A/N: You all are just so sweet, I don't know what to do with you. I guess I'll just start handing out hugs to everyone. Oh, and Amy, to make it official: "Yes, yes, a million times, yes!" You have a ring, don't you? Everyone else: I'm sorry. I really, really am.

-

"I want to talk to you," Monica said, bursting into Chandler and Joey's apartment. Joey continued to poke sullenly at his soggy cornflakes.

"Chandler's not here," he told her. Monica pulled up a stool and sat at the kitchen counter. Before speaking, she distractedly mopped up a pool of errant milk with Joey's unused napkin.

"I know. I want to talk to you."

"Why?"

Monica sighed and fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt. "Chandler's miserable. He hates that you're angry with us."

Joey looked up from his drowning cereal resentfully. "So what?"

"Listen, Joey, I'm one-half of the problem," she said, grasping his hand. "And I'd hate myself if I knew that I was the cause some kind of rift in your friendship with Chandler. It's the last thing I want. You know that, don't you?"

"Well, yeah," said Joey hesitantly.

Monica peered beseechingly into his face. "So will you give us a chance?"

"It's not about giving you a chance, Mon," Joey told her. He sounded extremely upset. "I just hate all the lying, and the secrets . . . I mean, you guys – it's great. I've never seen Chandler happier. I've never seen you happier. But . . . I feel like everything's changing, you know?"

"Joey, honey –"

"Maybe you don't care, but I do," Joey said defensively. "Everything is changing. You and Chandler . . . everything's been changing ever since Ross and Rachel broke up, and that was two years ago! But at least everybody knew about that. At least it wasn't a secret."

Monica looked baffled at Joey's vehemence. "Joey, change is for the best, even if it doesn't seem like it now – it is. Really. Why does this bother you so much?"

"Because! Because friendship isn't about secrets and lying and stuff . . . I feel like I've already lost my best friend, I don't want to lose everyone else, too. I don't want everything to split. I don't want you guys to break up and hate each other . . . I don't want you and Ross to fight and never talk to each other again . . . I can't think of anything worse than that."

"It's not going to happen," Monica assured him gently. "I promise."

"Yeah," Joey said noncommittally, returning gloomily to his cornflakes.

Monica stood up. "You know what? You're right! You're absolutely right! We should tell Ross, because we shouldn't keep these kinds of secrets from our friends! You're right, Joey! You're right!" She sank back onto the stool as though weakened by the thought. "But, honey, Chandler and I – we're devastated that we're putting you in the middle. It was never, ever our intention. But we've gone too far now. We've been in this relationship for almost ten months. Ten months! It's too good to be true! And we know it's not because it's a secret, we know, but it's hard. It's like breaking a habit. And we will, eventually, but when we're ready. I know it sounds stupid to you, but, Joey, you have to believe us. Chandler and I love you so much – we never wanted you to be angry with us."

Joey looked shocked at Monica's vigor. "That's what Chandler said."

Monica looked into his face. "Look, Joey, I'm going to cut to the chase. I'm not willing to come between two best friends. But I'm also not willing to let Chandler go. It's your choice. You can try to forgive us, or I can keep talking until you do. Because I'm not going to let this be a problem between us."

Joey didn't say a word. He looked down at his hands. Monica glanced at her watch and sighed in annoyance. "Okay, so I can't bug you all day, I have to go back to work, but I'm not going to let this drop. I'm not! I'll be back later, okay, so you just stay put and, just – think it over –"

Monica hurried towards the door. Joey looked up at her. "Hey, Mon?"

She turned around. "Yeah?"

"Congratulations . . . you know, on ten months."

Monica smiled at him and walked out the door.

-

"I just don't get how they can put all the blame on me!" Ross complained to Phoebe as they walked through the doors of Central Perk. "I didn't know the guy, why should I pay the hundred dollars? It's like being born and instantly being asked to solve all the world's problems!"

"Well, I don't think it's exactly the same," Phoebe said knowledgably. "I mean, you could just pay the hundred dollars and then everybody would like you. It's easy. If you were born, you couldn't just pay a hundred dollars and solve the world's problems. That's crazy."

Ross stared at her. "Oh, right, that's what's crazy."

"That's what I said."

"Oh, forget it," said Ross. He turned away from Phoebe and greeted Monica and Joey, who were already sitting on the orange sofa, enjoying their coffees.

"So I'm guessing work went badly?" Monica asked Ross with a small smile.

"No, work was fine – except for the fact that I felt like I was on parole." He crossed his arms and leaned back on the sofa. "Personality checkups every Wednesday. It's like I'm a mental patient."

