Babble

by NaomiGScorcher

Breakfast with the Bings.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the apartment, just the DVDs. There's no profit except writing practice being made here.

This one is for Sara, who consistently leaves lovely reviews. I hope it's up to snuff. And I so wish you weren't just a guest reviewer so that I could thank you properly for believing in me, offering critiques and supporting my stories.

And for batandnonnen who didn't have to but reached out with lovely words of support and understanding. It's the harsh words that make people like you shine brightly.

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"I feel like we have this fight every morning," Chandler grinned over at Monica as he deposited Erica in her high chair.

Monica unwound Jack's legs from around her hip and placed him in the seat beside his sister. She smiled sweetly at Chandler. He was still rumpled with sleep, his hair a charming shock of brown from her fingers running through it. "That's because I'm always right."

"Not about this," he replied, clipping the belt of the high chair around his daughter's waist. "We eat at the table together. That's non-negotiable. I don't need to be ready for work yet."

Monica shook her head at him. She knew that. She loved that.

In fact, while Monica was certain she had invited him over for dinner once, she was sure that it was Chandler who'd made it a habit to share a meal with her. There had been a moment, early on, when Phoebe avoided having dinner at all. According to her, family dinner wasn't something she was used to doing and the kitchen being a sad place for her. But Chandler had convinced her it wasn't so bad. Having dinner together was a way he and she could rewrite their upbringings by doing things they never had before.

Breakfasts together came a little later. When Joey joined them, in fact.

Joey had taken to sneaking over for midmorning leftovers. Again, it was Chandler who shook his head disapprovingly. Chandler was all for Joey's appreciation for Monica's cooking. But he was adamant Monica had to be present for it. Chandler was very vocal about that fact, and it had manifested into sharing breakfast fairly quickly.

Eating together had been a big part of their friendship. But it had taken a while for Chandler to open up about why. Monica had come from a family who insisted on eating together at a dining table. So, eating on the floor in front of the television with their backs to the lounge was a rare treat. Hence why binge eating Girl Scout cookies in her bedroom had pleased her so.

It hurt her to hear that Chandler's experience had been the opposite.

Occasions in the Bing household were marked by fancy family meals and had almost exclusively terrible memories of words he was too young to hear. Otherwise, he sat alone at the kitchen table or on the lounge with a plate on his lap. Or on his knees, so he could reach up to the dining room table where he sat by himself. Boarding school had, of course, been totally different. Five hundred boys in muted silence as the principal walked by, or talking all at once, was not the family meal Chandler had been craving all his life.

It was an easy thing to give him, a meal at a table with his family in all its forms, and Monica loved that Chandler was so adamant about giving his children the sort of happy, healthy, present family life that he never had.

Except that the twins were great sleepers, and messy eaters, and his work began at eight-thirty.

He had taken to not dressing for work until the twins were fed. One too many spit-ups on that one hilarious Tuesday had taught him that. Only, that meant there was a bit of a rush in his mornings after the pair of them got the kids fed because Chandler insisted on being part of that routine. He was forced to dress hurriedly in his suit before dashing off to the office. It did, however, work out favourably for Monica, as the twins didn't wake up until seven-thirty and she and Chandler were both early risers.

Very favourably.

The twins were a few months older now and less likely to throw up, although Jack had taken to waving his full spoon around now that he could grip it and control it himself.

"You're going to be late for work one of these days. Go get dressed," Monica scolded.

"I haven't been yet." His eyebrows moved haughtily as Chandler spoke, and Monica fought desperately to dampen her grin.

"At least get half-dressed," Monica offered. At least if he was almost ready for work, she wouldn't feel quite so anxious about him being late for his job. She never wanted him to speed or rush thoughtlessly on his commute, and he'd been cutting it fine over the last few days. Plus, he wouldn't have to rush off if he was halfway ready before they served the kids breakfast and they'd be able to have a proper embrace goodbye.

"As in half un-dressed? Really, Monica? In front of the children?" he smirked cheekily at her.

Monica rolled her eyes. "Go change. The twins are tucked in. I'll make coffee. You can either sit there and be distracting and distracted. Or you can go and get changed and then spend the rest of the morning without counting down how much time you have left. That way, you can just wait for your alarm and then leave."

