Rated: M/E

Genre: Romance/Drama

Summary: One little change can have an impact, swapping one life's direction for another. After college, Ross and Chandler drifted apart and didn't become the best of friends. Years later Chandler needs a new assistant and Monica Geller needs a job. Will old feelings resurface? Is it meant to be? AU Mondler.

Disclaimer: I do not own Friends or the characters behind this fantastic show. I'm borrowing them for my own exploration and storytelling.

A/N: I have been a fan of Friends as far back as I can remember. I will watch the reruns on TV and crack open the DVD cases to have my own marathon when the mood strikes. I had read some Mondler stories off and on over the years, but since the world lost one of the best characters and actors… I returned to rewatching the series and also reading as many Mondler stories I could. I hadn't intended to eventually write one of my own, but with so many talented and wonderful storytellers… you all inspired me, and this is just one small contribution I can share in honor of Matthew Perry and everything that I love about the characters.

TOW Chandler Doesn't Call Monica Fat

By: Erik'sTrueAngel

Chapter 1

Life can be full of defining moments. Memorable snapshots that can play a vital or minor role for a person. Make or break a character.

In Chandler Bing's experience, those moments were often one big cosmic joke. He often wondered if he had screwed someone over to deserve such a fate. His masseuse would argue he clearly did and must experience the karma payback in order to have a clean slate once more. Whether or not he believed it, Chandler couldn't deny he received the short end of life's stick.

From birth, he had no chance… no shot to dispel the unfortunate culmination of life's curveballs. His parents made sure of it with his dreadful family middle name to the acrimonious divorce that led to his father coming out.

And the hits kept coming.

His growth spurt was delayed (and he never grew into his speedo like his mother promised), he wasn't picked for the figure skating team, the endless parade of pool boys and young men for both mother and father, the embarrassing allowance he earned for performing in his father's gay burlesque and plucking and shaping the brows of drag queens, the relentless rejections from girls… Oh, the rejections.

He had been nineteen when he finally touched a woman's breast.

One would think Chandler Bing would have been used to… or expected these degradations and humiliations with a desensitized acceptance. Perhaps on some level he did. It would explain his use of humor and sarcasm as a defensive coping mechanism.

However, nothing could have prepared him once he saw the name from the long ago and distant past. It was a jolt that sent him backwards and hurtling towards a specific moment in time that changed into a pivotal point.

Ironically, it had been Thanksgiving. That particular day had been tainted since he was nine. He had an aversion to turkey and all things relating to the so-called holiday of gratitude when his mother bluntly declared that his father would rather sleep with the pool boy than with her. Since then, Thanksgiving became part of Chandler's growing bad luck charm. Every year something happens. But Thanksgiving 1987… yeah, that had been the day that started it all.

Naturally, it progressed like Chandler expected it to go. His parents had argued over whose turn it was to have him over during the short break from college. Only for both to apologize about an unexpected change and that they couldn't have him visit. Frankly, he had no desire or intention to spend the holiday with either of them, and was all too happy he didn't have to make up an excuse. He could stay on campus to scope out any lonely hearts who stayed behind (knowing full well he would be turned down) and work on the lyrics for his new song: "Lonely Hearts—Please Don't Reject Me (But I Know You Will)." But his best friend/roommate/co-founder and keyboardist for Way No Way decided it was too depressing for him to be on his own.

So, Chandler wound up tagging along to spend Thanksgiving with Ross's family. Initially, things weren't too bad. Sure, Mrs. Geller wasn't thrilled he wouldn't be eating any of the Thanksgiving food; sure, Mr. Geller wouldn't stop staring or making comments about his flock of seagull hairdo. It could have been worse as far as he was concerned. Although, if he had to nitpick, it would have been Ross and his constant reminder about his crush on Rachel Greene.

Chandler had to hear everything about his roommate's lovesick lamentations. For months and on the drive to the house, Ross told him over and over about the popular high school senior. Most of their songs that Ross wrote were about her or were influenced by her in some way. To finally meet Rachel Greene, Chandler was… underwhelmed. She was cute, yes, but the entire time at dinner she didn't pay any attention to anyone other than to keep bringing up some guy named Chip. Yet, Ross was clearly smitten, and Chandler was going to support his best friend (even though he believed it was a lost cause). And since her (ex?) boyfriend Chip was a source of consternation, perhaps Ross would get lucky in asking her out.

