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

So this was requested a while ago by MondlerLover84. It's been sitting, half-finished, since you suggested it, and I ummed and ah-ed about publishing it because there are so many other great stories that discuss this moment, but it's Mondler's anniversary. So here we are.

I mean it with full respect to all the other authors who have written this scene, including the more recent work by C-rokkk, whose work is far more angsty (to begin with and angst isn't the right descriptor) than this but a brilliant take on Monica's anger.


Chandler and Monica, newly wedded, walked beneath the archway with their arms linked, Monica's dress swishing as they moved.

They were directed by the photographer who was walking in front of them to pause for a photograph. Then followed his instruction, and turned left at the end of the aisle, heading towards the dressing room on the left. They'd agreed on this yesterday at the rehearsal. They wouldn't be shaking anyone's hand on the way out. They wouldn't have food wasted with rice being thrown at them by their friends, now would confetti be thrown. Monica had been adamantly against both, as both a chef and a clean-freak, and Chandler hadn't been able to refrain from kissing her temple when she had insisted on that.

"You two can wait in here while we wait for everyone to move to the reception hall. Then we'll get some photos with the bridal party while everyone settles, and then you can make your big entrance."

The door was shut behind them, giving them some privacy in the iridescent light of the room. What was most jarring was the lack of flowers in the room, especially given the abundance of blooms that had surrounded them a moment earlier. Instead of bouquets, there were makeup brushes poking out of a cup, instead of pollen falling from the blooms, powder dusted the vanity where the girls had been touching up their makeup before walking down the aisle.

Chandler caught a glimpse of Monica's beaming smile in the mirror as she turned to face him. She'd never looked more beautiful than that moment, smiling up at him, as she stroked her hands down his arms to hold his hands between them.

"This dress is much better than the other one," Chandler whispered, pitching forward as though he was sharing a hushed secret.

Monica blushed and pecked his lips. "I can't believe I just got married."

Chandler pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh fondly at the woman gazing up at him. He cleared his throat, waiting for her to remember that she hadn't just fulfilled some childhood fantasy but actually had an adult wedding that would change her life and his for the better.

She swung his hands between their bodies, tapping his knuckles together. "We just got married."

Chandler felt as though he was floating. This moment felt disconnected from the rest of his day. Magic.

He wasn't sure which one of them moved, but they met each other in the middle.

He'd kissed her twice in the last ten minutes but he still wasn't satisfied Chandler wanted to kiss her for the rest of his life and made a good start by suckling on Monica's lip. He pinched her lip between his teeth and marvelled at how his wife tasted. His wife! She was minty and familiar and nothing had changed since the last time they'd kissed, except they were officially married and had been for about five minutes now. They had years of practice doing this, and it was no wonder Monica knew exactly what she was doing to have his insides spark with interest and tingle with how wonderfully overwhelmed he felt by his love for the woman in his arms. She sucked his top lip while he nibbled her bottom one and Chandler felt his knees buckle.

His chest constricted when he kissed her, his mind turning over what he so easily could have lost. His mind was hazy with the simplicity of their kiss, so different and lazy, like he had all the time in the world. His skin prickled with excitement beneath the silky lining of his suit sleeves. He did. He had the rest of his life with this woman.

After what he'd done last night, Chandler wasn't sure he deserved that.

He'd barely slept, terrified of following his parents' footsteps into miscommunication and unhappiness and bringing Monica with him. He'd known, as he was writing that note, that it wasn't enough, and part of him had recognised that he probably wasn't saying goodbye to her. He couldn't even bring himself to write those words. What he had, was, I'm sorry. He'd always be sorry for walking the streets of New York in a blind panic. For being so afraid of losing Monica that he'd settled in someone else's office.

He'd hopped online to print off a couple of articles about how to make a marriage work, but they'd all hinged heavily on good communication and commitment to each other, two things he'd always been told he was terrible at.

He'd looked up articles about getting cold feet and they all said the only way you could come back from it was if your partner never knew. By then, he suspected someone would have found his stupid note and rushed over to console a heartbroken Monica whose dreams he had dashed.

So there was no hope of that.

Which only left one thing. Their relationship had to end.

