Most days Rachel Green loved her job. Most days. This was not most days. She blinked hard against the blur that kept distorting her vision, bit down on her lip, glanced at her watch. 11:30. It had already felt like one of the longest days of her life and it was still only 11:30. No, 11:31. In an hour and twenty-nine minutes it would be lunch and she clung to that thought like a lifeline. Lunch with Chandler. Then everything would be okay. She could make it through the next hour and twenty-ni- twenty-eight minutes.

'Miss Green.'

Everything in her withered slightly. There was a way Mr Waltham said her name that made her feel as though she were still at school being summoned to the principal's office. It aroused the same urge to stick her tongue out at him behind his back. Mr James T. Waltham. She could hear Chandler's voice in her head.

'James T. Waltham. James T? Does the T stand for Tiberius? Please tell me the T stands for Tiberius.'

He looked at her down that long patrician nose of his and intoned, 'You have a personal call.'

'Right. Thank-thank-you.' She squeezed past him, felt his eyes on her back as she headed for the office phone.

'Hello?'

'Hey, babe.'

Rachel closed her eyes and smiled to herself. 'Trying out a new greeting there?'

'Uh-huh. You like it?'

'Y'know, I actually do.'

Chandler laughed softly, then cleared his throat. 'Listen, Rach.'

She opened her eyes.

'I, uh, I have to cancel lunch.'

'Oh.' Her stomach contracted, a hard ball like lead low in her body. She blinked, hard; it didn't help; she pinched the bridge of her nose. His voice washed over her.

'I am so, so sorry. Doug's got me doing ... something. I should probably find out what that is.' A pause where she didn't laugh. 'You're mad.'

'No.' She shook her head. 'No, I'm not mad. You can't help it, I know that.' Her voice broke at the end, rising to a higher pitch than usual. On the other end of the line she heard him suck in a breath.

'God, I'm ... I'm sorry.'

'Yeah. I was- I was just really looking forward to it.'

'Are you okay?'

'Yes.'

'Rachel?'

She sighed, ran her hand through her hair, straightened her shoulders. 'Okay, I'm just going to say this and then we can forget that I ever said it. I know I said I don't mind the sneaking around, and I don't, but I don't think I can face it tonight. I don't want to creep into your room at three in the morning, I don't want to have to dodge Monica when I creep back home, I don't-I don't want to have to be quiet. I just-I just can't do it. I'm sorry, I-' She took a breath, held it, let it go. 'Forget I said all that.'

Chandler was silent for a moment, she could hear him breathing - that rhythm that was so familiar - then: 'Rachel, I- Can I call you back? I need to take another call. I'll call you right back, I swear.'

'Yeah. Yes, sure, okay.'

Rachel hovered by the telephone for a few minutes. It remained stubbornly silent. Five minutes. Ten minutes. After a hellish day she would, ordinarily, be longing for the moment of release when she could vanquish her malaise through the therapeutic properties of shopping. Now, instead, she wanted the therapeutic properties of Chandler's blue eyes and comforting arms. And just when had that happened? Fifteen minutes. He had a strange definition of 'call you right back'. Twenty minutes.

'Miss Green - you have another personal call.'

She forced her mouth into a stiff apologetic smile.

'Rachel, listen: instead of going straight home after work, why don't we meet up for drinks, grab some dinner?'

The leaden ball decreased its pressure somewhat. 'That sounds good. Where do you want to meet?'

'How about the Four Seasons?'

'What?'

'The Four Seasons, it's this big hotel off Park Avenue-'

'I know that, but- Really? The Four Seasons?'

'Yeah, I- I think you deserve it.'

The lead melted into something warm, golden, that spread through her. 'That is so sweet. I'm not sure my work clothes are really Four Seasons-worthy, though.'

'Oh come on, you know you look gorgeous no matter what you wear. Anyway, don't you work in a dress-shop?'

'It is a high-end department store.'

He laughed softly.

When Rachel floated back past Mr Waltham's supercilious gaze, she smiled back serenely. She had Chandler and shopping.

ooOoo

In the bar, perched on one of the cherry-red leather stools, Chandler studied the lights glinting softly through the acacia trees and stopped himself from checking the time again. He transferred his attention to the wine display.

Fifteen feet is an awful lot of wine. He looked up at it, felt the twinge in his neck from craning it at the awkward angle, looked down, checked his watch.

He would not, he had told himself when he'd sat down, be that guy who peered anxiously at every girl who passed through the doors. That would be pathetic and boy did he know from pathetic.

He found the more surreptitious method of keeping an eye on the door by looking at it in the mirror.

So instead I'm the guy who apparently can't keep his eyes off himself. Wonderful.