Monica had been watching him all week, sitting at the head of the table with his eyes constantly drifting. He was facing the right way, but the shift was still obvious as his eyes flicked to the green numbers on the microwave to do the math of how much time he had left before he absolutely had to remove himself from the table to get changed and leave for work. Monica was actually quite proud of how she articulated herself, quietly and diplomatically, as though winning was the last thing on her mind, his wellbeing the only thing she was thinking about. It was the same way Chandler would successfully convince her to do something.

She watched her husband roll his lips together and quirk his eyebrow.

"Who exactly do you think I'm distracting?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a salacious smile on his face.

He was insufferable.

Justifiably so, which made it all the worse.

Fatherhood suited him and had since long before they'd brought the twins home, although Monica had hardly noticed it back then. Little things like asking questions to her that she knew he knew the answer to, but excused him from being the bad guy. Picking up the twins and carrying them over to her while she was working on recipes in the kitchen, as though he knew she'd been missing them. Or pulling faces and making sounds that she was so accustomed to seeing and hearing him make at Joey and Rachel and even herself, but turned towards the babies.

Monica was seeing the retrospective image of Chandler in a whole new light, illuminated by this new context. To her, it seemed like every blind alley and all the accidental corners he'd taken, like adopting a duck and providing for Joey and reining in Monica's neurosis to protect Phoebe from her, had all taught him bits and pieces about how to be a good father.

It didn't help that the whole image was really working for her.

Monica had never been as tired in her life as she was for those first few weeks. But Chandler was radiant. Beneath his eyes were bruised with a lack of sleep. They always got alarmingly dark even on nights he'd slept well. He would move slowly, tiredly to the cribs to lift one baby and then the other into his arms while his eyes were mostly closed. The shoulders of his shirts were covered in small milky stains where he'd forgotten to drape a bib and he hung the heavy baby monitor in the back pocket of his jeans where it pulled his pants down just a little, exposing the red or blue of his boxers.

He'd never been so handsome.

Meanwhile, Monica had never felt so unkempt. Her tangled hair stuck out everywhere, with sleep deprivation and excitement dulling her desire to care about it. Despite what Chandler told her about her self-image being completely wrong, Monica was glad things had settled. These days, with his help, Monica was able to find some scraps of time to fix her hair and get control of the laundry again. To feel like herself again.

While she had gone back to normal, Chandler had not.

He always carried the baby monitor with him when the twins were in their cots, either in his back pocket or hooked in his front one. During mealtimes, he almost always had a cloth flung over one shoulder. And his buttons were almost always undone deliciously low because all the books said restless babies liked to rest their head against bare skin.

He sported a similar fashion at the kitchen table that morning, his flannel batman pyjama pants slung low on his hips and a v-neck t-shirt exposing far more of his tan chest than Monica could handle looking at without catching herself staring and blushing.

Monica pulled a reciprocal expression back at her husband, twisting her lips as though she was annoyed. She suspected her best friend could tell the difference between her genuine and feigned expressions of exasperation by now. But Chandler reacted the same either way. He stood a little straighter, squaring his shoulders, and ran a large hand over Erica's soft brown hair absently.

Monica rolled her eyes and smiled. Chandler knew her too well. Plus, he could be very subtle and sly when he wanted to. Monica didn't have that talent, but knew exactly how to spur him into action.

"Go change now, and when the twins have their nap, I'll call and distract you."

A heady darkness flickered in her husband's eyes. As a result, Monica found herself swallowing thickly instead of crowing victoriously. Chandler blinked away the automatic reaction, then flashed her a lusty look before racing up the stairs to their bedroom.

Monica watched him use the banister so he could take the stairs three at a time. His right bicep rippled at the hem of his sleeve as he did so.

Shaking herself out of her daze, Monica grinned at her young children. "Your Daddy's pretty silly. But Mummy's always right."

Erica gurgled, creating a bubble of saliva as she smiled. Monica grinned and located the matching bibs hanging over the handle of the oven, fastening the Velcro around each of the twins' necks. Then she used the corner to wipe away Erica's drool.