But Chandler didn't want that.

He adored Monica. She made him better. She made him enjoy his life. He hoped that, if he could find the right documents, he could get the government to call the whole thing off. That way he wouldn't have to lie to her and he'd never have to lose her. Chandler had hoped that finding a relative, not some long-distance cousin but a genuine reason they couldn't be married, would convince Monica not to marry him but that they could still be friends. He even went as far as to look online but he refused to pay the fee to do so. All he cared about was that he was breaking Monica's heart and he could hardly live with the thought.

It was five in the morning when Ross and Phoebe walked in and they hadn't needed to say much to convince him was an idiot. They threw in some hurtful terms just to drive their point home. They hadn't needed to, he was on the fence about leaving anyway. And then Ross had pointed out that by failing to communicate his feelings and his fears, Chandler was miscommunicating just like his parents and leading them to both be unhappy.

He wrapped his arms around her slim waist and caught his fingers on the spine of pearls up the back of the dress. Monica's lips pushed against his dreamily, soft and tantalising, while Chandler rolled her bottom lip between his teeth. Monica's hands massaged his biceps, stroking the hot skin at his neck and tracing down his chest, unhooking the button of his blazer.

Chandler let out a lusty breath. He didn't want this kiss to end. Nor did he want it to heighten, which wasn't like him. While Chandler loved to simply kiss Monica, his wife! they were very good at teasing each other into more. They didn't need more. Certainly, they'd gotten undeniably good at quick romps when they were dating, and had the whole room to themselves with no threat of anyone interrupting them. In fact, Chandler could vaguely hear voices outside the door as everyone they knew and loved, and his mother's boyfriend filed out of one room and into the next. But Chandler knew they needed to talk.

He'd been hoping that he would have a quiet moment to explain his terror to Monica once their wedding was over. Chandler had wanted to sit her down and explain that it wasn't her. It wasn't even him. It was the influence of his parents, his insecurities, and his friends who had never thought he had it in him to commit to a woman just because he used a little sarcasm and hadn't found the right woman.

But Joey, probably expecting that Chandler had already been open and honest with Monica, trying to bring a little light to the tension of him being late, had cast a pall over Monica's face.

Chandler could have died in that moment. He had every intention of explaining to Monica in the privacy of their home where his mind had been after the rehearsal dinner. Not like that.

He could have died when she said "unless you don't want to," as well. Of course, he wanted to. He'd wanted to marry her since Vegas, maybe even before then, which added to why he was so mad at himself for thinking, even if it was only for three hours, that he could ever somehow convince her that they couldn't be married. But Monica had prompted him to say his vows anyway and that had bolstered his confidence, that she still had confidence in them.

He had hoped his words had been enough, hoping that if they came from him, not some piece of paper that was still relevant but missing important contextual references. And kissing her, that had definitely punctuated his point.

And he'd died a little when Monica had told him she wasn't pregnant.

Now was his chance to clear the air, to start their marriage with a clean slate.

Chander pecked Monica's lips one last time. He kept his hands pressed against her lower back, Monica leaning back against his touch, and pulled away slightly to look her in the sparkling blue eyes.

"I have few things to say," Chandler started, leaning away from her.

"Chandler," she started.

He gulped. Her tone was soft, chiding, as though talking to a child. They'd laughed for months wondering why Emily had agreed to marry Ross if she was so unforgivably angry at him, spending the wee hours when they were too exhausted to move and didn't want to broach the subject of their relationship, afraid they weren't on the same page, debating whether Emily felt pressured by the eyes on her or had genuinely thought she could move past the betrayal. Chandler prayed their friends weren't about to have those same conversations about them.

Monica's hands tugged his lapels. "You said it all. I know you and I understand."

He wrinkled his nose. That had always been true, both when they were friends and when they were dating. But that wasn't going to be good enough during their marriage, Chandler knew. They needed explicit communication, even if they were good at sarcasm and wordless talking with their eyes and body language. No marriage he'd ever witnessed, his parents, her parents, his mother, Ross and Carol, his mother, Ross and Emily, his mother again, Ross and Rachel, had ever worked if they didn't communicate in the clearest possible terms. Chandler wasn't going to have a marriage like all of those couples. Not with Monica.

