother to learn a damned thing about me, only that I was a hooker, and hookers are whores who have no self-worth or meaning in life. I'm a person, Chandler," she said, shaking her head. "A person you'll never get to know."

And with that, she left him standing in the middle of the sidewalk. It wasn't until she had turned the corner and saw that he wasn't following her that she realized she wanted him to.