Chapter 6: Honeymoons and Babysitting

"How did you sleep?" Chandler asked his wife, as they herded their two infant children and their toddler niece downstairs for breakfast, later that same morning. He had their son perched on his hip, while with his free hand, he was gentlemanly helping Emma to navigate the stairs with surefooted care. Chandler was afraid that, if the little girl attempted to plow ahead down the hardwood steps in her precocious stomping style of walking, she would trip and tumble headfirst into the kitchen.

"Aside from when Em came barging in and woke us up?" Monica gnawed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I slept fine, actually."

"Really?" Chandler lifted an eyebrow. "No nightmare?" She had been experiencing the same recurring dream, the one she had revealed to Phoebe, for some weeks now.

"No nightmare." Monica shrugged. "Maybe it decided to take the night off. I wouldn't want to jinx it – it might come back."

Chandler shivered. "Let's hope not." Entering the kitchen, he dutifully pulled out Emma's chair for her to clamber into it before circling the table and depositing Jack in his high chair. "All that stuff with you talking about death…. it scares me, Mon."

Monica smiled with sad and warm sympathy. "I know…" She recalled the one time he had, near emotional tears, asked her to promise him that she would never leave him. That they would grow old together. She had promised, even as she had known it was far beyond her powers as a wife to keep. Monica now set Erica in her high chair and began feeding her some mashed peas. "Come on, baby…. Open up for mommy….."

Erica let out an infantile whine and stubbornly turned her face away. Monica hummed demuringly and frowned, stumped, deciding to change tactics and move on to Jack, while Chandler set out a breakfast plate for Emma. "What about you?" Monica cast back over her shoulder to her husband. "Your nightmare? The one about….?" Her voice trailed off; she need not have finished the thought from how Chandler winced.

"Every other night or so…."

Pursing her lips, Moncia beckoned to her husband, silently asking him to join her in the sitting room. Taking seats from where they could still glance in on the kitchen and check on the kids, the spouses began conferring in low whispers:

"Chandler? Honey? Um… you're actually not the first person I told about my dream."

Chandler blinked. "OK….. quick question: why are we whispering?"

Monica silently pointed back in the direction of Emma. "She hears and understands everything at her age, sweetie. You really want her bringing this back to her parents?" Monica knew she didn't want to involve her brother in this. Despite being each other's confidants, she wasn't even sure she wanted to involve Rachel, her new sister-in-law, in this. Monica bit her lip. "I first told my dream to Phoebe."

"Phoebe?" Chandler blinked. Monica braced herself for her husband's typical, sarcastic annoyance, his cynical skepticism – somewhat broadly shared in their friend group – about Phoebe's quirky, if also harmless, beliefs. To Monica's surprise, neither came. "Well, there are worse people you could have told first – like Richard."

Monica burst out into amused laughter. "Why would I tell Richard about a nightmare I had?" This was actually the first time she had so much as thought about her first serious boyfriend in years.

Chandler shrugged and grumbled out something unintelligible, taking on the appearance of an insecure little kid. Monica decided not to press him on what he had said. She understood some of the fears that lay in her husband's heart, that he wasn't good enough for her, that he didn't deserve her. When observed in small doses, his insecurity was sweet and even romantic, in its way. Not that he had anything to worry about – Chandler would always be more than good enough for her.

"Think about what I saw in my nightmare. Then think about yours. Say what you want about Phoebe, but those dreams mean something, Chandler – and I happen to think they might even be linked."

"How?" Chandler queried.

"I think they might be a subconscious manifestation of how we are both fearing the same thing."

"Could you SOUND more like Phoebe?" At his wife's pointed look, Chandler eased up. "What do you mean? By linked. That our nightmares carry the same message? Like losing each other?"

Monica bit her lip. "Partially. But it also could be…." She gulped, fighting back tears. "Phoebe's theory is that it could be our subconscious prodding us, about how we've never…. properly grieved. Over being unable to conceive children in the natural way."

She was taken aback by how easily Chandler smiled. "I'm already hearing a couple of problematic words in there, honey. Properly grieved? – there's no any one proper way to grieve. And anyway, didn't – haven't we…. grieved that already?"

"I don't know. Have we?" Monica floated. "Did we?"

Chandler shifted a little on his perch on the ottoman. "Well, I remember we….. cried, a lot. Comforted each other. We told each other we were going to figure it out, and we did. We still got to have…. our dream," he smiled at her; Monica beamed lovingly at him. "…. Just in a different way. Which brings me to that other problem word: natural." He laced her fingers through his, before resting his forehead on their clasped palms. "Monica, the way that you and I ended up having children is no less natural or wonderful than the way most couples have kids. Those babies in there are our children. You are their mother. And I'm their father. And thank God that that way was open to us!" He brushed a hand along her cheek, caressing it, and she leaned into his touch. For a moment, they lost themselves in the companionable silence of being together, soothing each other.

