A/N: Thanks for the support, everyone! So, without further ado, I present chapter two. (Hey, that rhymes!).
-
Chandler found Joey on his barcalounger, stringing together paperclips as he watched the evening news. Sighing, he set down his coat, yanked open the refrigerator, and fished out the remaining two beers from his secret stash behind the fruits and vegetables. He popped one open and Joey swirled his chair around. Chandler threw him the second.
"Where's Monica?" Joey asked, casually opening his beer.
"With Ross," Chandler replied. "Big victory dinner or something."
"Oh."
"Hey," Chandler said, making his way to his own chair with his eyes fixed on the television screen, "since when do you watch the evening news?"
"Since there was a robbery on a nude beach and I'm about to get the inside scoop."
Silence reigned for a long moment, in which the only noise was the news anchor droning on about a new medication aimed at elderly women. Joey tapped his fingers on his armrest. Chandler shifted in his seat.
"Listen, man –" he started.
"No, you listen, man," Joey said sharply, muting the television and facing Chandler forcefully. "I'm tired of this. I've done a lot for you guys, okay, ever since I found out – covering for you, taking the blame, everything. And now, all I'm asking is for you to stop this stupid little game and grow up! Just tell Ross! Wouldn't you both be much happier with everything out in the open?"
"Well, yeah, but –"
"So just tell him!" Joey cried. Chandler nervously ran a hand through his hair and focused on the swirling contents inside his beer can.
"Look, I'm just terrified something's going to happen to us if we do," Chandler admitted. "I agree with you, Joe, I really do, but it's really not that easy . . . I mean, I see myself telling him and then – dying of a mysterious illness, or committing suicide, and I have to worry, you know, because that's what I do, I worry. I worry about women, about relationships, about babies – and, here, everything's perfect, and I have to worry, because it doesn't make any sense that all of this is happening for me."
"Well, it is," Joey said. "And it's not just because it's a secret, either." He swirled his chair back around. "Or at least that's what I think. But my opinion doesn't seem to mean much right now."
Before Chandler could say another word, Joey un-muted the television and ended the conversation.
-
"He's really angry with us," Chandler said, pacing Monica's bedroom restlessly later that night. "He's angry that he's been stuck in the middle for so long, and that I don't have the balls to tell Ross about us –" He furiously kneaded his forehead with his hands. "I want to, I really do, but – it's like . . ." He looked helplessly at Monica.
"I know," she said.
He looked mollified for a priceless moment. "You don't think –"
Monica stood up and snaked two elegant arms around his neck. "You silly man, I know you have balls."
He laughed and kissed her gently. She smiled. "Hey," he said, in sudden thought, "how'd your dinner with Ross go?"
"Terribly," she said, sighing in remembrance. "I guess I'm not very good at acting sick or something, because he kept giving me these weird looks, like he expected me to pass out, and when I didn't, he made snide comments about my 'abnormally fast immune system', and – man am I glad to see you."
"Because you miss my snide comments?"
"Precisely," she replied, running her hands up his chest. "Listen, I booked some time with you through Rachel, so . . ."
"How does that make Rachel sound like a pimp?"
Monica threaded his hair with her hands. "How does that make you sound like a gigolo?"
"Touché."
"Anyway," Monica continued, sounding triumphant, "I know how you like it over here, and since we were thwarted earlier, I thought, well," she kissed him softly and pressed up against his chest, "I could make it up to you. Rachel provided the distraction."
Chandler looked into her eyes. "Are we going to have to hire a distraction whenever we want to see each other?"
"Well, we could always go to your place. Ross can't see us sneaking off together over there."
"I don't think my place is an option right now," Chandler replied dismally.
"Then, yeah. We need distractions."
Chandler sat down on the bed. Monica plopped down beside him. "Do you ever get tired of sneaking around?"
"All the time," she replied. "But I just don't feel ready to tell him yet. Especially after everything else he's been going through lately. It might kill him."
"Yeah," Chandler said. "I wish there was a way of telling him – you know, without him actually reacting."
Monica laid back on the bed and Chandler followed suit. "Like, gag and tie him up, then yell it out as we're running out the door?"
"That's pretty much what I had in mind."
"We're both evil geniuses, then."
"Excellent," Chandler said. Monica scooted closer into the contours of his body and rested her head on his chest.
"Excellent."
-
Early the next morning, Chandler made his bleary-eyed way across the hall to his apartment. Briefly hoping that Joey wouldn't be awake, he opened the unlocked door and jumped as the faces of Phoebe and Rachel greeted him a cheerfulness that thoroughly disgusted him.
"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Rachel cried, wielding a cup of coffee in her left hand. Chandler eyed it enviously.
"Mmmph," he replied.
"I totally love your hair like that, Chandler," Phoebe told him energetically from Joey's barcalounger. "It's all yummy and wild-looking."
"Oh, it's you," Chandler said gruffly. Phoebe blew him a kiss.
"Aww, you're just grumpy 'cause you're not getting lucky," Rachel said, grinning at him. "Speaking of, how was last night?"
Chandler groaned and grabbed a bagel from one of the bags lying out on the counter. "How did you guys get in here?"
"The door was unlocked," she replied, sipping her coffee. Phoebe nodded enthusiastically.
"Figures," he mumbled, as he slid onto a stool.
"So . . ." Rachel said, leaning forward on her elbows. "Tell us everything."
"About what?"
"About last night!" Phoebe cried.
"Why?" he asked, slightly horrified.
"Because we're curious, and you're the first person awake," Rachel said. Phoebe started up a chant of 'Tell us, tell us, tell us!' from across the room. Chandler pressed his hands against his ears in pain.
"Okay, Phoebs, too early for noise!"
Rachel grabbed his arm. "Please tell us. We're dying!"
He wrenched his arm away from Rachel's painful grip. "Fine. I, uh, went over to the apartment." He glanced at them. Phoebe and Rachel were on the edge of their seats. "And we started talking. Then, we fell asleep."
"That's it?" Phoebe asked in disappointment. "That's it? You're pathetic!"
Chandler looked resentfully at her, then asked, "Why does it even matter so much?"
"Because!" Rachel cried. "Because you two are there. You're in the place."
"The place?"
"You're in love," said Phoebe mystically.
"And you're on the road," Rachel added.
Chandler looked thoroughly confused. "There's a road?"
"Duh," said Rachel. "The road to marriage!"
Chandler choked on his bagel.