The cubicle, with its not very flattering lighting and dark wood panelling, was oddly comforting. Not so the reflection that greeted him in the mirror. Chandler stared at himself.

'Come on out,' Rachel's disembodied voice floated through from the other side of the curtain, 'let me have a look.'

'No.'

'Chandler...'

'No!'

'Oh, come one, that is some great stuff I gave you.'

'Yeah, when I said "no pink", what I really meant was no pink.'

'Pink's a very in colour this season.' She sounded indignant. He hated it when girls sounded indignant. It always made him think that he should do what they wanted. And that had never ended well. 'A lot of guys are wearing it.'

He removed the tie and the shirt, started on the belt with the ludicrous buckle. 'I don't care. If I wanted to wear pink, I'd go back to Vegas and re-join my dad's burlesque act.'

A pause.

'Re-join?'

'Story for another day, Rach.' He needed to start going to the gym again, he decided; and this time he'd actually go. And, hopefully, not end up with a joint bank account with Ross. And he really should cancel that. He tossed the clothes over the top of the dividing curtain.

'Oh... I wanted to see how they looked on.'

'Just get me something else to wear, or I'm coming out of here naked - and neither one of us would enjoy that.' There was silence, and then it became a long silence. 'Rachel? Are you still there?'

'Yeah! Yuh, I'm, uh, I'm still here.'

Great, he sighed inwardly, he'd given her a repellant thought. A thought so bad it had actually deprived her of speech for nearly a minute.

Naked Rachel, on the other hand, was a non-repellant thought. One of those images he tried hard not to think about, but the memory would surface at unexpected moments. In the middle of a meeting and suddenly it would be the tiny droplets of water that had clung to her skin; on a date with some girl and it was the perfect curve of her breasts sloping down to her toned, tiny waist; drifting off to sleep and it was the way her hair fell across her face and smelt of vanilla and coconut and the way her eyes got that sleepy, unfocused look and-

And that was not Naked Rachel, that was just Rachel.

And she was on the other side of the curtain.

Think about something else, he told himself fiercely, think about anything else.

'Okay, I've got some more things for you to try.'

Chandler groaned. Everything she said sounded like an invitation. WENUS, think of the WENUS and everything will be okay. WENUS, spreadsheets, numbers, Rachel hanging on his arm while they walked to Bloomingdale's after lunch, her eyes squinting against the sun and-

'Chandler?'

'What? I was thinking about the WENUS!' He thrust his head through the gap between the curtain and the wall, holding the fabric tight against his chin, and found Rachel's face, eyes round with surprise, close to his. Close enough to catch the scent of vanilla and coconut.

'Okay... You want to try these on for me?' She held up a few hangers.

'Sure.'

A pause.

'Uh, do you want to take them?'

'Sure.' Another pause. Chandler snaked one arm through the gap, pulling them back through while still trying to keep the curtain resolutely closed.

'And I want to see them on you this time!'

His fingers felt thick, clumsy, while he battled with the shirt buttons. No, they felt thicker, clumsier than usual.

You've just had a break-up, he told himself, you've just had a break-up and you'd got used to having a girlfriend and now you're fixating on the first girl you come across. Pull yourself together, man! God, I should slap me right now. Does it hurt as much if you slap yourself? I guess you'd end up pulling the punch. I bet Joey would know.

Chandler tugged the jacket on and looked at himself in the mirror, turned his head from side-to-side, frowned at himself. He didn't look entirely ridiculous.

'How are you getting on in there?'

'Uh, okay...'

'If you don't let me look, I'm pulling back this curtain on the count of three. One. Two-'

'Okay!'

Chandler pulled back the curtain, metal rings scraping along the pole. Rachel's eyes wandered over him; she laughed slightly.

'You certainly know how to strike a pose.'

He grimaced. 'Runs in the family.'

'Oh, right, your mom.' Nora Bing was one lady who knew how to make an entrance.

'Uh, yeah, her too. My dad's the one who really nails it, though.'

Rachel's head tilted. 'You know, you're a lot less screwed up than you ought to be.'