"Like I said last night," Monica told him. Her hands dropped down from his blazer and found his forearms. Knowing what she wanted, Chandler slipped his hands over the silk of her ivory dress, lingering at her hipbones and then released her body to hold her hands. Monica squeezed his fingers and Chandler squeezed his lips together in thanks. "I had sort of prepared for your freak out and it sort of made sense that once you didn't have to be my rock anymore, it would happen."

"That's not-" He shook his head. It wasn't good enough that she'd expected it from him. Yes, he was Chandler Bing, commitment hadn't been his thing before. But he wanted to commit to her. His fiancee, even if she was his best friend and had been long before they got together, should not expect anything less than the eternal love he promised her.

"And you came back."

Monica squeezed his fingers again. Chandler half suspected that Monica's understanding spawned from his guilt. Back when they were friends, they often divvied up emotions like that so they wouldn't lose each other. Back then, if Chandler was upset, Monica's mood would brighten to compensate and make him feel better. When Monica was sick and Chandler was upset, he'd coddle her and pander to her needs so she wouldn't feel so bad. He figured she must be doing the same thing now, reading his guilt and understanding he didn't need to be berated, he was flagellating himself enough for the both of them. What he needed was someone to empathise with him, Monica probably knew that and was holding herself in check.

He didn't want that. She shouldn't bottle up her emotions for his sake. Not today. Not any day of their marriage.

"No one else might understand, but I do," Monica's voice lilted as she tipped her chin downwards, trying to get him to look at her despite his shame. "I know what you mean when you say you were afraid but more afraid of not taking the risk. I know you mean when you say-"

Chandler couldn't take it anymore. She was too understanding. Of course she was, part of him thought. She was his best friend long before she was his lover. She knew the minutiae of his mind, the maze of it. She'd been dealing with him and his antics and the actions that didn't make sense to anybody, least of all him, for years. She was the person he called when he was in Yemen and needed her to tell somebody. She had intrinsically known he was running from Janice then. She was the friend he cuddled with when his father sent another letter. She never asked why he was upset, but she knew how he was feeling even when he couldn't articulate it. And she knew how to make it better. Even when he hadn't known her, Monica had understood that the boy who was sitting quietly in the corner of her brother's wedding reception didn't want to be alone and hadn't even needed to ask to recognise he had bad experiences with weddings. She was too good for him. Monica always had been.

"I saw you, Monica," there was a lump in his throat, his oesophagus constricted with guilt, his teeth clenched. When he spoke, his words were choppy and wet with emotion. "I watched your face as I ruined your dream day."

"A lot of people get cold feet, Chandler," Monica explained. "Remember, Ross had it. And Emily had it."

He smiled a little at the memory of the two of them bolstering Ross, just as Ross had done for him this morning. She'd been so young then. So annoying.

"God," he shook his head. "Ross was a mess that morning."

"See," she grinned, her cheeks dimpling. "It's very common."

"But we're not them," he said darkly, remembering what had happened. Never did Chandler want Ross' marriages mentioned in the same breath as his and Monica's. Unless it was in comparison. How well he and Monica were getting along and how much more beautiful their vows were than Ross'.

"I know, Chandler. I know you're not going anywhere," she brought his fingers to her lips and kissed the gold band on his left hand. It was odd, wearing jewellery. But it glinted magnificently in the light and the rose of her lips complimented it beautifully. "And you weren't this morning, either."

Not to be outdone by his wife, and also a little curious to see if kissing her fingers with a wedding band, not just an engagement ring, was any different, Chandler brought her fingers to his lips. The metal was cold and he could feel her pulse in her wrist where his fingers held her hands and already he knew he was as addicted to kissing her left hand's knuckles.

"But you also deserve a proper explanation. Because I know you too, Monica. I know you're going to leave this to simmer even if you do genuinely think what I said in front of everyone was enough. You should be angry, you are, you're trying to put on a brave face but you don't have to," he told her.

"Of course, I'm angry," she huffed, but she didn't step away from him or drop his hands. "But I'm married to my best friend. He got cold feet and everyone lied to me, including and probably mostly my brother, none of them thought, hey, why don't we tell Monica, she'll be able to bring Chandler back. I spent all day with Rachel, but not once did she say hey Monica, you should postpone your wedding so you're not left standing on the altar alone."