"Now, do you two want apple or carrot this morning?"

Jack babbled a few gasping sounds, which Monica interpreted as wanting the apple purée. She grinned at our son and agreed, turning around riffling in the fridge for the GLAD wrap covered bowls she prepared earlier in the week. While she was turned around, Monica pushed down four slices of bread into the toaster. Then she flicked the switch on the jug so that the water would boil for her and Chandler's coffees. She spooned far more instant coffee granules into Chandler's mug than she thought was healthy and about half that amount into her own, adding milk to hers and a spoonful of sugar to his.

Monica pulled out two bulky plastic spoons and tossed the makeshift lids away, presenting each of her children with a bowl of apple purée with a flourish. She kept the bowls just out of reach, laying them on the table instead of the high chair trays. Just in case.

Erica bounced happily on her nappy and clapped her hands together. It was so easy to get that little girl to laugh.

Monica leant over the corner of the table to ruffle her daughter's hair and then touched her son's nose as she straightened, poking it softly the way Chandler always did, using her fingerprint like a gentle kiss to the small round button of Jack's nose.

The boy giggled and Monica retreated back to the kitchen bench where the jug had finished boiling and poured it into the two mugs. While she was there, Monica lifted a peach out of the fruit bowl. She sliced half of it into very thin Lilliputian pieces for the twins to eat, doing the same with one of the pieces of barely-cooked toast.

Monica put one slice of toast and half a peach on one plate with the diced pieces on the other and made her way to sit beside Jack. A little while ago, she and Chandler had started their babies on solid foods and found if they served the solid stuff first, they calmed by the time they got to the liquids, resulting in a far less messy experience. So Monica placed the plate in front of the twins, between the pair, and let them practice their gross motor skills by feeding themselves the little cubes.

She nibbled on the pit of the peach as she watched them eat.

Erica hated getting her hands dirty. She picked up the toast slices with a pincer-like grip of her thumb and forefinger, with her pinkie and ring finger outstretched. She chewed carefully and pointedly, even if she was excited, her eagerness only shown through the fact she had another pinch of toast in her other hand, ready to munch on.

Jack was the total opposite. Given the opportunity to eat with his hands at his own pace, he picked up large fistfuls of the juicy peach and smashed it against his mouth. Monica hoped her son at least ate some of the fruit and it didn't just paint his cheeks a humourous jaundiced colour.

"Good, huh?" she smiled at her children as they gobbled their solids.

Monica bit into her plain toast and hoped she'd be able to keep it down this morning. Hearty breakfasts had made her slightly nauseous over the weekend and she was hoping her stomach would have settled by now, but she wasn't going to risk honey or peanut butter or chocolate spreads just to test herself. She hated stomach bugs and being sick, and she wasn't about to make herself so if she could avoid certain foods and negate the entire ordeal.

"Is that coffee?" Chandler asked as he joined them in the kitchen.

"And toast," Monica notified him as he walked past her to grab their mugs.

"Mmm, I love you," she heard him whisper.

"Me or the coffee?" she asked, craning her neck to view him.

He wore a faux guilty smile and squatted to kiss her cheek. "I love you, too."

She scoffed and shook her head at her husband. Chandler was holding a mug in each hand, but quickly deposited hers in front of her. The other mug had his two slices of toast piled atop his cup and with his free hand, Chandler snatched her now empty plate for himself.

"Hey, you ate this morning," he cheered. He'd been worried when she'd pushed his eggs around her plate and failed to eat them yesterday. But she'd simply had no appetite. And whatever she forced down had come right back up.

"Not much," Monica admitted. "But at least my stomach's settled."

"I'm glad. And I'll tell you what," he moved around the twins to sit opposite her. "This whole getting dressed before breakfast is going to cut down on washing up."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't fight the smile that pulled at her lips as Chandler sat down. He pushed his plate and mug to his left and then lifted Erica's bowl up onto the highchair tray with his right, feeding himself blindly with one hand and watching carefully as he scooped food onto the little spoon and fed his daughter. He did it automatically, naturally wiping Erica's lips with the edge of the utensil to catch anything that slid across her mouth and making faces at her as he did so.

