I'm sorry if something doesn't make sense; but you've got to understand, I know what's happened, and I can't put it all in here, otherwise I'd shoot myself. (I don't own "Mr. Brightside" by the Killers, btw.) Don't forget about time-zone differences, people. If it's noon in NYC, it's 9 am in California.

Rachelgreengeller- Messing up people's lives is fun!

Fashion hottie- Ah poor Ross, he doesn't suck he's just confused.

LilMondlerLuver- Long time no see… couldn't agree more, I wish Chandler would poke him with a stick like he said he would in Vegas.

Dominique Hegdre- I make no promises about happy endings, sorry.

Chan4mon4evaeva- Oh, dear. I don't think you like Richard much.

Ruby Potter- Thanks, vacation sucked, though. You know when you make pudding there's that nasty skin on top? Well, instead of eating the pudding you just eat the skin and, ta-da: pudding skin singles.

And the raspberries go to…

Chan4mon4evaeva and LilMondlerLuver, because you make me laugh…. I don't know why.

(Approximately nine years later,

which is about ten years after the death of Phoebe Buffay)

Chapter 5

Seven-thirty a.m. eastern time.

Chandler Bing's radio alarm began, and his eyes slowly opened as the station it had been tuned in to began to play a song.

Chandler rolled over and faced the radio, rubbing his eyes and listening to the lyrics. It wasn't his taste in music, but it wasn't that bad, either. He tuned out the music and instead focused on his room. The white walls were covered in pictures drawn by his five-year-old daughter, Emily. Most of them were colorful scribbles- but one hung above his head that was different. It was a picture of a family in front of a huge yellow house with tall trees on every side. A child, who obviously portrayed Emily, stood in the middle of two adults, smiling brightly. On her left stood a man who was clearly Chandler; he even wore glasses like the real Chandler. On the right of the child was a woman; one that, curiously enough, was not blonde like her mother, Samantha Romfold. She had dark hair, and Chandler wasn't quite sure where Emily had gotten the impression that their family would include a dark-haired mother.

Jealousy

Turning saints into the sea

Turning through sick lullaby

Joking on your alibi

But it's just the price I pay

Destiny is calling me

Open up my eager eyes

I'm Mr. Brightside

Chandler shook himself as his ears tuned in the music again. Irritably, he hit the button and the music stopped. After a moment or so, he got out of bed and put on his glasses.

A small figure ran through his door, "Daddy!"

Chandler knelt down as Emily ran towards him and wrapped her small arms around his neck. He picked her up, "What are you doing up so early?"

"The music woke me up!"

"Ah, I see," Chandler said, rather distractedly, "You looking forward to going to Mommy's today?"

"To eat turkey!"

"That's right," Chandler said he carried her out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, "Today's Thanksgiving."

He placed her on the floor and she sat on a chair, "How come you don't come and eat turkey?"

Chandler sat next to her, "Daddy doesn't really like Thanksgiving."

"Why?"

He smiled at her, sighed, and stood up, walking to the sink, "Are you hungry? I can make you some breakfast."

Emily bobbed her head enthusiastically, "Eggs and bacon and sausage and ice cream and cookies and toast!"

He raised his eyebrow, "That's quite a breakfast."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have now landed in the Los Angeles airport. It is 4:34 a.m."

Ross Geller jolted awake as the stewardess clicked off the speaker. Ross certainly hated this early flight- but it was the only one available on Thanksgiving. The man next to him was still sleeping; his mouth was wide open and rumbling snores were emitting from him. Ross turned away and unbuckled as the plane stopped completely. He rubbed his eyes and opened the above compartment, taking out a briefcase. He joined the throng waiting to get off the plane.

He was going to see her again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Are you ready to go?"

Emily nodded enthusiastically and Chandler opened the door. She hopped through, humming vaguely. Chandler grabbed his cell phone off the counter and followed her. He opened up the back door of the car and she scrambled in, buckling her seatbelt. He entered the driver's side and tossed his phone onto the passenger seat. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was 4:23. Less than eight hours, and this holiday was over. Thank God. Then they were off down the trafficked roads of suburban Philadelphia.

After 20 minutes or so, they reached their destination and pulled into a parking lot of an apartment building. With a sigh, Chandler got out and Emily followed, up the path to the grey building.

Back in the car, Chandler's cell phone began to ring.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Monica Geller sat, motionless, on a chair in her kitchen. Thirty-nine, she thought. I am thirty nine. I'm almost forty. I should have a life. I should have a husband, or at least a boyfriend, I should have kids, or at least the possibility of kids… I should have a future… or at least the possibility of a future.