Chandler released a relieved sigh, thanking god, even in her hypothetical world, in Rachel's voice, Monica hadn't said "call it off."

He shook his head and kissed her knuckles again. She had a point, anything would have been better than not telling her. But not telling her was also the worst decision. No one won in either situation. But, at least, this way, Chandler got to explain himself. And his friends were clearly only thinking of Monica's emotional well-being, not her reputation.

But that also brought up a terrifying thought, made horrifying given the way Phoebe had spoken to him earlier. He never quite could tell with that woman, she'd seemed utterly proud of him in the hallway and pleased for them up on the bride's side of the altar. But in his office she'd been harsh and kicked him when he was down. He loved her, she was his sister, always would be, but siblings could be cruel.

"Phoebe and Ross and Rachel are going to tell you the facts exactly how they remember them, but they don't know all the facts," he insisted, looking imploringly into Monica's eyes. "You need to know all the facts. And you need to hear it from me."

He took a deep, steadying breath.

"First," he grinned. "You look amazing."

Monica blushed.

"And I'm going to say this in my toast, prefaced with the fact that I suck at jokes," Chandler grinned. This American audience was bound to understand his sarcasm, and even if they didn't get it, they'd laugh anyway because he was smiling so widely.

Monica chuckled and rolled her eyes fondly.

If Chandler had thought writing his vows had been difficult, writing his toast was the opposite. His vows, which he was quite proud of now that he had said them, were his emotions, from his heart to Monicas. But his toast was the newlywed husband gushing about his wife. Chandler had been banking that material for years, never saying much in front of his friends for fear of being teased or making too much of their precious relationship public. But this was his chance to say all of it, and everyone had to clap at the end, even if it was terrible.

"I know it's meant to be all about the bride and I do have an actual speech printed out," he leant forward, whispering, "It's eighteen pages front and back, and everyone is going to have to sit through it."

She chuckled, blushing. "Good."

"But I was an idiot last night," he said to her then, and he'd say it in his speech, but explained why he felt the need to Monica. "By now, the rumours probably gone around, I may as well address it before anyone gets the wrong idea that you're domineering and I'm feeble."

Monica snorted and Chandler kissed her. For some reason, that was how their friends saw them, even though that was only slightly close to the case. Monica wasn't nearly as controlling as she had been when Phoebe roomed with her, and Chandler had both grown a spine and gathered some self-confidence over the years. She looked to him for guidance and instruction and he spoke up for himself and didn't back down from a fight. Together, they were unstoppable.

He turned serious again but continued stroking the backs of her hands with his, clipping the wedding bank they'd bought together a month earlier every time he swiped her skin.

"I heard your excited message on our machine and I realised that you're not just marrying me. You're marrying all my baggage and insecurities and the historically terrible treatment of spouses in the Bing family." Chandler wasn't quite looking Monica in the eye as he spoke, instead focusing on the freckles on her collar that weren't hidden with concealer. "And, while it's not an excuse, everyone at dinner seemed to solidify that I wasn't good enough or was too dysfunctional and had never known a truly committed and loving relationship before you."

Monica's breath fanned over his cheeks, a soft "Oh, Chandler," carried on it.

"Thing is," watery eyes met understanding ones. "I know they were trying to make a point, that we've changed each other for the better, that we've taught each other people don't always abandon you. That love is real and right in front of you if you're willing to risk it. And, looking back, I can hear you telling me all those things too, telling me not to get stuck looking at my parents. Looking at Ross."

Chandler closed his eyes and scrunched his face tightly.

"But I did. I don't want that to be us. I don't want to leave fights unresolved. I don't want secrets or lies."

He opened his eyes and stared at her, desperate for her to understand.

"I don't want to lose you, Monica. But I couldn't think of a single marriage that worked. I was so out of my mind with worry that while you are my only chance at a future and a family, you would be settling for me."

"I swear to God, Chandler," Monica growled angrily, looking heavenward as though fighting off tears. "One day you're going to see what I see when I look at you."

