AN: I think the question is: How many times can I use the word 'vomit' in one chapter?

Head Over Heels

Three: One Fine Day

"Iz…Izzy…Isabelle!"

"Whaaaaat?"

"Honey, you have GOT to put your shoes on, okay?  We're gonna be late!"

"Daddy, watch my dwess!" Isabelle squealed, as she spun around on the hardwood floor in her off-white tights, her light blue dress rippling around her.

"Wow, that's great, sweetie!  Come put your shoes on, please!"

"I wanna dance some more!" Isabelle protested, and spun around again.  Chandler walked to the center of the living room, and grabbed her mid spin, just as the five-year-old projectile vomited her breakfast all over Chandler's suit.

"Oh, Iz," Chandler groaned, as Isabelle started to sob.

"Okay, honey, it's okay…I'm just gonna…um…" Chandler stuttered, unsure what to do next.  There was a knock on his front door, and his eyes widened.

"Shit," he muttered, and Isabelle sniffled loudly.

"I mean shoot," Chandler said quickly, and turned to answer the door.

He pulled open the door, to reveal a petite, dark haired woman, with striking blue eyes and perfect, porcelain skin.  She was simply breathtaking, so much so, that Chandler had to force his jaw closed.  The woman's sapphire eyes lowered slightly, and Chandler was suddenly aware that he was totally covered in vomit.

"Um, I…" Chandler stuttered, and backed out of the doorway.  The woman smiled sympathetically, and Chandler felt a warmth flush through him.  It was immediately followed by an icy guilt, and a slight embarrassment.  Caitlin's face flashed through his mind, only to fade as the woman spoke.

"This looks like a really bad time," the woman said, her voice soft and warm.

"I'm sorry, my daughter just…you know, can you just give me a minute?"

"I can come back…I just live—"

"No!  No, um, that's okay…I'll be five minutes," Chandler smiled, and grabbed Isabelle on his way to the bathroom.

*

Monica opened her mouth to reply, but her new neighbor closed the bathroom door before she had an opportunity.  Left totally alone in the apartment, she scanned the room, taking in everything she could.

 He was still in the process of unpacking, but he'd tried to make a comfortable and safe living space for him and his little girl.  There was a soft, light brown sofa in the far corner of the room, and a matching overstuffed reading chair adjacent to that.  A small wooden coffee table, a stack of well-worn books and a large green rug completed the corner – a space that had clearly been etched out for him.  The majority of the living room was obviously hers—it was filled with toys: games, puzzles, blocks and dolls were scattered on the floor, along with a large stack of books and a few videos-all animated, and all Disney.  Monica smiled.  It was pretty clear who really ran this household.  Her eyes moved to the kitchen area, which was still missing a few appliances, but again, he had clearly tried to make a comfortable space for them.  There was a small plastic plate sitting on the counter, with the remains of what appeared to be French Toast.  Next to that was a larger glass plate, with a half-eaten slice of plain toast on it.  Her first instinct was to clean up the mess, but she mentally berated herself—she hadn't even introduced herself yet!

Rachel had told her a little about their new neighbor last night—according to Rachel, he was possibly a single father—there was no mother in sight—and he was definitely, 'hot'.  Monica had had her doubts about Rachel's gossip—until he'd opened the door. 

He was certainly 'hot', Monica smiled, but the vomit-suit was definitely a turn off.  She was only able to catch a brief glimpse of the little girl, but she could tell already that—vomit aside—she was adorable. 

She was jerked from her thoughts when the bathroom door opened.

*

She was still here.

That was the first thought that ran through his head, but it was immediately replaced by a deep sadness—and slight guilt—that always seemed to weigh him down these days. 

He'd managed to clean up Isabelle fairly well, but his suit was ruined, and he'd suddenly realized—after stripping off the soiled clothing—that the only thing he had to cover himself was a worn, threadbare bathrobe—a gift from Caitlin ages ago—that was itself soiled—a result of too many hurried mornings carrying a too-full cup of coffee.

So now he stood in the center of his living room, holding his daughter, feeling more exposed than he had in a long, long time.

He fought off the very strong urge to flee into his bedroom, and smiled warmly.

"I'm sorry about the…mess.  It's been a…strange morning."

"No, I'm sorry to intrude…I'm Monica Geller, I live across the hall.  I believe you met my basket-case of a roommate, Rachel?"

"Ah yes, the shin-kicker," Chandler laughed.

"The what?" Monica arched her eyebrow.