He'd put on that dark purple shirt she loved to see him wear, ironed and crease-less, although Monica knew that by eleven he will have undone his cuffs and folded his sleeves up his forearms, wrinkling the fabric as it got pulled tight around his waist and chest to compensate.

He was wearing that tie Joey had made for him like a badge of honour, oblivious to its hideousness. It was white - which was the main problem because it stood out blindingly against anything and everything, with red and blue swirls at the ends.

Chandler always wore ugly ties. Monica had resigned herself to that when he had first moved in across the hall from her and she'd begged him to stop wearing that garish yellow one. Stubbornly, Chandler had refused, wearing it for a week straight, untucked from his sweater vest, just to prove a point.

Joey, bless him, had recognised Chandler's adoration of his children and need to wear ties in his office and had wanted to combine the two, getting the twins to draw on fabric to be sewed into a loop with the date embroidered on them. He hadn't realised that at the time of Chandler's birthday that the twins were too young to have mastered gripping anything themselves. Monica still wasn't quite sure what had happened, whether Joey had held the babies' hands and guided them or if he had done it completely himself - she suspected the latter, otherwise, Chandler would have labelled it his tie from the twins. But he had gone through with the idea and promised he'd get proper ones done when the pair were older.

Erica twisted in her chair at the sound of her father's voice, trying to see him over the back of the chair. Jack gurgled happily with his spoon in hand. He appeared to very much enjoy the sound the plastic made as it hit against other plastic things. He guffawed, utterly delighted, when food splashed up into his face.

"Honey," Monica said, dabbing Jack's face with his bib. "That is not a good look."

"Hey, Erica," Chandler cooed at his daughter. "Tell Mum it's too bad she banished me from breakfast or she could have helped pick out my clothes to her tastes."

Erica hummed and smacked her lips together, looking over at Monica.

Chandler interpreted that as doing as he had asked and shot his wife a smug shrug.

"The tie doesn't go with anything," Monica whined, settling back into her seat to start feeding Jack. The little boy rested his tiny hand on top of her fingers, squeezing slightly, as though he were guiding the spoon to his mouth. "What do you even say to your colleagues when they ask where you got it?"

"I say my best friend made it for me." Chandler shrugged. He might feign shame and disappointment to gently nudge others in the right direction, but he didn't actually feel it. She loved that he was honest and proud of that tie, how much he made her melt directly proportional to how ugly the garment was.

"Do you miss him?" Monica asked, knowing the recent move had come as both a shock and a source of pride for Chandler. Joey had been looking at auditions and agents and saw a great opportunity to move across the country for what it was. He was confident enough in himself, his abilities, and his experience to grab life by the horns, to leap into his future and trust that he'd be able to manage. Nothing had pleased Chandler more.

It was probably a good thing that Chandler had been too busy with the twins to really focus on the fact that Joey was on the other side of the country and Monica would be forever grateful that Mike had recognised how important the man had been to their group, particularly the boys, and hadn't tried to worm his way into the group to fill out the trio. He had, eventually, but because he shared Chandler's sense of humour and ability to tease Ross and had college stories they could all relate to, not because she was filling a space.

"All the time," Chandler said. "It's a little easier than it was. I mean, we moved first, so we had a little time to get used to it. But he's on the other side of the nation and the time zones don't correlate in the slightest. Even in Tulsa, we could talk on the phone at reasonable hours. I'm sort of used to emailing him at work now, but it's definitely not the same. And game season's coming up. It won't be the same without him."

"You could always take little Joey," Monica ruffled Jack's hair, pulling a face at her son, referencing the boy's middle name.

Chandler grinned at his son, who looked up at his mother, perplexed. "I don't think JJ is quite ready for game night the way us big boys do it. But one day. Joey's gonna regret leaving so much on that day, isn't he, buddy?"

Jack gurgled proudly with his father's attention on him and Monica was completely floored by the way the infant's smile matched Chandler's.

"Remember how he got teary when we told him Jack's middle name was Joseph?" Monica asked. Chandler hummed in response, his mouth open so that Erica would mirror him as he fed her. "You think it'll be the same when he realises that means he's been replaced by his namesake?"