'Huh, shows how much you know.' He frowned. 'Wait, that came out wrong.'

She smiled, took a step back and looked him over again. 'That looks really great.'

'Really?'

'Yes, really. The shirt brings out the colour of your eyes.'

He glanced at himself. 'My God! My eyes are blue!'

Rachel's lips thinned. He offered her a smile by way of apology; he plucked at the shirt. 'Don't you think it could do with-'

'Chandler, if you say "sweater-vest" I swear to God I'll beat you to death with this clothes-hanger.' Her eyes narrowed; she must scare the hell out of her clients, he thought. 'It just needs...' She advanced on him; he retreated backwards into the cubicle and she crowded in after him, half-drawing the curtain against the man passing by in the corridor who peered in at them with interest.

'Turn around,' she ordered.

He turned, facing the mirror. She stood behind him, raising herself on tip-toe, her arms sliding around him and - dear God! - he could feel the soft swell of her breasts pressing against his back. Her fingers were nimble against the stiff shirt-buttons and the rigid bindings around the holes. She was studying him in the mirror, her face serious. She was lovely when she smiled, when she laughed; but it was in the moments when she was thoughtful, absorbed, that really brought out the delicacy, the fine lines of her face. Then she was truly beautiful. She worked the buttons, undoing the top two and her fingernails scraped against his skin. Her hair tickled the side of his neck and her breath came in steady warm pulses.

'There,' she murmured, 'that looks really good.' Her chin rested on his shoulder, eyes dreamy. The mirror versions of themselves did look pretty good, he thought, almost like they'd go together. Rachel moved one hand, running it through his hair until it stood in soft tousled spikes and the firm length of her body was pressed against him.

WENUS! Doug's weekly pep talks; Sandy from accounts whose year-round allergies left her with a permanently red and running nose; Ross and his air purifier. Ross. Yup, there it was, the requisite bucket of cold water. Ross, who had practically stamped 'Property of Ross' all over Rachel. Ross, his best friend, who had been in love with her since forever. And there were rules about that sort of thing.

ooOoo

For a few moments Rachel had allowed herself the fantasy. For a few moments their reflection had given her a picture of a happy couple. And there had been one moment when he had looked at her in a certain way and she had thought that maybe, maybe he would kiss her; maybe this would be the start. And it had felt so good - right, natural - to have him in her arms ... until he had shot out of them, bundled her out of the cubicle and gabbled at her.

'Okay, so these are the winners, I'll get changed, you wait there, I'll be in here changing, and you-you'll be out there.'

Chandler yanked the curtain back into place. She could hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt-buckle, and the occasional something that sounded like him muttering to himself. Probably bemoaning the fact, Rachel thought miserably, that his friend had just committed what amounted to sexual harassment on his person. Well, he'd certainly be seeing his gal-pal in a different light now; only instead of the 'potential girlfriend' light, it would be the 'maniac who tries to feel you up in changing-rooms' light. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid... She emphasised each thought, beating the back of her head against the wall behind her.

Stupid, stupid-

'Hey, Rach, are you mad at the wall or at your head?'

Her eyes popped open. Chandler was watching her curiously, concerned, head slightly tilted to one side.

'What? This? No.' She smiled brightly; her cheeks ached. 'This, uh, this is a relaxation technique. Very important during retail therapy, you know, so you can get the, uh, the whole ... therapeutic experience.'

'By trying to make a hole in a wall with your head?'

'It's based on shiatsu massage,' she said, trying to draw back any shreds of dignity that remained.

'Did Phoebe tell you about that technique?' he asked slowly.

'Yes!' She cleared her throat. 'Yes, she did.'

He nodded. 'You know, if she tries it herself that would explain so much.'

Rachel laughed weakly. 'Yeah...'

They walked back out into the open space of the shop floor, keeping a careful distance between them. It was companionable, though; and Chandler did still make her laugh, inventing stories about the shop mannequins.

'Okay, see that one over there? Brad-'

'Brad?'

'Square jaw, vacant look - he is absolutely a Brad.'

'Okay.'