There were more twinges - in his chest this time - at each sighting of honey-blonde hair; twinges again when the accompanying face was the wrong face. When a girl with the right shade hair piled on her head and a black dress walked in he looked at her with the reflex of immediate approval. She was sophisticated, beautiful, elegant, she was looking at him, she was Rachel. My God, he thought, she's Rachel. He turned on the stool, found her eyes and her face was illumined.

Other eyes apart from his watched her progress. For a moment he thought it would be fun to pretend that he was the guy she was there for but then he remembered that he was the guy and-

Flargle.

Not that. Not tonight.

Chandler slid off his stool, took a few steps and met her as she reached the end of her journey.

'Hey.'

'Hey. You look... You look so beautiful.'

He hadn't thought it possible for her to glow more brightly than she had before. But she did. She ducked her head. She smiled up at him. And he wanted her so badly he couldn't speak. Chandler took her hand and led her to the bar, helped her up onto her stool. She leant her elbows against the flat surface, her eyes falling on the ice-bucket and the champagne and the two glasses. He grinned at her, signalled to the barman who opened the bottle with a sigh more than a pop, poured the glasses, removed himself discreetly.

'Uh...' Chandler toyed with the stem of his glass. 'I don't really know any toasts outside of "Cheers".'

'"Cheers" works.'

They touched glasses. He watched the way her eyes drifted closed as she took a sip. The champagne was dry and honeyed and filled his mouth the way her perfume filled his head. Intoxicating. Her blue eyes glowed at him over the rim of her glass.

'So, how was your day?'

Rachel put down her glass. 'Pretty horrible. I mean, nothing life-threatening but just-'

'Like someone's stolen a little piece of your soul.'

'Yes.' She looked at him. 'You get that, huh?'

'Oh, only most days.'

'Honey, you have got to find another job.'

'Yeah, well...' He shrugged. 'That might be easier if I actually knew what I wanted to do. But we are not talking about that. Tonight we are all about the fun.'

'We are?'

'Yes. That, uh, that's the decision I've made.'

'Good decision.' She smiled. 'This is so wonderful. Thank you. This is just-' She took more of her champagne. 'This was such a great idea; I love it. Can we stay here forever?'

'Well, we can for tonight.'

Her head tilted, brow wrinkling. 'What?'

He took a breath. Their elegant surroundings receded, silence poured in where soft laughter and muted conversations had been. 'I booked a room.'

She stared at him, her lips slightly parted. 'You...'

'Yeah, I- Well, so we wouldn't be sneaking around for tonight at least and- I called Phoebe and got her to get some of your clothes for work tomorrow, she dropped them off at my office.' He nudged the overnight bag at his feet with his toe and peered at her anxiously. Her head was bowed, staring down at the bag and she didn't move. This was a suave sort of thing to do. He didn't do suave. Not very well. Someone like Richard and his moustache could probably do it in his sleep. Someone like him stared at the top of a woman's head, rethought everything and hoped to God that she would only be slightly pissed off. She raised her head.

'I can't,' she was blinking rapidly, 'I can't believe you did this.'

'Is this okay?'

'Okay? Chandler...' She shook her head. And then her arms were around his neck. Her lips pressed against his cheek, marked a trail to his lips, kissed him with a ferocity that sent his head spinning in a champagne-coloured haze.

'We're not in that room yet,' he murmured, a bare inch from her mouth; he felt her smile. 'This means I get the good loving tonight, right?'

Her smile widened; she ran one finger down his face. 'Oh yes.'

Their lips touched briefly.

'More champagne?'

'More champagne.'

She propped herself against the bar, her chin resting in her hand and watched him pour the glasses.

ooOoo

'There's a terrace! We have a terrace!' Rachel twirled around the room then stopped herself. She was supposed to be a grown-up now, not someone who became ridiculously excited by the inside of an hotel room, however fancy. And she had been in fancy hotel rooms before.

'And look at the size of the TV! Man, if Joey could see that he'd never go home.' Chandler sprang onto the bed, arms stretched wide. 'Ah! Oh my God, this is the most comfortable bed ever. Seriously, you should check this out.'

Being a grown-up was overrated, she decided. Rachel, still with her shoes on, clambered up beside him and they bounced gently together, turning the mattress into an undulating sea of satin-covered pillows and comforter.

'Happy?' he asked softly, his eyes doing that shifting-colour thing that she had come to find so mesmerising.

'Very happy.'

He smiled, a little lop-sided, got one arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

She took his head between her hands, studied the lines of his face, brushed her lips against his once, twice, the third time his hands slid into her hair and held her there.