Joey shrugged. "Well, you sorta are, dude."

Ross rounded on him furiously. "I was on sabbatical, I wasn't sent to an asylum!"

Joey held up his hands. "Okay, man, what did I say about the religious mumbo-jumbo?"

Ross glowered at him. "I cannot talk to you people."

Monica rolled her eyes. "Quit being a baby. You're back at work, aren't you? And you have your new place, don't you? And, frankly, you should be thankful we haven't checked you into an asylum. We can't stand all of your complaining!"

Phoebe and Joey nodded. "We love you, Ross, we really do," said Phoebe amiably, "but sometimes, when you complain, I want to pour boiling coffee all over your nice new work clothes and stab you repeatedly with this fork."

"So, um, what else is wrong?" Monica asked quickly, as Ross nervously eyed the gleaming utensil in Phoebe's left hand.

"Oh, just this thing in my building," he said despondently. "Some guy is retiring and my neighbors are expecting me to pay a hundred dollars. It's completely unreasonable."

"So now they hate you, because you said no?" Monica supplied.

"Yeah, pretty much. Unless the finger really is the new hello."

"You know, Ross," said Phoebe, "if you want them to like you, you could just pay them. I mean, it's not, like, a huge deal, right? It's only a hundred dollars, and plus, you won't have any troubles with them later."

"Phoebe's right," Monica said. Ross opened his mouth in protest, but she held up a hand impatiently. "Look, Ross, I know your principles are at stake, and it's completely unfair, but, really, is it a good idea to be hated by your neighbors from the get-go? Think about it."

Ross looked like he was waging a war against his inner ideology. Joey watched his progress curiously.

"Okay, while you ponder that," Monica said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, "I'm going to take off – some stuff I need to do –"

"Oh, yeah!" Phoebe cried excitedly. "Oh, right! Oh!" She nodded her head. "You do have some stuff you need to do. And I have some stuff I need to do."

Ross looked inquiringly at her. "I thought I was going to show you my new projector tonight, Phoebs!"

"Yes, you are, and I'm very excited about that!" she assured him.

"Awesome!" cried Ross animatedly. "I want to show you some of these cool fossil slides the guys let me borrow from work!"

"Show me anything you want," Phoebe said. "It's not like I have any ulterior motives or anything."

-

Chandler paced the room, his head in his hands. He was in a no-win situation, he knew that much. Stay here, and Monica would worry, which would later turn into annoyance at his inexcusable tardiness; or, he could meet her, on time, and somehow, through the numerous skills of his foot-mouth syndrome, let slip that he had been pacing his office for the past half hour, wondering what the hell he should do.

It shouldn't have bothered him this much, but there it was, like a thorn in his side, and what is there to do about a thorn you can't reach? It wasn't like the concept of two people standing in front of a group of friends and family and being ceremonially joined for life was a spectacularly newfangled innovation – he had even wondered, if just for a moment, what Monica would look like in her satiny white gown, what the food would taste like, what the invitations would say . . . but it had just been in his head then. It wasn't actually a reality – something he would have to confront . . . in his head, he wouldn't have to pay for the food or invitations, for Monica's wedding dress . . .

So he could name it. The event. Chandler wrung his hands together fitfully. In an hour's time Monica would expect to see him, to talk with him, and he just knew he would freak out. It was inevitable – as inevitable as it was to buy those idiotic hats at Knicks games and never wear them again, at Monica's request.

Maybe he was just being stupid. Sure, they had been going out for ten months, sure. But how serious was it, really? Her brother didn't even know – and by the rate they were going, he probably wouldn't know until the birth of their first child. But that . . . Chandler chewed his nail nervously . . . that was a totally different story.

"Chandler, what the hell are you doing?" said a voice from his doorway.

He stopped pacing immediately and turned to face a frowning Rachel.

"You were supposed to meet me half an hour ago! You left me standing, in the rain, and then, I couldn't remember where your office was, so I was walking up and down the floors, looking for you! Why the hell is your office so freakin' hard to find?" She stared at him. "What's up with you today?"

"Um, first," said Chandler, "calm down. And second, nothing. Nothing's up. I just lost track of time."

"It's something," Rachel said, squinting suspiciously. "I know it's something. Tell me."

"Seriously, Rach, it's not even –"

She gasped in realization. "You're freaking out, aren't you?"

"No!" he cried.

"You so are! You're freaking out! That's why you left so early for work this morning and that's also why you're here at work so late! It all adds up!"

Chandler looked resentfully at her. "Way to go, Nancy Drew."