Of course, Chandler hadn't counted on the fact that Ross was planning to be out late that evening, and he was really looking forward to being Roland Chang. Maybe he had a chance to score once! But to spend the night at his roommate family's house without said roommate? To call it awkward would be an understatement. And if he was going to be ditched, then he might as well stay back at the dorm. Maybe Ross wasn't being serious. Maybe… But there was something else that bothered him about that potential arrangement.

xXx

"Dude don't do that to me," Chandler hissed quietly, at once stopping from drying the dish in his hand. Please reconsider. Please! He thought.

Ross reached into the sink for another dish and began lathering it with dish soap. "Oh, no. It's cool. You can stay here. My parents won't mind."

That wasn't the point! Chandler resumed his task of drying the dishes. How to put it delicately that he didn't want to be on his own here…

"No, it's not that," he started carefully. "I just don't want to be stuck here all night with your fa—family."

The last word Chandler coughed out, quickly covering his almost slip. He had a bad habit of open mouth insert foot—speaking without thinking. He was on his way with his Chandlerness when he caught himself before blurting out "fat sister."

Good thing too.

He just caught the window's reflection above the sink and there she was… entering the kitchen behind them. Chandler bit his tongue, his eyes downcast to avoid looking at her.

The Gellers had been very kind in welcoming him into their home despite his disdain for the holiday. Insulting his best friend's sister and hosts' daughter would be in poor taste. He had to take a mental deep breath to dodge what could have escalated into something awful.

He glanced out the corner of his eye to see her standing near the pantry, wringing her hands together. Her teeth worried her bottom lip, and it was hard to tell if she wanted to say something or if she was there for another purpose. Whatever it was, she made up her mind and left as silently as she came in, which was an impressive feat in itself.

Ross elbowed him, giving him an odd look and Chandler didn't realize he had been trying to get his attention to pass him the next plate to towel off. He cracked a joke, making Ross grin, and back to work they went. At least he stopped talking about Rachel and The Plan to Ask Her Out. Anymore of it and he was positive his ears would start bleeding. Nevertheless, Chandler looked over his shoulder to see the girls helping the Gellers with clearing off the table from the leftovers.

Monica Geller.

The little sister. Well, little sister was putting it mildly. She was overweight—there was no hiding or denying that fact. But that wasn't the reason he didn't want to be stuck alone in the house. Chandler knew he could be an idiot, but he wasn't cruel. No, he didn't want to be in a situation where being alone with her was possible because she weirded him out.

Throughout dinner, Monica kept staring at him. Any time he looked in her direction, her face would whip away, not before he would spot her turning a rosy red and whisper furiously to her friend. Interspersed with the hushed talking exchange would be the shrill giggles and the occasional muffled guffaw when he spoke. He did catch Rachel rolling her eyes and snickering as well.

He was already rethinking his choice in hairstyle that maybe he couldn't pull it off like he thought he could. Listening to a couple high school girls laughing made him think he was less cool than he believed.

Then to make it worse, Monica kept following him.

He almost bumped into her more than once. The first time was when he came out of the bathroom, she was standing right there in front of the door. Then he almost stepped on her toes when he turned while Ross was giving him a tour of the house. When he was sitting on the couch eating his dessert, she sat really close to him.

Each of these instances, she would ramble or make some insensible noise. Chandler didn't want to spend the rest of his evening being uncomfortable and dodging the inept teenager.

Yes, it was a good thing he didn't say something he would regret.

xXx

Shaking the memory away, Chandler cleared his mind, but his hands still trembled as he held the singular piece of paper. It wasn't that uncommon of a name. It was possible this wasn't who he was thinking it was.

How long has it been? He wondered. Seven or eight years? What are the chances that this is even her?

"No, it's not," he murmured to himself. "Forget it, Bing."

He almost convinced himself that it was—in fact—not her. No way. Impossible. It was a coincidence… another cosmic joke for him to remember the past. And ha-ha it worked. He tucked the memory away where it rightfully belonged… buried underneath the years and the cold-comfort knowledge that she never wanted to see him again.