"I was so afraid that I'd screw this up and lose my best friend, the only woman I have ever properly loved, that I couldn't even find my own office," he laughed bitterly. "And I was looking on the internet for marriages that worked, how to make them work. I was looking for articles and came up with nothing. I looked for hours trying to find some bit of research online telling me this feeling was normal and I wasn't going to lose you. A lot of it said cold feet needed to be kept a secret, and I knew that wasn't going to happen. All I could think about was how much of a mess you probably were when Ross gave you my note and that I was glad Ross and Rach and Pheebs were there for you."

"You wrote a note?"

"I started to. But I couldn't," his voice broke. "I couldn't explain what I was thinking. I didn't know what I was thinking. It didn't say much. You didn't know?"

Monica shook her head.

"It's probably better that way. Because at that point, I didn't think I could marry you. Bring you down to my level and make you one of the dysfunctional Bings. I was looking online to see if we were related, to see if there was a way this marriage would be invalid that didn't mean you hating me."

He didn't look up from their hands, hers fitting perfectly in his, as always. But Chandler heard Monica's amused exhale, soft and short, as though she was trying not to find the whole thing ridiculous.

"I didn't find anything," he clarified, a little worriedly. "And I'm not sure how I was going to stop the wedding. But I was planning on getting it early, so I couldn't get the marriage licence and then I'd have told you before everyone got here, before people took their seats."

"Did you find anything?" Monica squeezed his hands.

Chandler beamed up at her.

"Turns out we're related by marriage," he shrugged. "You're my wife."

The word was so easy to say, so small and strong. Just a tiny puff of air and a smile. Like a life-affirming breath. He didn't think he'd ever tire of saying it.

"Ross and Phoebe found me early this morning. All he said was that I'm not my parents and that if we put in the effort, we'd make it work," Chandler praised his brother-in-law, his best friend. "Ross has known me a long time and broke everything down into small steps. He could have been awful or protective of you or annoying, but he wasn't. He was protective of me. I owe him a lot for that. We got the licence first and then we came here and got ready."

"I was still scared. I'm always going to be scared I'm going to lose you, I think. But I wasn't going to be the idiot who threw away his chance to be with Monica Geller because he was a little afraid of the future and a lot afraid he'd hurt her," he admitted, his voice turning much softer, less determined and more gentle, assuring. "I want a future with you, Monica. I want to be afraid and excited for the future with you. Ross could see that, and he let me out of the suite. He knew I wasn't going anywhere, and that's when I overheard Phoebe and Rachel talking about you being pregnant."

Monica, who had remained mostly quiet during his tale, furrowed her brow. "So you didn't freak out because you thought I was pregnant?"

Chandler baulked. "No. I freaked out because I thought I wasn't good enough and then I freaked out, but in an excited way when I thought you were pregnant. I've always been excited for a family with you, but I didn't marry you because I thought you were pregnant."

Chandler had been rushing his sentences and was a little breathless after trying to get that point across.

"Is that what you thought?"

Monica shook her head. "No. I know that you know firsthand how detrimental marriage for the sake of the children can be and you'd never do that to ours."

"I'm not divorcing you, either, Mon," Chandler said earnestly.

She smiled then. "But if there's a rumour going around that I'm pregnant and you left, then some idiot is going to think that you only stuck around for the baby."

"Your mother, you mean?"

Chandler bit his lips together guiltily. Most days, bitching about Judy Geller was cathartic and Monica loved his insulting jibes and the support she got from him. But she was still Monica's mother and Chandler knew that Judy did genuinely try. She clearly had no clue about how to parent a girl and was just mimicking her own mother, but she did try and certainly had been better since that Thanksgiving where Ross had been proven to be the Pyrite Child, not the Golden Boy. Chandler knew better than anybody that parental neglect for eighteen years didn't necessarily equate to hating your parents, disowning them and distancing yourself from them, but still loving them and being intolerant of mean-spirited jokes. So he waited with bated breath for Monica's reaction.

A hearty laugh bubbled out of her, beginning as a rumble in Monica's chest. Chandler watched her amusement overtake her whole body, her chest puffing forwards and her neck extending backwards, her mouth opening wide in a smile at the ceiling as she laughed ruggedly.