'Anyhow, Brad is planning on killing that guy over there so he can steal his girlfriend.' He considered the mannequins in question. 'Actually, reverse that: Brad is planning on killing her so he can steal her boyfriend.'

At some point he offered her his arm again and they walked along together, through Bloomingdale's, out onto the city streets, working their way through the crowds. He kept hold of her even then, sometimes angling himself to shield her from the human traffic coming in the opposite direction; she felt safe like that, protected. Funny, she thought, that for all the jokes and comments - mainly made by himself - about his general ineptitude, Chandler was the one who seemed the most at home, the one best equipped to deal with the city. It still came rushing in on her at times; sometimes she still wanted to hide and then cry and then run away and not face any of it.

Chandler kept her arm tight through his and steered them towards the edge of the park. Calmer there, the late-afternoon sun glancing the tops of the trees and streaking the clouds with red.

'Want to walk through park before we get coffee?'

'Sure.'

The air felt cooler, cleaner, carried the scent of earth and leaves and damp grass. The roar of traffic was reduced to a high hum that faded the deeper in they went. Almost possible to pretend that they weren't in the city at all.

Rachel took in a breath, held it, closed her eyes, turned her face up to the low sun and released the breath, a slow stream. Chandler's arm, still linked through hers, felt strong and steady. She would have sworn that when she'd opened her eyes she'd caught him watching her like he was pretending he wasn't. She glanced at him; he was staring ahead.

They followed the path that took them to the road that would lead back to Central Perk and he stopped, turned to face her.

'I, uh...' He pulled something out of one of the bags of clothes she had made him buy. 'I wanted to give you this. I was going to give it to you later but' -he shrugged- 'Y'know, by then I would have convinced myself that you wouldn't want it. I just wanted to say thanks, really; you've been so great...'

She stared at the flat orange box and the familiar insignia.

'If you don't like it you can always return it, you know, store credit. I won't be offended, so you don't have to pretend.'

The words were addressed somewhere slightly to the right of her head. Rachel opened the box, pulled out the bright square of silk that seemed to glow, jewel-like, in the fading light.

'Chandler, it's - it's beautiful.'

'Really?' He looked relieved. More than that. More than delight, even. He looked lit up. 'Here.' He slid it from her hands, draped it around her neck. 'There. It, uh,' his smile widened, but still that uncertainty, 'it brings out the colour of your eyes.'

Rachel laughed a little. 'Thank you. You didn't have to do get me anything.'

Hands in his pockets, he shrugged awkwardly. 'I wanted to.'

'I love it. I really do. I-' She started forward, stopped herself, pushed down her own doubts, took a step forward and put arms around his neck. 'Thank you.'

'It was my pleasure,' he said, soft.

Rachel buried her face in the curve of his shoulder, breathed him in. The slightly chemical scent where his jacket had been dry-cleaned; laundry detergent (Monica's, of course); his aftershave, fresh and light; and behind that a scent that was warm and familiar and-and Chandler-y. She kept her eyes closed, feeling the way they fitted into each other, the way the warmth from his body seeped into hers. His hands slid down to her waist, resting there lightly; one thumb stroked the edge of her ribcage. She raised her head.

Maybe now, maybe this is where it all starts; maybe now when everything is getting so blurry around the edges and it feels like I'm melting into him and he's looking at me like that and-

'Hey, guys!'

They stared at each other still for a moment, then Chandler gently released her, stooped to pick up his shopping bags abandoned on the sidewalk.

Monica and Joey caught them up, oblivious to the stilted smiles and sudden clumsiness of their friends. Rachel fiddled with the clasp on her purse and gave up on trying to open it. Chandler dropped one of his bags twice, looked pained in response to his flatmate's whoops of amusement. Monica linked her arm through Rachel's.

'So, how was your lunch date?'

'Rachel had a date?' Joey grinned at her, always on the look-out for salacious details.

'Yeah, she has a mystery man she won't tell me anything about.' Monica squeezed her arm a little too hard.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Chandler's head turn to her slightly, curious again.

'It was great.' She looked at him fully and caught the flicker of surprise across his face. 'It was really, really great.'