Chandler shook his head. "He'll be glad he can live vicariously, won't he, Jack?"

Jack hummed in the back of his throat as he recognised his name. Meanwhile, Erica slapped her hand impatiently against Chandler's wrist so she could get another spoonful of food, talking gibberish animatedly as though she were scolding him.

"Oh, I'm sorry sweetie," he apologised, taking a bite of his toast as he fed the girl. Then he laughed. "You're just like your mother."

Monica glared at her husband briefly, questioning him.

"Impatient," Chandler began, in a tone that suggested he had a list of things he wanted to say. He thumbed the blush on Erica's cheek, making her giggle with her mouth full. "Beautiful."

His attention turned to Monica as though he was only talking about her. "Desperate for me."

Monica snorted at the expression her husband wore. Although, she had to admit; he wasn't wrong. Erica was adorably attached to Chandler and he to her. To both the twins, actually. He gave in to every whimper, like the softie he was. They might not be able to call out to him by name yet, but the twins definitely knew it was their father who was more likely to read a second story, or give them another little piece of his dinner, or pick them up for a cuddle. Not that Monica wasn't. She just had more time to indulge in holding and playing with them during the day and could spread out the relenting to them more than Chandler, who missed out on all that time because of his job.

"At least she is mature enough to ask for help when she needs it."

He had about as much tact as the twins, this morning, her husband. She'd insisted on reaching up to one of the top cupboards in the laundry, which they'd recently put childproof hinges on but were too high up for her, let alone the babies. Monica hadn't used a step, just her tiptoes and an outstretched arm. She hadn't dropped anything or spilt anything. There had been a scary blind moment where she hadn't been able to see what she was getting and she had thought the detergent bottle was less full and lighter and had flinched in fear but caught it with her other hand as it came down over her head. No harm. No foul.

Still, Chandler was mad at her for not asking for help from him, or pulling out the little step they bought for just such an occasion.

Her stubbornness had nearly gotten her hurt, and she knew she had scared him. Chandler had witnessed the tail end of what happened, and an outsider would have thought she dropped a knife or hurt herself the way he caressed her cheeks and ushered her away from the scene. There was also probably some wounded pride tossed into the reason why he hadn't let this go yet. That cupboard was his. All three of them were just too tall for her, but perfect for him. Monica knew most of Chandler's fear and reprimands came from how helpless he was to her mulish tendencies and guilt from being the one to put the detergent bottle away in the first place.

Monica might have also gambled that it had a little to do with the fact she always asked him for help and he would reach over her head and press his body close to hers while he did this for her. She was mostly independent, and Chandler relished in being called upon to do things for her and she liked the way he didn't make her feel naïve or silly. But she's been in a rush and he'd been tucking in the twins, so she hadn't bothered to stick to their routine.

Monica shook her head at her husband and easily deflected his attention from herself to Erica. "What are you going to do when she doesn't?"

She watched as Chandler closed his eyes and shook his head softly, humming. "Never gonna happen, is it, sweetheart?"

Monica grinned as Chandler winked at his daughter and Erica kicked her legs enthusiastically, babbling excitedly. He hummed back at her, the pair of the communicating through wide smiles and scrunched noses. Chandler shook his head slowly and Erica copied him, speeding up the movement in response.

"No," Chandler laughed. "I thought not."

As if coming to some sort of agreement, Chandler let Erica wind her little fingers around the end of the plastic spoon. She held it gingerly and brought it to her mouth, with Chandler's index finger beneath the stem of the utensil to help her. The girl was getting very good at controlling her movements.

Jack, to her left, was equally good. Monica barely needed to help him. She did, sometimes, but often that was more for herself than for him. But his actions were wide and fast because he was easily excitable and he ended up stabbing the spoon against the corner of his lips and missing his mouth or only just catching his tongue more often than not.

Monica tried her hardest to constantly help Jack wipe his face with his spoon, so he ate more and clean him up with his bib.

"How come she eats so neatly for you?" Monica asked as she cleaned Jack's face again.

"She's the cleanest person I know." Chandler shot her a cheeky look.