A future with someone else. Not just me. Not just a 39-year-old divorced mom who lives in an apartment with so many memories that she want to tear down the walls, but at the same time can't leave because that would hurt so much… not just some almost-40-year-old who hasn't had a date, much less sex in two years…

"I have Daniel," she whispered.

It was true. Daniel, her eight-year-old son, was in her life constantly. He was her life, to tell the truth. Everything was done because of him- keeping happy during the day so that he didn't see her cry like she did at night, staying at work, not completely giving up. But right now, at this very instant, she had nothing. Daniel was at Richard's for Thanksgiving, and Monica was stuck here, in this memory-drenched apartment, eating a grilled-cheese sandwich instead of helpings of turkey, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce.

Why a grilled-cheese sandwich, she wasn't sure. She'd just had a craving for it- or maybe it had something to do with that damned photo album that she couldn't bear to throw away. That stupid photo album that had pictures of them- Ross, Chandler, Rachel, Phoebe, and herself. She hated herself for not being able to throw it away, because it hurt whenever she flipped through the pages- but yet, she continued to. And she wondered what the others were doing at that same moment that she was looking at them, not in the present, but in the wonderful, almost carefree past imprinted in the pictures.

She willed herself not to cry. Today was about giving thanks…

But what was she thankful for?

Daniel, certainly. Her brother, Ross, even though they had drifted apart immensely. In fact, she was even sadder than she usually was at Thanksgiving- Ross was always here. Always. But this year, he'd gone to L.A., and she missed out on seeing her brother on one of the few times he did visit.

What else, what else, what else… Rachel and Joey, who she was still in contact with. Barely. Her apartment, she supposed, and maybe Richard. No, change that, she wasn't thankful for him at all…

Suddenly, she grabbed the phone and dialed the number she had memorized ten years ago. Tears were running down her cheeks as she got the voicemail. When it beeped, she began, "It's… it's Monica… I didn't know who else to call…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ding-dong.

Rachel rushed down the stairs of her small townhouse, followed by her nine-year-old daughter, Phoebe. The girl's reddish-blonde braids hung limply at the back of her head as she reached the front door with her mother. Rachel opened the door, "Joey! And you brought a whole pie! Didn't you get hungry walking across the street?"

Joey grinned back and came inside, closing the door. "I had two, but I ate most of the first one on the way over," he explained.

"Joey!" Phoebe said, "Do you like my braids? Mom styled them for me!"

Joey turned to the girl, "Do I like them? I love them, your mom did a great job!"

Phoebe grinned toothily and twirled to show off her beauty. Then she ran upstairs again. Rachel and Joey watched her until she disappeared, and then turned back to each other, "So, talk to Chandler today?"

Joey shrugged as they walked into the kitchen, "Chandler barely ever calls, do you really expect to say 'hi' on the day he hates?"

"You've got a point," Rachel admitted. Then she brightened up, "Oh, well… want macaroni and cheese?"

"The Annual Tribbiani and Green Thanksgiving Dinner Food?" Joey asked, "Yeah!"

Rachel smiled and brought out three boxes from the pantry, "I was thinking about putting little cut-up hotdogs in it too!"

"This is my kind of Thanksgiving!" Joey said excitedly, sitting down at the small table.

"I thought you said you had to work today," Rachel said as she sat across from him.

"I got out of it," Joey explained with a spark in his eye, "The director's…"

Rachel nodded, "Your girlfriend, right?"

"Yeah, first serious relationship since… us."

"Well, I'm glad for you," Rachel said, ignoring any awkwardness in that last statement. It was true they'd been married- but it didn't exactly work out and divorce was the answer. Rachel had worried that they wouldn't be able to be friends afterward; but as it had turned out, Joey was perfectly fine with being friends and came over at least twice a week, more if he wasn't busy with his hit TV sitcom, Getting There.

Joey was about to say something else when a ding-dong rang throughout the house.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A little bit shorter than usual, but I didn't want to go any further. Uhm… yeah next chapter should be lots of fun (maybe not literally). It should be up soon… if you're confused about anything, please say so, though after next chapter you shouldn't be. I'm thinking 2-3 more chapters, but that's not definite at all (it all depends on how far I want to take this). I know a lot of this chapter was Chandler and Monica, but next chapter should be more even (sorry if I favor Mondler over R/R sometimes… I'm a bigger Mondler fan). Please review, you totally make my day when you do that. Seriously.