Hi! :-) Thanks again for the nice reviews!! I hope Chapter 3 will be pleasant surprise! :-) Thanks for reading!!

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Chapter 3

Monica could, of course, always find something that needed to be dusted or polished in Apartment 20, but that was not why she had opted out of joining the others at Central Perk. She wanted time to herself to sort through her emotions. The rush she'd felt when she and Chandler had stood in the hallway consumed her. Where had it come from? Why had it appeared? And, most importantly, would it last? At least for longer than a day? A week? A month?

When she gave serious thought to her relationship with Chandler, she realized, by all accounts, they shouldn't even be friends. He had not treated her kindly at her parents' house on Thanksgiving in 1987; and even though he didn't know she had heard him call her fat, the fact remained he had said it. And it had hurt her. Very much.

Getting her so-called revenge on him the following year had netted disastrous results, thanks to her clumsiness with a kitchen knife that caused him to lose a portion of one of his toes. That was not the kind of pain she had intended to inflict on him, and she couldn't have felt worse about the unfortunate accident.

But if she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that a lot of her subsequent weight loss throughout that year had to be attributed to Chandler. She realized she liked him, even though their initial meeting had not gone well, at least enough to start seriously losing weight. It was his thoughtless remark that finally got her motivated enough to change her eating habits. And, smiling at the memory, she fondly recalled the surprised, yet, almost lustful look on his face when she had made her grand entrance that day. Yes, for that reason alone, it had been well worth the agony she had gone through to shed those extra pounds.

Also, because of Ross, she knew something about Chandler's traumatic childhood, and his struggles endeared him to her. The fact that, on most occasions, he cracked jokes and had a great sense of humor, amazed her. She knew she could never look at herself that way. As her mother so often took glee in pointing out, Monica could not laugh at herself. But for the most part, until recently, Chandler could, and that was a quality she definitely admired.

Which was why his behavior the last two days concerned her and why she couldn't help but want him to realize just how great a guy he truly was. She believed that with all her being. If Chandler had a heart of stone or was cruel to her friends, she knew she wouldn't care about him. But he wasn't like that. He meant well. She saw that, even if the others some times didn't. She saw someone trying to fit in, trying to find his way. And she desperately wanted to help him.

But how?

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Chandler arrived at his apartment and tossed his jacket onto the sofa. He sat on one of the bar stools and stared at his phone on the counter.

Janice.

He picked up the cordless phone, started to push the buttons for the phone number he'd somehow memorized, and then, as her nerve-grating laugh pulsated in his mind, he threw it down as if it had scorched his hand.

What was he doing? Had he gone crazy? What could he be thinking? He wasn't seriously considering calling Janice?! Was he?

"What are you doing, man?" he asked out loud.

He jumped off the stool as if the phone was contagious and paced the small area of his living room.

"I can't call her. I must be going insane. I have to be. There's no other explanation for this. Of course, I'm standing in the middle of an empty room, talking to myself. Yeah," he continued, looking around the apartment. "There's a padded cell with my name on it just waiting for me."

Knowing he needed to leave his place, he threw open the door and raced across the hall to the safety of Monica and Rachel's apartment. They were at the coffeehouse. He would be alone and could pull himself together. No one would ever know what he had actually been contemplating.

He opened the door and stepped inside. As soon as he closed the door, he leaned his back against it and breathed deeply. Monica's apartment. Familiar territory. Appetizing aromas. No thoughts of Janice here. Only nice memories of home-cooked meals and desserts, laughter, fun times and, of course, the occasional disagreement that was bound to happen among six friends.

"Rachel?" Monica asked, stepping out of her bedroom. "You weren't gone..."

She stopped when she saw Chandler leaning against her door, looking very appealing in a black pullover sweater and faded blue jeans.

"Mo-Mo-Monica! What are you doing here? I thought...I thought...I thought you would be at Central Perk."

"I thought you were there," she countered, just as shocked to see him as he was to see her.

"No," he said, slowly stepping away from the door. "I decided not to go."

"Me, too," she said, moving to meet him halfway.

"Why...why?" he asked, still stunned to see her in her own apartment.

How crazy was that?

She shrugged and hugged herself. "I don't know. I didn't feel like socializing."

Chandler stretched out his arms towards her and motioned wildly with his hands. "That's the same thing I said to Joey!"

She gave him a small smile. "I guess we're thinking along the same lines today."

Chandler shook his head and shivered as he recalled what he had almost done. "You wouldn't say that if you knew what I almost did."

"What did you almost do?" she asked, pleased he seemed more talkative than he had earlier.

He plopped down on the sofa; she joined him.

"I can't tell you," he said, running a hand through his hair. "You'll think I'm certifiable."

Then he looked at her and frowned.

"Maybe you already do."

"No, Chandler," she said, trying to be the friend she knew he needed. "I don't think that. Not at all."

"I came thisclose, Monica, thisclose," he repeated, using his thumb and his forefinger to illustrate just how close, "to calling Janice and asking for another chance. Could I be any more pathetic?!"

Monica's senses went on immediate alert. Janice! No way! He was not going to call Janice, and she would make damn sure of that!

