Chandler huddled in the doorway beside the stained metal brazier that served as the communal ashtray up on the roof. It should have been a straight-forward thing, easily figured out. Just a casual question or two.

Hey, Rach, was that a date on Saturday? We had a date? A great date?

He lit a fresh cigarette off the butt of another, dragged the smoke into his lungs.

It had not, of course, been a date.

Most probably she had just preferred people not to know that she had spent her Saturday with him as though she had nothing better to do.

But then there had been The Look...

Why the hell had he bought menthol cigarettes? He hated them. And if he was going to smoke, he'd damn well better enjoy it. He crushed the remains of the cigarette into the tray, stared at the red embers fading to ash.

Was Rachel always so hard to catch on her own? or was it just because he'd never tried before that he'd never noticed? He could swear that he was always meeting her in the hall, in the lobby, on the stairs. Ever since Saturday he'd seen her only in the middle of the rest of their friends; their friends were great, he liked the fact that he had such great friends, but for that weekend and the days since he had wished whole-heartedly that they would just disappear. For a while. Like they could be on a break.

Oh. My. God.

Chandler glanced at his watch, headed back down to his office and spent five minutes staring at the clothes bag that had been hanging at the back of his door all day. He had thought, at first, that he would go home after work, change there, pick Rachel up and take her to the party. But that might make the non-date more of a date. Or the date more of a non-date, he wasn't sure anymore.

In the executive washroom he changed into the clothes she had picked out, raked his hands through his hair and remembered the way hers had felt doing that, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

He went back up to the roof, took out the pack of hated menthol cigarettes and smoked two in a row.

ooOoo

Rachel applied the eyeliner carefully, studied the effect. Glamorous, but not slutty. That would describe most of Chandler's girlfriends. Even Janice, whose fashion sense was certainly the most ... noticeable ... had never looked slutty. Rachel had never really believed in dressing for a man but it never did any harm to tweak things a little in one particular direction. And fashion was her thing, after all; and she could do glamour.

She could even, if she were honest, do slutty.

She blotted her lipstick, stepped out into the living room. Monica looked up from her ... well, whatever she was cleaning and raised her eyebrows.

'Wow.'

Rachel beamed at her. 'Thanks. You think this looks okay?'

'I think you'll give Chandler a heart-attack. It is still Chandler you're going with, right?'

'Uh-huh.'

Monica leant against the counter. 'A-ha...'

'A-ha, what? No, no "a-ha".'

'A-ha, your mystery date guy is going to be there. He is, isn't he? I knew it!' Her eyes blazed.

'No,' Rachel said smoothly. 'He- he isn't anyone I work with. I just felt like getting dressed up.'

'Oh.' Monica's shoulders sagged. She straightened, went back to her latest project.

Rachel tweaked at the long black dress and became aware of the heaviness of the silence. 'Mon?'

'Mm.'

'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine.' She was staring far too hard at the thing in her hands.

Rachel crossed the floor, stood opposite her on the other side of the breakfast bar. 'Sweetie, what's wrong?'

A shrug. 'Nothing.'

It was Rachel's shoulders that sagged. 'Monica, come on. I know when something's wrong.'

Monica looked up at her, her face closed-off; she shrugged again. 'We just used to, y'know, we'd tell each other stuff. Look, I'm not trying to pry and I know it's not really any of my business but ... but I'm used to us talking. I'm used to hearing all about your new crushes and-and now you won't even tell me his name.' A pause. 'Did I do something wrong? Have I offended you or something?'

Rachel felt her throat tighten, pressure behind her eyes. Dammit! She blinked rapidly. 'Monica, honey, no, of course not.' She took hold of her friend's hands, stilling their restless movement. They felt so cold. 'It isn't- It isn't you, really. I just' -a breath- 'I don't know where I am with this guy, I don't even know if he likes me and until I do I-I can't really talk about it. This isn't like the other crushes.'

She didn't get a picture of herself and one of him and make them kiss; she didn't play around with their names on pieces of paper and surround them with little hearts. Instead she hurt when he hurt and she smiled when he did and she wanted him. She just wanted him.

'It sounds like it could be pretty serious,' Monica said.

'I...' Rachel released a breath. 'I think it could be. I don't know. Are-are we okay?'

Monica smiled, the fine lines around her eyes deepening. 'Of course.'

'Good.' She squeezed Monica's hands, started to move around the bar to collect her coat and purse.

'Hey, Rach. I hope it works out with The Guy. You deserve it.'

And she caught her breath again, caught Monica in a hug. 'Thank you.' The two girls held onto each other and- Dammit! Rachel blinked rapidly again, clearing her vision.

ooOoo

It was the first time, Chandler thought with some pride, that he had managed to grab two glasses of champagne off a passing tray without the manoeuvre descending into farce. Both he and the waiter were still upright, the tray was still balanced, the glasses were still full. He passed one to Rachel and she smiled, touching her glass against his.