"Never mind.  Um, I'm Chandler Bing, and this is my daughter, Isabelle.  Say hi Iz," Chandler looked at his daughter, and she shook her head vehemently, before burying her head in his chest with a defiant thud.

"It's nice to meet you both," Monica smiled, "I, um, came to invite you to breakfast, but I am guessing neither one of you are up for that."

Chandler winced and pulled a face, before shaking his head.  He was certain that if Isabelle weren't so busy being dramatically shy, she'd have done the same.

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't think we'll be eating for at least a week," Chandler laughed, and ran his hand through Isabelle's hair.

"Okay, well…maybe some other time," Monica replied softly, "I'd better go…it looks like you were on your way out?"

Chandler smiled blankly, before his brain finally clicked on to what Monica had said.

The airport!

"Oh!  Oh, you're right, we're gonna be late.  I—I'm sorry, Monica, um—" Chandler jerked back and forth, unsure as to what to do first—put down Isabelle, or shake Monica's hand.

What the hell was wrong with him today?

Monica laughed, and extended her hand for Chandler to shake, "I'll see you soon," she smiled, as Chandler shook her hand.  She cocked her head toward Isabelle and smiled sweetly, "and it was nice to meet you, too Isabelle," Monica added.

Isabelle grunted wordlessly, and buried her face into Chandler's neck again.

"She'll…come around," Chandler flushed apologetically.

**

"So have you met any nice people out here?" Joey asked, as he, Phoebe, Chandler and Isabelle made their way out of baggage claim an hour and a half later.

"Um, most of the people in my office are nice…and I met our new neighbors," Chandler shrugged vaguely.

"Are they cool?" Joey persisted.

"They're okay.  One of them has a...rather intense boyfriend, but the other one is really nice," Chandler smiled.

"She's hot, huh?" Joey winked.

"Joseph!" Phoebe berated.

"Whaaaat?" Joey shrugged innocently.  Phoebe sighed and shook her head.

"She's pretty, I guess," Chandler flushed slightly as he hailed a taxi.

"Ha!" Joey grinned at Phoebe, who shot him a cross look.

"Oh, and then there's Izzy's nanny, who, I have to say, I'm not all that fond of," Chandler continued, desperate to change the subject.

"What's wrong with her?" Phoebe asked, as they piled into a taxi.

Chandler looked at Isabelle, who was busy showing her Uncle Joey all of the 'sparkly buildings' that made up Manhattan's soaring skyline.  He smiled, and turned back to Phoebe, his voice lowered slightly.

"Well, now that we've moved to The Village, she's kind of far away.  And I don't think she's interacting with Iz enough.  I think…I'd just prefer someone who lives closer to us and is…not so close to death," Chandler laughed, and Phoebe smiled.

"She's that old, huh?"

"Ancient," Chandler replied, then chuckled again.

"It's nice to see you laughing again, Chandler," Phoebe said softly, and placed an encouraging hand on his knee.

Chandler sobered and looked at Phoebe, his eyes sparkling, "It feels nice too," he replied, and swallowed down a lump that had formed in his throat.

"It's okay, ya know," Phoebe whispered, "to move on.  She would have wanted that."

"I know, but—" Chandler shook his head, "It's just…hard, sometimes, ya know?  I see her…in my dreams…and I talk to her—after all this time, I still feel like I need to talk to her.  Maybe I'm going mad," Chandler smiled sadly, and glanced at Isabelle, who was sleeping soundly on Joey's lap.

"You're not going mad," Phoebe said firmly, "there's nothing wrong with talking to her.  But you have to move on, Chandler, for yourself, and for Isabelle."

**

Monica smiled as she put the finishing touches on her lasagna.  She was hoping that her new neighbor had put the morning's incident behind him, and that he and his daughter would want to join her for dinner.  She'd heard shuffling in the hallway thirty minutes ago, and figured that Chandler and Isabelle had had plenty of time to settle in.  She took a deep breath, straightened her dress and hair, and picked up her lasagna, before making her way across the hall.

She stood in front of the apartment door, staring at the brass numbers for an immeasurable period of time.  Why was she so damn nervous?  She was acting like a silly little schoolgirl for crying out loud!  Shaking her head, she raised her right arm, and knocked on the door.

Her heart raced when she heard rustling, and the thumping increased, as the sound of footsteps grew louder.  Just when she was certain her heart was going to explode in her chest, the door swung open.

And on the other side stood a tall, stunning blonde woman.

Monica felt her heart drop, just before her lasagna slipped from her hands.