The knock at the door, at first discreet then more insistent, parted them.

'I thought we were here to get away from that,' Rachel said, plaintive.

'It's champagne. I ordered champagne.'

'More champagne?'

'You better believe it.'

She raised her eyebrows. 'Wow. Champagne before dinner, wine with dinner, now more champagne ... if I didn't know better I'd say you were trying to get me drunk.'

'Who says I'm not?'

He rolled away from her, sprang across the room, took a moment by the door to straighten his jacket, shaking out his arms ostentatiously. He opened the door.

Rachel slid off the bed, investigated the overnight bag that Phoebe had packed for her. So far, so respectable. Phoebe had done a pretty good job in putting together something Rachel could actually wear for work the next day. Score, Pheebs, she thought. Her fingers closed around something unexpectedly fine and silken. Rachel frowned then her eyes widened in surprise. She closed the bag again, turned to find Chandler placing the ice-bucket and glasses on a table. That done, he performed a repertoire of little skips.

'What's that for?'

'I got the Slipping The Waiter The Tip move down. First time ever.' Another skip.

Rachel laughed. 'You are easily pleased.'

'I've found life easier to deal with that way.'

'Well, while you get that open I'm going to go, uh, freshen up.' She picked up the overnight bag. He watched her curiously.

'Just how fresh do you need to be?'

She smiled, radiant, and slipped into the bathroom.

Marble, lots of mirror, good lighting, she noted. Rachel opened the bag again and pulled out the slip of silk and lace. Just how far down through her drawers had Phoebe gone? She had never even got around to wearing it. It had been bought while she was still with Ross; and then there had been the night when he and Chandler had been sitting around, going through the pages of the catalogue and Ross had pointed out the very item that had, then, still been in its bag in her bedroom and declared with marked disapproval that it was too sexy. It had stayed in the bag, then been put into a drawer and slowly buried. Chandler, she remembered dreamily, Chandler had been far more appreciative.

Score, Pheebs. Again.

When Rachel slipped back out of the bathroom she felt her skin prickle from the combination of self-consciousness and the snap of cool air.

'Chandler?'

'I'm out here.'

She pushed through the filmy curtains and stepped onto the terrace; he turned to meet her, smiling; his eyes wandered over her and he made a strange sound in the back of his throat.

'In case you didn't catch that, I said "flargle".'

'It's not too sexy?'

His eyes took her in again, every part of her that was showing. There was a lot of her showing. 'Let me explain something: there is no such thing as too sexy. Too sexy is not even a concept; it doesn't exist.'

She took a few slow steps towards him. 'So, you like it?'

'That would be an understatement. I love it. I love y- I-I really ... like ... you. In that. I really like you in that.'

'Mm-hmm.' She smiled slightly and went on standing very close to him.

'Yeah, I-' His hands rested on her shoulders, playing with the thin straps. 'I, uh, I'd also like you out of it.'

'Mm-hmm.' She sighed it more, humming the sound. Her hands slid up his chest, along his shoulders, twined around his neck. They met in a heat of kisses and his hands sliding against silk and her skin, finding the lace-edged hem and pushing it up her thighs. Her neck arched under his mouth and she bit down on her lip, swallowing the sound.

'Rachel, you don't have to be quiet.'

'Out here?'

Her breathing was ragged; his eyes held that unearthly glitter again. 'Especially out here.'

ooOoo

'My God.'

'I know.'

'That was amazing. I mean, it's always amazing but that was amazing.'

'God, we're good.'

'I think you broke me slightly.'

The laughter drained from his face. 'Did I hurt you?'

'No, I didn't mean that! I just meant... I think some of my brain cells died. And I can't move.'

They sprawled across the bed, tangled in each other, and strands of her hair still fell across her face. Chandler leant across to her, brushed them away, and she smiled at him, her eyes heavy-lidded.

'You know, for the last few weeks I've sort of wanted to shout out that I'm with Chandler Bing.'

He tilted his head. 'Well, I think most of the Upper East Side now knows.'

She frowned. 'Only most? Not all?'

'Eh, the ones who don't are probably deaf.'

She pushed herself up, her lips curling. They looked swollen, reddened. 'Want to see if we can make them hear?'

ooOoo

He poured champagne along the length of her spine, drank it from the hollow of her back. When her skin was damp and sticky he washed her clean; and wreathed in suds and steam she slid her hands over slippery skin and found the ticklish parts that made him gasp with laughter and his eyes snap. They put on their matching hotel robes and sat on the bed and swapped secrets (not necessarily their own).

When she started to fall asleep, when they were curled around each other, Rachel thought that this was everything a love affair was supposed to be.