'Thanks. And thanks for coming with me.'

'Hey, anytime.'

They stood on the edge of a crowd, drank their champagne and Chandler allowed the alcohol to seep through and work its wonderful relaxing magic. He glanced at Rachel once, twice and decided that that would not help with the relaxation. She had been right about the hot girls of Bloomingdale's but none of them, not one of them, could compare with her. Not even on a bad day, but definitely not in that dress.

When they had met and she had slipped off her coat his mouth had managed to stammer out, 'You look great,' but his scrambled brain had said 'Flargle...'

It was still scrambled. He was counting on the champagne to help.

He worked out the odds of her having got herself done up like that for his benefit and decided they were not in his favour. Still, it was nice to escort her around the room and catch the occasional envying glance of men who clearly wondered what was so special about him that he'd got her.

There isn't and I haven't but for tonight it's fun to pretend.

ooOoo

'That's a great story you've got there, Mr Waltham,' Rachel said, fanning her face with one hand. She watched his retreating back with relief, turned her head and found Chandler watching her speculatively. 'What?'

'The way you laughed-'

'Oh,' the hand was waved, 'that was just my work laugh.'

His face brightened. 'I have one too!'

'You do?'

'Believe me, it's the only way to get through my work parties. Actually, it's the only way to get through my work.'

'You really hate that job, don't you?'

'God, yes. Why, don't you hate yours?'

'No, I love it!' She bit the inside of her lower lip. 'So, you don't actually enjoy-'

'Transponsting?' His voice was coated with sarcasm.

'I was going to say statistical analysis and data reconfiguration.'

'I-' He stared at her. Rachel felt colour washed across her face; she lowered her eyes, raised them again.

'I felt kinda bad that none of us actually know what it is you do, so-' she tossed her hair away from her shoulders '-I rang your company and asked for a copy of the company directory and looked you up and voila!' Her head tilted to one side. 'There are a lot of people that you can tell what to do.'

Chandler shrugged. 'I can tell them, doesn't mean that they'll actually do it.' He was watching her and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks again. Rachel frowned, chasing an errant piece of fruit around her glass with a cocktail stick. 'You could have just asked me what I do.'

'Yeah, but that would have been too easy.'

And then he was smiling, a slow soft smile, and the colour of his eyes shifted through shades of aqua. 'That's so sweet. I can't believe you did that.'

'Well, y'know...' Even her neck was burning. Everything was burning. 'I, uh, I don't remember your work laugh from when I went to the Christmas party.'

Chandler blinked, shook himself. 'Oh. That's probably because Doug spent most of the party in the stationary cupboard with two temps.' He shrugged. 'Everyone got to have a reasonable time and leave early as a result.'

'Oh...' She drained her glass. 'Let's hear it.'

'Huh?'

'You heard mine, now I get to hear yours.'

His head tilted back. 'You know, I think I've played this game before only it was more visual...'

'Stop stalling, Bing.'

'Okay...' Chandler glanced around, took hold of her elbow and steered her behind a potted-palm. They leant together, faces close. 'Right, get ready.'

'Ooh, good laugh!' she said when he was finished. 'It doesn't sound too fake, but you don't sound too much of a kiss-ass.'

'Yeah, it took months to get it right. Where did you perfect yours?'

'Uh, Barry's parents, actually.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah, I really didn't like them much. Then again, I didn't even like Barry all that much.'

'Heartless,' he murmured.

She was serious suddenly. 'Do you think that?'

The laughter vanished from his face. 'God, no! Of course not; Rach, it was-it was just a joke. Bad joke, I'm sorry.' He touched her arm lightly, his fingers warm against her bare skin. Musician's fingers, she thought, long, well-shaped and strong. She imagined them-

No, she didn't. She mustn't. It wasn't made easier when he kept his hand on her.

In their little alcove sheltered by the palm tree, they smiled at one another. Chandler dropped his hand. 'Do you want another drink?'

Her smile faltered for a moment. 'Sure.'

ooOoo

Over at the buffet table he noticed that his hands were shaking slightly. He needed a cigarette in the worst possible way. Well, he'd wanted to catch Rachel on her own and had certainly managed that. But alone in such proximity had been a mistake. Not that she had seemed to mind.

Flargle.

Along with the familiar sensations of dizziness, sweat and mild panic.

Flargle, flargle.

Especially when he kept catching glimpses of her long tanned legs through the slit in her dress.

Chandler made himself look away from her, exchanged a few words with the vivaciously pretty girl standing next to him. She laughed at everything he said, placed her hand on his arm and introduced herself.

'Your colleagues are really friendly,' Chandler told Rachel when he rejoined her. She looked at him, hard; there was a stiffness in her face.

'Friendly, yeah, that's one word for her.' She drank down half the glass in one gulp. Off Chandler's look she said clearly, 'She was flirting with you.'

