Chapter 1- Platonicy

Disclaimer: This disclaimer is brought to you by the number 6, which is the number of characters in Friends that I wished I owned. Actually, more than that. I want David, and Janice, and Mike, and Kip, etc, etc.

AN: Okay, I know I'm in the middle of another fic, but this plot idea could not be ignored. Plus, I'm now on summer vacation! So I have so much more free time.

Chandler Bing hated Christmas presents.

Well, maybe that wasn't entirely true. He liked receiving them, after all (even if they generally consisted of sweaters from his friends and a hastily signed card from his mom), and buying them for his friends wasn't hard work; they didn't care if he got them crappy gifts.

And it wasn't the holiday itself he had a problem with. He didn't have a monopoly on resentment toward all holidays- just the ones designed for people who had something to be thankful for. (But that was a story for another day.)

The statement needed rephrasing: He hated buying Christmas presents for Monica Geller.

It hadn't been so much of a problem before (she was one of his closest friends, after all, and therefore was labeled under the category Doesn't Care if you give them a wire coat hanger for Christmas). But things seemed different now, even if it was just because of their one-night stand in London that had never been mentioned again (or maybe it was a product of his not-so-new-found feelings for her that were a direct result of London.) The point was, tic-tacs and gag gifts just didn't seem to cut it any longer.

Chandler gnawed on his pen, glancing at the ticking clock, although he didn't really have to be there. It was simply another form of procrastination was applying. Maybe he should just get her a cookbook; she'd like it, and it would just be safer.

Except that she wouldn't like it. Her mother always gave her cookbooks, and so did the rest of her family, so Monica had grown to see the recipe book as a sign that someone either didn't know what to get her, or were giving her a subtle hint to improve on her cooking.

Chandler much preferred her macaroni and cheese to the finest cuisine at most restraints, and preferred that Monica never believe otherwise. He knew how sensitive she was about the quality of her food.

…Speaking of people knowing things, Chandler really wished that Joey had stayed oblivious to his (pathetically one-sided) crush on Monica. He had an obsession with reminding Chandler that he was interested in her at random, extremely inconvenient times. ('Come on, it's so obvious! She's gonna figure it out eventually- just ask her out! What's the worst that could happen?'). Chandler finally had to tell him that they'd already slept together in London, at Ross' wedding, but she'd been so adamant that it not be repeated that he was positive she didn't want a repeat performance. His words didn't have the desired effect- Joey continued with him encouragement. (Seven times? Are you fuckin' insane? If Mon's done it with you that many times, of course she's not gonna say no- she's already slept with you! Come on, Channy, it's the perfect situation!)

It wasn't a perfect situation, not by a long shot. Hearing Joey call him 'Channy' during his pep talks was extremely disconcerting, but far preferable to telling Joey outright that he wasn't going to do anything about his attraction to Monica. The last time he had tried that particular method of getting Joey to shut up, the conversation had escalated into a shouting match that Chandler was sure could be heard over at Monica's apartment.

Where Monica would certainly hear Joey yelling at Chandler to ask her out, and draw her own conclusions from that.

So Chandler had sat (relatively) patient through the mainly one-sided discussion, nodding or shrugging only when it was absolutely necessary.

But seriously, what were you supposed to get someone like Monica? Especially considering the circumstances. Everyone had noticed him acting strange since the wedding, even with the distraction of Ross' struggling marriage and inevitably violent divorce. Chandler didn't want to give her another reason to think he might harbor feelings for her. Wondering a little bit (she probably already was) was alright, but not so much that she felt the need to give him the 'lets just be friends'speech (that talk was the scourge of mankind).

This gift was to have multi-faceted purposes. It had to say, 'I care about you and know what you like, but want nothing more than a continuing level of platonic in our relationship.' Well, not in those words exactly. It was a sure sign that he was going mad when he started using words he made up to lighten the mood during Scrabble with Monica in an actual conversation…with himself.

So in a nutshell, make it subtle. Chandler could do that. As long as he didn't use any of Janice's romantic gifts as guidelines: so pretty much anything that didn't include customized candy hearts that read 'Jan and Chan 4ever.'

He was tempted to ask Joey for advice, but he'd never been the gift-giving type. The only one of Joey's girlfriends Chandler remembered him getting a gift for was Kathy, and he'd originally gotten her a pen clock. So Joey was definitely out.

Ross had a better track record for thoughtfulness, but not for subtlety. Chandler shuddered as he remembered the 'Crystal Duck' incident. Ross would also demand an explanation as to why Chandler was debating so fiercely over what to get his little sister.

If Chandler conveniently didn't mention that this gift was for Monica, Ross would probably misinterpret the condition of his relationship with the recipient and suggest something that said something decidedly un-platonic. Besides, even if Ross did manage to come up with a good gift idea despite all the facts pointing otherwise, he would see who the gift was really meant for when Monica opened it on Christmas Day. The whole lie would blow up in his face, and Ross would most likely confront Chandler in front of everyone.