Rachel ignored his sarcasm. "Chandler," she said, almost accusatorily, "how can you do this now? Now, when you and Monica are so good together, when it's lasted this long?"

He made an agitated gesture with his arms. "I don't know, okay? I don't know! All I know is that Monica's here," he held out a hand, "and it's going really well, and I'm thinking, 'Hey, cool, I'm cured, I'm cured of my insanity, I'm absolutely fine, nothing to worry about' – and you guys are here," he held out a second hand, "and it's like – whoa, rewind, did you just say marriage? And it's almost as if there're two Chandlers. One who can deal with all this pressure, and one who's inside screaming because it's all too much! And I mean, God, Rach, if I could just be that one Chandler, I would, in a heartbeat – Monica deserves that. She absolutely deserves that – not the other Chandler, who shies away at marriage and babies and responsibility. She needs someone who can take the leap, and, I don't know, I just can't. Not right now."

Rachel patted his hand. "Honey, you are so sweet, and so wonderful, and Monica – she is so lucky. Listen – she knows you, Chandler, and she knows how you feel about all of this."

"Does she?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm sure."

Chandler sat down at his desk and twirled a pen between his fingers. He looked up at her after a moment. "I just can't believe I'm doing this."

"Well," said Rachel thoughtfully, "there could be a way of fixing this."

"How?" Chandler asked eagerly.

"You could always make some kind of big gesture. Sort of like a pre-emptive strike – you know, swoop in there and make sure she doesn't sense your fear. That way, she sees you're okay with moving forward, and you have some insurance in case she finds out you secretly freaked out."

"Yeah, okay. But what qualifies as a big gesture?"

"I don't know. Something big, though, to show that you're super committed."

"Huh. But does it have to move forward?"

"Chandler!"

"Sorry, I mean, yeah, I know it does, but . . ."

Rachel crossed her arms. "That's it. I'm hungry, and I'm taking you to dinner, your treat."

"But –"

"We're going!" she said sharply. "Unless you want me to eat your pencil shavings!"

Chandler slid his pencil sharpener away from her.

-

Monica attacked him as soon as he came through the door.

"Oh my God, Chandler!" she cried. "Where were you? I've been worried sick about you! I have Phoebe looking at dinosaur slides for us! She can only do so much, you know, it is a workday tomorrow! Oh my God!" she cried again. "Chandler, where were you? Why are you so late?"

Chandler cradled her face and kissed her lovingly. "I love you, Monica," he told her gently.

Her breath hitched in her chest. "Oh."

"I'm sorry I'm late," he told her, hanging up his coat. "I had dinner with Rachel. She wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Yeah," said Monica begrudgingly. "I guess you can see other women on the same night we have the rare occasion to spend time with each other . . ."

Chandler placed his hand over his heart. "I pledge, from now on, I will eternally be at Monica Geller's beck and call."

"Okay!" she cried, suddenly chipper.

Chandler smiled at her and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Hey, so what's this about Phoebe looking at dinosaur slides?"

"She's covering Ross tonight," Monica told him.

"You organized all this?" Chandler asked amusedly.

"Of course," she replied, shrugging. "But – wait – if Rachel was at dinner with you, then she's not manning her post!"

"You know what?" he said, guiding her away from the door. "It's okay. Really."

Monica relented. "Yeah, yeah, you're right." She kissed him. "How are you always doing that?"

"Doing what?" he asked her, rubbing her shoulders.

"Distracting me. Cheering me up."

"Oh, that. I thought you meant, you know, radiating cuteness."

She laughed and patted his cheek. "That too."

Chandler pondered. "Well, I don't know how I do it – I guess it's just my job."

"What's my job?" Monica asked interestedly.

"Becoming upset, so I can cheer you up."

"Cute," said Monica, "but wrong. I happen to have some news that'll cheer you up. I talked to Joey, and I think he's forgiven us."

"You talked to Joey?"

Monica smiled at him. "He just needed some persuasion. It's not really about us, just the fact that we're all lying our asses off."

"That makes sense," said Chandler.

"You know what I think?" said Monica gently. "I think we should tell Ross. Not now, but soon. We just have to get it over with. I know I would feel better about it all out in the open. Joey was right about that."

"I guess so," Chandler said hesitantly.

"If you don't want to, we don't have to," Monica assured him.

"No, I do want to," he told her. "I just – I just think we should wait."

"If that's what you want," Monica said softly, kissing him once more. She gestured to the bedroom, grinning suggestively. "What do you say we consummate our pact?"

"We should really start buying presents for whoever's on lookout duty," Chandler mused.

"Amen," Monica said, laughing. Chandler picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.