"Monica," Chandler squeezed her hands to bring her attention back to him. "Even if everyone tells you a different version of today's events, this part will always be the same. Ross was quite loud about it when I got back and I was quite proud of it when I found out, so no one can mistake the timing of it."

He paused to make sure she was listening, that she wasn't smiling and that she was hearing every word's truest meaning.

"You being pregnant wasn't why I freaked out. And it isn't why I stayed. I love you, Monica, that's why I left. But I'm also very selfish and very much looking forward to a future with you, and that's why I came back."

Her smile was blinding and they both chuckled as he kissed her briefly.

"And then I saw you walk down that aisle and I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been," he shook his head, wrapping his arms around her and punctuating every sentence with a smile wider than the last. "You're Monica. You're my favourite person. You're my best friend, the easiest person to talk to and the only one whose opinion on me that I trust. We always find a way, no matter what."

Chandler could feel Monica's hands flatten against his chest, ironing out his gold vest. Her nimble fingers crept up his collar and touched his neck before caressing his ears and disappearing into his hair. Chandler shivered at her touch as Monica's grip tightened and she pulled him down to kiss her.

"I am mad at you," she said against his lips. "Promise me that you will never forget you can talk to me."

Chandler's lips pursed just enough to touch Monica's, "I do."

Her nose rubbed against his as Monica shook her head, rolling her eyes. Before she could say anything, Chandler planted his mouth on hers.

Breathless before their kiss even begun, Chandler pressed his tongue against the underside of hers, tracing soft shapes against the sensitive muscle and giving her room to rove his mouth as she pleased. This woman ignited something in him, a blazing fire as his abdomen tingled with excitement. Monica could bring his blood to a boil with the probing of her tongue, but it seemed she was quite content to leave him simmering with desire. Her tongue was soft in his mouth, a heady presence, but not actually swirling or tasting.

Chandler couldn't stop himself from groaning in frustration and smiling against her mouth, falling out of the kiss to settle on a few short pecks.

He captured her mouth again, fully prepared to rectify her kiss by taking control of the situation, but he didn't rush it either. Chandler stroked Monica's tongue with his while she exhaled hotly, audibly, against his cheek, fisting his hair and pulling him closer, their chests crushed together.

A knock on the door interrupted them before the wood swung open. "Mr and Mrs Bing?"

Chandler gulped. That sounded so good. But so foreign. Beside him, Monica clung to his arm, bouncing on her toes softly as though she was excited. She probably was now, but when it came tax time, Bing got quite old to hear and sign all the time. She hadn't agreed to take his name, but she was happy to try it out, see how it sounded.

"We're not quite ready for you," the photographer's assistant, a young blonde boy, addressed them. "We're still setting up, but everyone's out, if you'd like to come back in."

Hand in hand the two of them entered the room they had been married in. It was devoid of chairs, of everything but their flower arrangements - a perfect balance of orchids and roses, white lilies for purity and two colours of roses, the red for deep, romantic love and the white for lifelong happiness. He'd promised her to always make her happy once and last night he'd lost sight of that, putting his fears first.

He wasn't going to make that mistake again.

They moved to stand under the highest point of the gaping ceiling, and Chandler had to admit, even completely unfurnished, they'd picked the perfect venue and decorated it perfectly. This setting was perfect.

He stood facing his iridescent wife, Monica absolutely breathtaking in her dress, plain and simple and completely her. She hooked her train over her forearm and Chandler felt his heart race. This wasn't just some ballroom filled with flowers. He'd just married his best friend in it!

"Do you really think someone's pregnant?" Monica asked him before he could compliment her on their compromise when they'd found this place. It was much better than that first spot they'd had their name down for. Plus, here all their out of town guests, all of his family really, could stay overnight at the hotel.

Chandler nodded, keeping his hands reverently on Monica's hips, pinching the soft fabric of her dress. "A test was in our trash, Phoebe said."

"So Rachel?"