Monica squinted at him. Anybody else, and being a clean freak or a glutton for neatness would sound like a pejorative, make her feel small and pestering. Not her husband. Coming from him, being organised and tidy was the highest badge of honour. She was a little offended he'd bestowed it upon someone else. Even if that someone else was an infant she had raised and she was intensely proud that Erica had taken on those specific traits of hers.

"Well," Chandler corrected himself, somehow reading her mind or expression and caressing her in apology and understanding with a few well-placed words. "She's the cleanest person you know."

"Not like her brother, huh, Jack?" Monica addressed her son.

"He likes this apple purée," Chandler commented from across the table, indicating with his eyebrows and a purse of his lips how proud he was of Jack's eating abilities and her cooking skills. "I don't know what you put in it."

"Apples." She tossed him a wink, knowing she was being cheeky and sarcastic and that nothing but seeing her wear his sweater vests turned her husband on more.

"Can you say: 'Mama's being mean?'" Chandler cooed at their children.

Monica wasn't sure why, but Chandler was obsessed with getting the twins to say "mama." She remembered Ross with Ben and her brother being absolutely hellbent on the boy learning to say his name. He'd been the same with Emma. All anyone ever heard was 'can you say dada?'

But not Chandler.

It seemed he didn't mind what their children's first word was. There was no competition between them to see which parent the children addressed first. Well, there was, but Chandler wasn't aware of it.

As much as Monica desperately wanted to be called 'Mum' by her children, Chandler absolutely lit up, his spine straightening, his smile bright, whenever the twins learnt something new. She loved that excited, proud expression that burst over his features.

He wasn't actively teaching them to say "dad," not the active way he was trying to get them to say "mum."

But Monica was.

She was looking forward to when Jack or Erica blurted out the term to her husband's complete and utter astonishment.

In fact, Monica wanted to see Chandler's surprise more than she wanted them to call her 'mum.' Only minutely more, but still more.

"Can you say: 'Daddy's always wrong?'"

Chandler scoffed, and Jack copied the sound, grinning broadly when he made his father laugh.

"Your mama's pretty funny, huh, Eri?" Chandler turned to face the young girl, who nodded at him as though she were agreeing with his sarcasm.

"Hey, look, Jack." Monica ignored the silly man sitting across from her as he enjoyed feeding Erica her breakfast, talking to her animatedly as though her babbling responses were adding to the conversation. "We beat your sister. She fell into our trap and is too busy talking to Daddy to realise that we finished first."

Jack sent an appraising look over at his sister in the highchair next to him. He worked his mouth, enunciating a couple of simply consonants over at the pair proudly and then turning back to his mother when neither his sister nor father broke from their conversation to talk to him.

"High-five for Mummy and Jack," Monica held out her hand and Jack smacked it with his, wheeling his shoulder backwards so he could give it more force when his palm hit the heel of her hand. He'd learnt that move from Joey - who would swing his arm back as far as possible in preparation and then tap the boy's hand softly.

"Well done, Jack," Monica congratulated. She picked up the empty bowl and mug and moved to the sink to deposit them.

"And that. Is the last. Of that," Monica overheard Chandler flourish as he fed Erica the last bite of her breakfast. Erica hummed and Chandler repeated the sound. "Good, huh?"

Chandler's phone beeped in his pocket, alerting them it was time for him to leave.

"Good timing, pumpkin," he beamed at Erica and then lifted their used utensils and Monica heard lips smack against skin after the rattle of plates together. "We paced ourselves beautifully. That's much more important than competing in Mummy's silly games."

Monica glared at the sink at Chandler's words.

"Ah, so you were listening." Monica turned to face him from where she was rinsing their plates in the sink.

"You were talking loud," Chandler teased. "Reminding us all that Mum always wins."

She felt him kiss the back of her head. Then Chandler's arms came around her to add to the pile she'd made in the basin.

His body slotted behind hers tightly, and Chandler dropped his head to kiss her cheek. His body was warm behind her, his breath hot on her cheekbone. "I'm off to work."

Monica hummed, relaxing her body against his chest. "Or you could skip it entirely."