Finally, Chandler floated: "If these dreams really are suggesting that we haven't mourned that…. setback properly….. what would you think about us attending therapy?" Monica wrinkled her nose, bemused. "No, not that kind of therapy!" Chandler laughed. "We're lightyears ahead of most couples, especially the ones that do have struggles with each other. I just mean…. counseling. Would you want us to talk to a grief counselor about this? Perhaps there are some things we need to navigate and we aren't even aware of what those are yet."

Grinning softly, Monica leaned in and kissed Chandler sweetly. "You're so wonderful…. and I love you….." She beamed at him. "Counseling…. might be a possibility. But I think we should only go for it, if it's something we both want – no, feel we need - to do. Together. I wouldn't want to see a therapist alone."

"All right, then," Chandler nodded. "I'll research some grief counselors based in the area. Let's make an appointment when we're absolutely sure we want to try it."

Monica rose from her knees and looped her arms around Chandler's neck, pecking him on the lips again. "Thank you…." she breathed out in a tear-choked whisper.

"Nothing to thank me for, Mon…. We're here for each other. End of story."

"Unky Chandler?" Emma bawled, her voice carrying ahead of her as she now wandered into the living room.

Chandler smirked at his wife and winked. "Finally, she gets my name right…." He softly knelt before their niece to be at eye-level. "Hey there, jellybean – whatcha need?"

Emma thrust up a row of small boxes. "Mama says I need my vee-ta-mins…."

"Vitamins, baby," Monica corrected gently.

Chandler took one look at the box and had to hold in a curse. "Oh, for God's sake….. Hold on…. I need to use the phone….."

Monica's eyes widened as she realized: "You aren't seriously going to call them on their honeymoon, are you?!"

But Chandler had already dialed and was holding the receiver to his ear.


Hundreds of miles away, Rachel and Ben were making lovey-dovey eyes at each other while feeding each other strawberries, as they lounged on a Grecian beach.

"Hmmm….. it's good to be back in Athens," Ross murmured.

Rachel sat up and peered down at her husband in unconcealed amusement. Sensing the trap, she was only too happy to spring it. "Back? I'm the only one who's come back, mister. See, remember, you were the one that left me in the lurch when I, thinking you were right behind me, ended up boarding a plane without you, for a honeymoon that technically wasn't mine since I hadn't been the bride!"

Ross flushed guiltily, but didn't bother to combat his wife's argument. In truth, he knew he had no excuse for what had occurred in the airport with Emily several years ago.

Just then, Rachel's cell phone started to buzz. When she flipped it open and saw the caller ID, she swore and rolled her eyes. "The gall of that man…..! We're on our honey….! Oooooooh, why can't he just do the easy thing and listen to Monica? – Hello?"

Back in Westchester County, Chandler was seething on the phone. "Could you BE any more like my wife?!"

Rachel frowned. "Nice to hear from you too, Doofus. What's up?"

"What's up? You organized your toddler's vitamins in Sunday-to-Saturday medicine boxes!" Chandler steamed.

A beat. "And?" Rachel snipped. "What's wrong with that, Chandler? It's very user-friendly!"

"What's wrong with that? Oh, let's see – how about the fact that your daughter is 2, not 92!" He was fighting not to crush the phone in his fist, he was fuming so much. "Rache, I already have one Monica in this family. I don't need another one!"

"Hey!" Monica gawped, offended in the background. With wild gesticulations, her husband waved her down, shushing her. "Next time, do what a normal person does and put the little pills in plastic baggies!"

"Oh, so you mean like every normal person as in drug dealers?" Rachel quipped. "Chandler, honey, part of the reason I asked you to babysit Emma is because I trusted you – well, really, Monica – to not get accidentally arrested while doing it!"

"Whatever," Chandler grumbled. He knew there was a reason he had always been exceedingly glad to not have a sister. Now that he did, in the form of the most adversarial siblings by marriage possible, he wasn't sure he altogether liked the feeling. He and Rachel could squabble almost as much as Ross and Monica. Chandler now felt someone tugging on his sleeve. "Here. Say good morning to your daughter." He knelt by Emma with the phone. "Your mother wants to speak with you."

Emma took the phone from her uncle greedily. "Good morning, Mommy!"

Chandler turned back to his wife, shaking his head, even while ignoring how she prissily had her hands on her hips.

"Weekly pill organizers are not the worst things in the world…" Monica admonished.

Chandler jeered at her, laughing sarcastically. His wife simply shrugged. "You think Rache is as bad as me, just be grateful that Carol and Susan didn't offload Ben onto us."

Thinking of how anal-retentive those two lesbians could be in raising his and Monica's nephew, Chandler visibly shuddered.