Chandler shrugged, trying not to get whisked away by Monica's sinful fingers as she stroked his forearms beneath his blazer sleeve. She was very good at getting a rise out of him and she was working on teasing him toward lust but Chandler wasn't going to relent to her. Not easily. Not yet. They had a whole party to get through. And photos. He regripped her, winding his arms all the way around her waist and forcing Monica to find a different place to lay her hands.

She settled for wrapping them around his waist beneath his open jacket.

"Phoebe wouldn't think it was you if it was her," he said, not sure if he was making any sense. He'd thought it was Monica, but if it wasn't Monica then it had to be Rachel. Who else would use their bathroom except Phoebe? Unless Phoebe was pretending it wasn't her to throw them off the scent. But, then again, she'd seemed genuinely excited for him and Monica, surprised even. "Who else would use our bathroom?"

"It could be false," Monica explained.

She knew more about the process, he figured. It was actually a little odd that he had no experience with the tests. Not that he wanted to know more, not really, knowing about cycles and Tampax was enough for the minute. And not that Chandler wanted to have an accident with Monica, in hindsight or in the future, much preferring, and knowing Monica would also much prefer, a plan. But given the amount of sex he and Monica had, it was a little weird they hadn't had a scare before.

"Rachel hasn't been with anyone recently."

"Promise me you won't let this bother you, either," Chandler implored. Almost a year ago, Rachel had stolen her thunder and a lot of things had nearly been said between the two women. They'd worked through quite a bit of that during the year but still had a way to go. Chandler hoped that Monica could put annoyance and jealousy aside for a day and realise she was far above her friends in terms of achieving the family she'd always wanted, the relationships they all wanted in their lives.

As Monica had said, Rachel was alone. She'd been alone and she was still alone. Unless she was doing what they had done and keeping it secret and given her history and closeness with Ross, Chandler wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

"Of course not," Monica sputtered indignantly. "Neither of those girls ever really thought about having children of their own, and without the father, that's going to be so difficult. I'm not going to make it more so."

"And for that reason," Chandler eyed Monica warily. He'd never been one for gossip and just because he was married, didn't mean he was going to start participating in it. The world could happen around him and he'd interact with the parts that concerned his family, but if it was just rumour he wasn't going to bother. "I'm going to operate under the impression that it was false, or not even really there if it wasn't yours."

"It wasn't."

"Then nobody is pregnant as far as I'm concerned until you tell me otherwise," he vowed.

Then Chandler remembered something and scrubbed his face with his left hand, his ring glinting in the light. "God,' he grinned at his fingers despite the thoughts in his head. "I just hope Ross has the decency to let us tell people the news and hasn't blabbed to everyone."

"Why would Ross tell everyone I'm pregnant?" Monica pulled away from him, her hands dragging across his waist, creating hot friction through his clothes. Her voice was dangerous.

"I got a bit excited when I found out," Chandler winced guiltily and then shrugged. "Bought a onesie from the gift shop."

"You did?" Monica's eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise. Then she leant forward and touched her nose to his. "God, I love you."

"After all that stupidity-"

"Chandler, you were scared," she stroked his sideburns, her whole face glowing. "And you were scared for me. I couldn't ask for a better husband."

"I cannot believe you married me," he whispered.

Her fingers fiddled with his collar as she stretched up on her toes. As she neared him, her smile landing against his, her hands drifted over his chest languidly. Her tongue flicked his top lip so Chandler would open his mouth to her, but he was already there, awaiting her kiss.

Chandler caressed his nose along the side of Monica's, his hands still and steady as he pulled her close and their mouths met.

Their lips parted because they were smiling too much.

Now that they had all the noise of cold feet and false pregnancies clarified and quietened, the two of them completely open books for the other to peruse, they had a clean slate to begin their marriage. Monica had assuaged his guilt and Chandler could admit his excitement.

"Can you believe we just got married?" he parroted back Monica's line, understanding the tidal wave of emotion she must have been feeling because he was feeling overwhelmed in a wonderful way now that he'd gotten his guilt off his chest. Before, he'd been underwater, dunked by a large wave and felt as though he was at the mercy of the powerful undertow, subject to the bashing, curling waves. Now, it was more like his head was in the clouds. He felt light and untethered in the most beautiful way, like he was above everyone. King of the world. All because he was married to Monica. "Right there!"