Chandler's chest vibrated at her back as he hummed. "Mmm, no."

She turned around to face him, curious. Her arms wound around his neck, overextending to drape her biceps over his shoulders. She let her arms hang like parallel rods in the air behind him, bringing their bodies impossibly close.

"I'm looking forward to your phone call at lunchtime," he explained, his nose brushing against hers.

Monica hid her laugh by kissing her husband. The last time she had phoned him while the twins were napping - well, she'd buzzed his office and he'd rang her back, so the call was charged to his office instead of to their phone bill - hadn't been eventful at all. He'd told her she shouldn't have called and that she should be using the time the twins were asleep to catch some sleep herself. Monica had insisted she didn't need to, reminding him that most of their time together was spent asleep or with a baby in their arms and all their concentration was always on the twins or the bills and they could use this for themselves. She'd asked him about his job, which was thoroughly interesting these days, doubly so because his voice rose and fell melodically as he raved passionately about it. And promptly fell asleep.

According to Chandler, he'd spent his whole lunch break listening to her snore and the twins babble through the baby monitor by Monica's side as they'd fussed in their sleep.

Chandler pursed his lips against hers questioningly and pulled back slightly, his features twisted and pouting. "Did I just trade actual sex for phone sex?"

She nodded, even though her forehead was pressed against his temple.

"I'm going to pay for that later, aren't I?" His voice was a sinful whisper, meant to hide their conversation from the twins. The babies were sponges at this age and the other parents they spoke to that day Monica had brought Jack and Erica to Chandler's office had warned them of saying anything too adult in front of them now that they were almost ready to start speaking. One unfortunate mother revealing the story of her daughter's first word being a certain four-letter curse in front of her grandparents.

"Probably."

Monica had every intention of making their phone call a little more pleasurable this time. But she was also very aware of her own body and mind. She didn't want to shortchange her husband, but she was fairly certain she'd be snoozing when the twins went down for their naps today.

"Or you could prove me wrong?" he suggested deviously. "Show me in slow, torturous detail that I picked wrong."

Behind them, one of the twins vocalised something that sounded very much like they were trying to catch their mother's attention.

Monica kept her face carefully stoic, but Chandler broke out into a wide smile immediately, twisting in her arms to look at their children.

"No. It doesn't count unless it's contextual. You know that." Monica indicated to both children swatting their hands on their trays. They had turned towards each other, realising that their parents weren't paying them attention, and talking to each other animatedly, the babble untranslatable but sounding very similar to a handful of words Chandler had been teaching them. Only, all the books said the consonant-vowel combinations should only be considered first words if they were directed at the actual object they referred to.

Monica brought her hands down over Chandler's shoulders to win his attention back, her fingers touching the knot of his tie.

"I love you," he told her. "Even though you ruin all the fun. That could have been their first word."

Monica rolled her eyes. She gripped the knot of his tie gently as she pulled his lips down to meet hers.

"Oh, goodness. Look. I'm sorry." Apple purée was smudged against the white fabric of the homemade necktie. It must have been on her thumb and transferred to the fabric as she tugged him down to her. Monica smiled mischievously when she realised the accident worked in her favour. "It's probably a good thing. This shirt doesn't need a tie."

"That was on purpose," he hummed, undoing the tie. It slid in a hot, whipping motion from beneath his collar and Monica pitched forward on wobbly knees. It was far too early for such sights and sounds, but her body tingled in preparation, nonetheless.

Monica sucked the leftover apple from her thumb and then reached up to undo the top button of his collar. Chandler's breath fanned over her fingers as he watched her unfasten the button and then the next, spreading his shirt flat against his skin, exposing the top of his chest. "There. That's better. Much sexier."

Chandler rolled his eyes at her. Which Monica found hilarious. Chandler had become so confident in himself as he grew older, so much so that the man who worried he was unattractive and tried to plan gym endeavours because of it, who thought the only things going for him were that he had a nice smile and steady job, seemed completely incongruous with the man he was now. Back then, she'd always wondered how he didn't see his potential, that he was stoic in his personality and stuck to himself, maintaining a fashion sense and a job despite it not being to everyone else's taste. But she'd learnt to appreciate his understated beauty, valuing that subtlety over the boastful nature of the other men she knew. And then they'd started dating. Which was when Chandler seemed to stop caring that other women picked more muscular men over him. As long as she found him attractive, that was enough for Chandler. Later, it would surprise him that she was still interested. Still, he didn't expect her to trip over her heels over him. But he pretended he did, rolling his eyes and smirking when he dressed exactly the way he knew drove her crazy.