'Really?'

He looked back at the girl. She caught his eye and smiled again.

'See? She's doing it right now!'

'Huh.' He looked back at Rachel. Some of the stiffness had been replaced by puzzlement.

'Do you really not get when women are flirting with you?'

'I get it!' Defensive. 'Sometimes...' She still stared at him, shook her head slightly. He shrugged. 'Okay, I'm not great at reading signs and when they're subtle ... it's hard, y'know, for a guy to always tell what those signs mean. I mean, sometimes you think a girl is flirting with you ... and she's not. So... Yeah. Subtle doesn't always work.'

'Okay.' Rachel looked thoughtful, nodded. 'Okay, so you want something obvious. What?'

He grimaced. 'Obvious girls... That's just tacky.'

Puzzlement was melted entirely by exasperation. 'Chandler...'

He took some of his own drink and nodded, resigned. 'I know, I know. I'm pathetic.'

'No, sweetie, you're not; you're ... okay, maybe a little hard work, but, you know... That can be good.'

His eyebrows went up. 'Uh-huh.'

'Some girls like hard.'

His lips curved. 'Oh, they do, huh?'

'Yeah, they really do.'

A beat, then her eyes widened.

'I did not mean-'

He laughed helplessly, hunched his shoulder up as she rained a series of slaps across his arm. 'C'mon, if you give me an opening like that what do you expect me to do?'

'You see-you see?' She speared her olive, bit down on it. 'This is why we hate talking to men. You try to have a serious conversation and you get ... that.'

'Okay, I'm sorry.' He rested his hand on her shoulder, ran it down her arm. He was not sorry about that. 'No more jokes.'

Rachel looked at him. 'No more jokes?'

'Well, no more jokes about that.' They stood for a moment. 'I make jokes when I'm uncomfortable - you know that, right?'

She was very still, staring at nothing, and then turned to him. 'Do I make you uncomfortable?' Her voice was so soft he could barely hear her.

'No, I just-' He frowned. 'I also have a thing about serious conversations. You know that, right?'

There was a way she looked at him then. More sweating, even more panic - this time of the not quite so mild sort. Chandler studied his hands clutched around his glass. 'It's different for you, anyhow.'

'What does that mean?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Oh, come on! Miss "I can get any guy I want without even trying"?'

'Not lately,' she murmured.

'Sorry, what was that?'

'Nothing.' Rachel stared into the middle-distance. 'Y'know, when I think about it my track record isn't all that great. I mean, since college my relationships have been Barry, Paolo and Ross. God, that's depressing.'

'Hey, I can top that,' Chandler said. 'I can offer you Janice, Kathy and, uh, Janice.'

Rachel laughed. 'You're right, that is pathetic.'

'We're both pathetic losers!' He grinned at her. Who knew that beautiful, wonderful Rachel could be just as bad at this as him?

'You want to be pathetic losers together?' Her eyes shimmered.

Chandler put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her closer. 'I absolutely do.'

She actually seemed to nuzzle into him, her body turning into his. The thought occurred to him that Rachel Green was actually trying to kill him. They were supposed to be friends but she was bent on torturing him to death, just because she could.

What the hell, it would be a happy death.

Her hair brushed his cheek and she was pressed close to him.

Flargle.

ooOoo

There was dancing. Not that there was supposed to be dancing but there was music and there had been enough alcohol that people chose to forget they were at a work party and have some actual fun.

'Dance with me,' Rachel said, not making it a request. Then: 'Please.'

'Eh...' His face screwed up. 'I don't dance, especially not around pretty girls.'

'I-' Her brain revisited this sentence a few times. 'But I've seen you dance.'

'I know, but you already know that I have no sense of rhythm. Plus, do you really want to be seen with this guy?' He flailed his arms at her, the look on his face one of serious concentration. She laughed at him and she saw him relax.

'It's not that kind of dancing, this is the easy kind. Come on, please?'

'I...' His eyes darted from her to the makeshift dancefloor, back to her, away somewhere else. His shoulders slumped. 'Okay...'

They joined the couples and Chandler held her a little stiffly. Maybe, she thought through the slight fug of alcohol that was making everything happen at a slower speed than usual, maybe he hadn't recovered from the changing room incident. Fine. That was fine. Except he'd held her earlier, putting his arm around her.

Make up your mind, Chandler Bing, she thought tiredly. God, she felt so, so tired. She rested her head on his shoulder. Not like in the changing room, not even like earlier (because apparently it was only okay when he decided it was) but just in the way that people did when they danced. They shuffled together, they did not step on one another's toes. She kept her head on his shoulder. And he started to unbend. Bit by bit they were closer. Each step they brushed against each other. His hands found hollows along her back, rested there.

There was strength and tenderness in the way he held her and she thought that if the time ever came when he actually touched her, it might just break her.