'All right. So Ross is out then.

So's Rach; she tells Monica everything she deems relevant and/or good gossip, and the fact that I love her might possibly fall into the first, if not the second, category.'

Chandler promptly fell off of the couch as the implications of what he's thought subconsciously sunk in.

'Well.'

…

'Things got a little out of hand there. I like Monica. As in potentially more than friends, less than…love. A lot less.'

Standing up slowly and painfully (he'd whacked his tailbone on the coffee table), Chandler attempted to tear his mind off Monica, and back onto Christmas gift ideas (for Monica, but his brain would take what it could get).

'So…Phoebe. Phoebe knows Monica.

Monica: who I am a great deal less than in love with.

I know I don't love her; Phoebe knows I don't love her. It's perfect.'

"Chandler's in love with Monica

A pity she doesn't even know it

He tries to hide it but it's obvious

Chandler just stop…with the bullshit."

'Okay, so there's a slight chance that Phoebe knows.'

"Um, Pheebs?" Chandler asked warily, reaching out meaninglessly as though to stop the second verse from reaching his ears. He recoiled immediately when she abruptly stopped playing and glared up at him.

"Chandler, your name doesn't rhyme with anything," she growled. He shrugged helplessly, running a hand through his hair and taking a seat across from her in a tacky purple chair as he tried to think of a solution to this new obstacle. This totally put Operation Disillusionment (in which he tried to keep Monica from suspecting anything) in jeopardy.

"Well, it doesn't have to be my name." he tried. "I mean, you don't have to use it. You could use a- a pseudonym! You could pick one that rhymes with a lot of stuff, and…it'd be especially good if you ever plan on performing that song. In public."

"Chandler! No!" Phoebe shrieked, whirling around to stare at him properly. "I can't do that. Your name is your essence, your core! The song won't make any sense otherwise!"

"Oh goody," Chandler muttered. "So my 'essence' was decided on by two raging alcoholics who had nightly escapades with men half their age? Don't I get a say in what my essence is made up of?"

"Oooh!" Phoebe shrieked suddenly, clapping her hands together. Michael jumped, startled. "That's a great idea for a song!"

"What? My essence!" Still frustrated with Phoebe's wacky beliefs as well as the entire situation, Chandler pinwheeled his arms, then winced as he accidentally whacked his hand on the edge of Phoebe's counter.

"No! That poor three-legged dog across the street!" She gestured toward the window. Chandler sighed for what seemed like the twentieth time in the last hour alone.

"Um, yeah…speaking of songs, can you-uh-not write songs about me and Monica right now? Cause I really don't think it's such a good idea for Monica to hear that I like her from a jingle."

"They're not jingles!" Phoebe hissed, suddenly furious. "I'm not the one that writes jingles!" Chandler stared at her, slightly taken aback, and Phoebe calmed down with visible effort, twisting one of her oversized rings around her thumb. "Stupid Leslie," she muttered angrily under her breath, before looking up, suddenly businesslike. "You're going to tell her at Christmas anyway, you know."

"I- what? No, I did not know." Chandler raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips, frowning at Phoebe.

"Uh, doy! The best way to express yourself is through song!" Phoebe beamed and stood up, setting her guitar carefully to the side. "Come on! I'll help you with the lyrics! And-ooooh! I can even teach you to play guitar! We just-"

"Phoebe!" Chandler interrupted in a slightly high-pitched voice. He wasn't planning on expressing his feelings to Monica at all, and certainly not through song, but he decided to break it to Phoebe gently- one disappointment at a time. Everyone was worried about her state of mind after she had to give up the triplets. "I already know how to play the guitar."

Phoebe gaped at him for a moment, but her expression soon turned to anger. "What? How could you never tell me? And I thought I was the only musical one!" She punctuated her statement by hitting him viscously on the arm.

"Ow!" Chandler rubbed the offending appendage. "Geez, Pheebs. I told you Ross and I were in a band. Or someone did, over the past few years. So even if I didn't tell you I played the guitar, you should know both Ross and I are 'musical.'" Chandler used air quotes and adapted a high-pitched voice on the last word.

"Well, yeah, but, it's you and Ross," Phoebe scoffed. "It's Ross!" she amended quickly when Chandler glared at her. "He can't even hum!" Chandler nodded, sufficiently appeased.

"Anyway," he continued, "I'm pretty sure that Monica can sing."

"Reeeaaallly," Phoebe drawled. "Does she have a voice like an angel? Did you ever request that she sing love songs to you and-"

"Phoebe! Can we-can we focus!" Chandler muttered, blushing hotly. He immediately regretted it when Phoebe grinned, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet before plopping back on the couch.

"Okay! Play a song for me!"

"On this guitar?" Chandler asked doubtfully. He was fully aware of just how protective Phoebe was of her guitar.

Proving his point, Phoebe's jaw tightened. "Alright, no one touches my guitar. Play it on your own!"