"Are you done objectifying me?" he smirked, squeezing her hips.

That patch of skin between his violet collar held Monica captivated for a further moment. "Just taking it all in."

He bent his head and pecked her lips. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. You don't need to be memorising what I look like."

Monica pushed his shoulders playfully. "Just go to work already."

He laughed.

"I love you."

"I know." That soft smile of his melted her insides the way it always did.

"Good." She flattened his collar one last time and Chandler released his grip on her hips, turning around to address the twins.

Jack had his hands raised above his head, probably in expectation of being picked up by his father, the way Chandler normally would. But the routine had changed a little this morning and Chandler didn't have time to pick up his son or the need to talk to him while he changed for work.

"I love you, Jack," Chandler kissed the boy's forehead and squeezed his little fingers before standing and moving to the other high chair and copying his goodbye routine with Erica.

"Yai yoo," the young girl parroted back, almost making the right sounds to form the words. She clapped a hand to her father's cheek as he bent to kiss her hair.

"I love you too, Erica."

"She's almost got it," he whispered to Monica when he stood back up.

"To be fair, she does hear it a lot," Monica reminded her husband. "You think it might be her first word?"

"I wouldn't be surprised." Chandler walked backwards, watching her as she walked him out of the kitchen and towards the door. "I love you."

"There you go again," Monica laughed. "Keep saying it and it will be Erica's first word."

"That'd be something." He plucked a blazer from the coat rack by the door. He pressed his hand into the wall and bent over so he could slip on his shoes, keeping his eyes on hers. "Jack's first word being 'mum' and Erica saying 'I love you.' Do I get extra points if I can get them to say it for Valentine's Day?"

Monica gripped his shoulders and kissed him as he straightened. "Do I if they say 'Dad, I love you?'"

Chandler picked up his briefcase. "I think we can work something out," he grinned wickedly, opening his mouth beneath hers to kiss her deeply. "Call me if they say anything. Or do anything."

"I will," Monica promised, like she did every day. "Have a good day, babe."

"You too, hon." He couldn't see the twins from the front door, but he called out to wish them a good day, anyway. Monica shook her head at her husband. She always had to push him out the door these days.

"See you tonight," Chandler kissed her.

"Go." Monica laughed, pushing his shoulders.

"Call me," he shouted with a laugh of his own.

"The sooner you leave, the sooner you get home," she told him.

"Bye." He twirled as he left the house and Monica shook her head as she returned to the kitchen where the twins were.

"Your Dad's pretty silly," she told them, stepping over to the sink to wash up properly. She turned the tap on, tossing her head over her shoulder to look at her children. "But we love him, anyway. Don't we?"

"Dada," Jack beamed.

Monica dropped the scrubbing brush and turned around fully, the water still running behind her. That was contextual, she told herself. She had been talking about Chandler. That made Jack's articulations contextual!

"Who do we love, Jack?" she asked, hoping he would say it again.

Jack smiled. He blinked. "Dada."

Monica pressed her lips together and rushed over to the highchair. "That's right, Jack! Well done."

She kissed his cheeks, one after the other.

"You're so clever, Jack. Now," she instructed him, eyeing him seriously. "Keep that in mind. Mama's going to be right back."

At full speed, Monica raced down the vestibule with her fingers pressed to her smile and ripped open the front door. Chandler was in the car, having reversed down the driveway, and was working on turning left to get out. She waved her arms over her head to get his attention, shouting his name.

He parked the car where he was at the curb and got out of the car, concern pulling his face into a frown. Chandler asked, "Everything okay?" as he headed down the path towards her.

She waved him over, trying to hurry him until he was within arm's reach. Monica took his hand and dragged him inside. "Call in sick. You have to hear this."