"You are not calling her, Chandler Bing! I won't let you!"

Monica's voice had risen at least two octaves. Chandler retreated to the corner of the couch and tilted his head back.

"Geez, Mon. Calm down. I said I almost called her. I didn't actually do it."

"Good," she said, her voice still above normal. "Now, you stay here, Bing. I'm going to your apartment, and I'm taking your phone."

Monica jumped up from the couch; so did Chandler.

"Monica," he said, with a slight chuckle in his voice at her absurd idea, "you can't, you know, you can't just take my phone."

"Watch me."

"No, I'm serious. You can't take my phone. What about Joey? His agent calls him all the time."

"So?" she challenged, a glint in her beautiful crystal blue eyes. "I'll be his secretary. I'll take his messages. I have my phone pen and pad right there on the table."

"I have no doubts about that," he said, placing his hands on either one of her upper arms, "but you can't take our phone. I'll be okay. What I'm feeling will pass. I'll come to my senses. Eventually."

"That's not good enough," she insisted. "Why, Chandler? Why Janice? Why would you even think of calling her?"

He shrugged. "I don't really know, which is probably why I didn't do it. Maybe I thought of her because she's a familiar person in my life, and she does pretty much accept me for who I am. But that's not necessarily a good thing, is it?"

"Chandler, come here," Monica said.

She reached for his hand and led him back to the sofa. They sat together, facing each other.

"Chandler, you don't need Janice. You don't."

"What makes you so sure?"

His voice dared her to tell him he was wrong.

"Because I know you well enough to know you value your sanity," she said, her voice rising again from frustration.

She willed herself to calm down.

"Just trust me, Chandler. You don't need Janice."

"But what if she's the one I'm supposed to be with, and I just can't see it?"

"You can't see it because it's not there," Monica retorted.

"Monica, why are you so upset about this?"

Chandler had to pose the question. He had to know why Monica was taking such a personal and hard-nosed interest in his love life.

"Because I know that calling Janice is not the answer. Talk to me, Chandler. Don't you know how much I care about you?"

What Chandler's response would have been was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Monica answered it with annoyance.

"Oh, hi, Mom. No. I'm sorry. That's not the tone of voice I usually use when I answer the phone."

She looked at Chandler, who gave her a sympathetic nod and smile, and rolled her eyes.

"No, Ross didn't tell me you and Dad were coming to the city this weekend. Well, I haven't spoken to him today."

As she listened to her mother's continuous harping, Monica grabbed a pillow from the couch and squeezed it hard against her chest to keep herself from screaming.

"How come you couldn't tell me directly? Of course, I want to see you and Dad. I didn't call you to tell you how excited I am to see you this weekend because I didn't know you were coming!"

Monica was now pacing the apartment while looking for something to throw. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chandler quietly heading for the door and reached out to stop him. She shook her head and motioned for him to sit on a chair.

"Mom, I have to go. I'll call you later."

She hung up before her mother could protest.

"That's gonna cost you," Chandler said, feeling badly for Monica and wishing he could think of something witty to say.

But he had nothing.

"I know," she said, not caring at that moment.

"Look at us," Chandler said, the irony of their situations dawning on him. "We make quite a pair, don't we?"

Monica gazed into his clear azure eyes and wanted nothing more than to be in his arms.

"Yes, we do," she agreed.

Her voice had taken on a soft, sensual quality that affected Chandler more than he was willing to admit.

"I should go," he said, his voice husky, as he drank in the lovely sight she presented.

Her hair was slightly tousled; her cheeks flushed from the effort she had exerted on her mother's conversation.

"Please don't go," she said.

It came out as more of a plea rather than a request.

"I really don't want you to be alone, Chandler. I am adamant that you not call Janice."

"What if I promise not to call her?" he offered.

"I still don't want you to go. I need you, too. We need each other."

"We have each other, Monica. We'll always be friends."

She took a deep breath before she voiced the question that had been plaguing her.

"Have you...have you ever given any thought...any thought at all...to the possibility of us being more than friends?"

There. She said it.

"You and me," he asked, pointing his index finger at her and then at himself, "becoming more than friends? As in, like, well...dating?"

"Yes," Monica said, relieved he hadn't left her apartment in a fit of laughter or panic. "What if we gave dating a try? I mean, we like to be around each other, right? We spend a lot of time together, and we have a good time. Don't we?"

"We," Chandler said, still coming to terms with Monica's intriguing suggestion, "would just be more...more intimate?"

"Exactly. What do you think, Chandler?" she asked again, tilting her head to the side and giving it a toss in a flirty way, "wanna give dating a shot?"

Chandler looked at Monica as if seeing her for the first time. Really seeing her.

"This is so incredible," he said.

The tender look on his face made her heart race. He ran his fingers gently through her hair.

"That you would actually consider dating me. Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into?"

"No," Monica freely admitted, feeling lighthearted.

She couldn't keep the smile from her face.

"Do you know what you're getting yourself into, Chandler Bing?"

He returned her smile and framed her face with his hands.

"No, I don't, and to be honest, it's the most wonderful feeling in the world."