"I don't have one. Not with me anyway," Chandler responded quickly, relieved. In truth, he hadn't played since before he'd even met Phoebe. His old guitar had gotten ruined in a flood inadvertently caused by Kip, his old roommate, and he'd never bothered to get a new one.

"Oh, yeah! You're great! A really dedicated musician!" Phoebe snapped, throwing up her hands in disgust. "Maybe Ross can't carry a tune in a bucket, but at least he has passion for his work!" Although Phoebe was obviously being melodramatic, she did have a point. Chandler had never really had any passion for guitar. He'd liked the clarinet when he was younger, but had been told it was too "geeky." He enjoyed singing, but only songs either by bands he loved, or ones he wrote himself. In his and Ross' college band, 'Way, No Way!' Ross had written nearly all the songs, and he'd never related to any of them.

Chandler never got around to actually telling Phoebe he wasn't going to take her gift advice. He'd spent the entire visit convincing her to not play her new song in public.

Chandler groaned. Phoebe hadn't really helped at all with his gift-giving quandary. He was right back where he started, except that he was now forced to hatch an evil scheme to get the hard copy of Phoebe's new song and burn it. It also wouldn't hurt to develop the ability to do a variation of the vulcan mind meld and erase her memory of the whole…fiasco.

But, really, he should have known better. Although Phoebe wasn't as close to Monica as Rachel was, she had no qualms about telling the whole coffeehouse this sort of thing. Maybe asking Rachel wasn't such a bad idea. She would at least understand why he didn't want to tell Monica.

'And so the farce continues.'

Two hours later, Chandler still had no idea of what to say to Rachel. He'd taken a break and tried writing a poem (haiku actually), but it was so horrible that he went back to the honing of his speech. Well, maybe honing wasn't the right word, considering all he actually had was 'I have developed feelings for Monica' with a note to self to not say 'um' too many times or rush through it so fast that she made him repeat himself. (There was no need to prolong the agony.)

He was really beginning to regret this whole 'telling Rachel' idea, and was just about to scrap the whole project and go down to Central Perk for a latte. However, the fates seemed to have different plans, for Rachel entered just as he crumpled up his fifth draft and threw it over his shoulder in the general direction of the trash.

"Have you seen Joey?" she asked, after glancing around the room.

"On a date," Chandler replied automatically, because although Joey had never actually told him this, it was a safe bet. Not that it mattered- he was faced with a very pressing dilemma that Joey would have absolutely no say in, and Rachel couldn't go gallivanting off and leave him alone with his notepad.

Gallivanting? The stress really was getting to him.

Rachel looked puzzled. "But I just heard you talking to someone."

"I wasn't talking to anyone," Chandler said quickly. He had probably muttered excerpts from his speech out loud, but Rachel didn't need to know that.

"Okaaaay," Rachel said doubtfully, and turned to leave, kicking a ball of paper that had been Draft # 3 aside on her way to the door.

"Wait!" Chandler cried instinctively. Rachel paused, and he could practically feel her roll her eyes, probably thinking he was going to make another joke. "I, um, need your help with something," he mumbled, growing quieter with every word.

She heard anyway, judging by her Cheshire Cat grin that almost made him want to risk Ross or Joey's gift advice.

"With what?" she asked in a sing-song voice, the attempted casualness in her tone countered by her actions: bounding over to the couch and practically throwing herself onto it in her eagerness to hear any gossip. Things must have been really slow at work.

"With…gifts. Y'know, Christmas gifts. Gifts in…reference to Monica."

'God, you're trying to be subtle. Not insane.'

Rachel just rolled her eyes at his lack of eloquence. "We already looked for her presents. We can never find out where she hides them! They're not anywhere in the apartment. We even searched Central Perk and your bedroom."

"Wai-what?" Chandler spluttered, his brief desire to correct the misunderstanding forgotten. "Why my bedroom?"

"Well, we figured she'd coerce you into helping her. She's got you wrapped around her little finger."

Chandler turned red and squirmed uncomfortably.

"Well!" he began hotly. "I'll have you know that…what you said is extremely… and earlier I was simply…asking for advice adhering to Monica's Christmas present. Like what I want to get her."

Rachel smirked at him, slightly bemused. "Well aren't we Mr. Thesaurus today. And adhering to Monica, it's about time you've admitted you're in luuuuve with her!"

"What-how did you get that from what I said? All I asked-I just like-not even-really-we're-FRIENDS!" Chandler spluttered.

"Well, well, well," Rachel crowed. "The gentleman doth protest too much, it seems. You two have always shared a special bond."

"A bond of friendship! We are friends! That is our bond! Platonicy!" Chandler gave up and fell silent, leaning back into the cushions as a sign of his defeat. He knew he was eaten when he started using his new words in conversations with actual people. Maybe if he just stopped talking, it would fix itself. Because it certainly couldn't get much worse.

The vulcan mind meld is a Star Trek reference. That's all you need to know. Please review! It'll make my day and give my inspiration to continue!