Time to focus on his task ahead of him: hiring a new assistant.

He shifted through the pile of resumes on his desk and bemoaned over the fact that this wasn't a job in high demand that brought a lot of interest. Not that he could blame anyone. The resumes that didn't currently occupy his desk were the smart ones.

Chandler Bing had sadly become a corporate man.

Being vice president of a statistical analysis and data reconfiguration company was a top position that he had worked through the ranks to get there. Something that should have taken hard work had required little effort on his part. He had been promoted from one title to another in record time where the talk was if he continued at this rate, he could bypass being president to chief operating officer, and possibly to the biggest league of all: chief executive officer. All talk, of course. He didn't put much stock in it, especially since he honestly didn't care.

Truthfully, Chandler hated his job, which no one would believe him if they heard. Not with his string of promotions and pay raises he received before he was even thirty.

The picture of success.

This was all he knew how to do, and he was damn good at numbers and finding anomalies before things could take a nosedive. It used to be challenging, but the work lost its appeal years ago and Chandler Bing was now settling. He told himself he would get out—adamant—he wasn't really settling. Any day he would march up to his bosses, tell them "To shove it" and ride off into the sunset, never to look back at this soul-sucking job.

He thought about it so many times, envisioned it. All he had to do was find the right moment.

Then his assistant—Mrs. Helen White—announced she was retiring. She had been there since FDR was in office (he was certain of it), and she was ready to hang up the typewriter. That was his moment. Walk out like she was doing. He told himself every day as Mrs. White (never call her Heli, El, Lenie, or Ellie. She was a stickler for formalities and hated nicknames) started the process to find a suitable replacement. She was a consummate professional and handpicked the likely candidates she deemed adequate. She met with each one to whittle away the potentials until she narrowed it down to those on Chandler's desk.

He hated to see what the original list looked like, but he wouldn't be surprised if this was the original applicants and she only "said" she rejected some to make him feel there was all this interest when there wasn't. That was sweet—unnecessary—but sweet. So now it was his turn to look them over and make the final pick for his next assistant.

Suffice to say, Chandler missed the boat on walking out for good. He was trapped and soon he was going to be responsible for ensnaring another poor sap.

The interviews were spread out and it was already heading into the afternoon. So far, the morning applicants were all right. A couple of them were so dull and already appeared to be vacant shells that picking one of them wouldn't be that much of a punishment after all.

He eyed the clock on his computer as it turned to 2:00 PM. On cue, there was a sharp rap on his office door. "Come in," he said, sitting up and grabbing the next resume. "Please take a seat—"

Chandler lifted his eyes to the doorway and froze.

The little voice in his head still wanted to argue this wasn't her. He was certain she was a stranger. Just someone who happened to resemble her. People have twins all over the world, right? Someone who happens to look like them but is not really them.

However, Chandler could hear the argument weakening as the memory tickled him and he began to recognize the features from long ago.

First it was the striking blue of her eyes. So sharp, clear, and brilliant, and filled with a range of emotions from laughter to contemplation to sadness based on the changing hue from light to dark.

Next was the hair—a dark shade of brown that almost looked black. In his mind, he had seen the wavy curls from 1987, full-bodied, and coming down to her shoulders that transformed to a longer length with bangs and no bangs, reminiscent of the times. He recalled how she would often try to hide behind the thick volume of her hair, but there was no hiding now. Not when it was a short bob, partially covering her ears with the ends curled under. There was an air of confidence—not fear—in showing the apple of her cheeks and the slant of her jaw.

Why?

She had done what she had been trying to do. She shed the weight that had been a source of consternation for her. The last time he had seen her she was in the midst of losing the pounds. She had been pleased with her progress, but she hadn't been at her targeted goal yet.

Oh. My. God.

She looked so different. Terrific.

She always had a small stature, but her figure was slimming; her stomach flat and her hips jutting out in a curvy waist, an hourglass shape.

Chandler inaudibly gulped. He realized he hadn't blinked once she entered the room and had to remind himself to engage in the normal reflex lest he should freak her out. Not that she seemed perturbed with his fish impression. Rather, there was a hint of an amused grin on her lips, her blue eyes twinkling.

She approached his desk in a determined stride, her hand held out to greet him. He rose from his desk, hoping to keep his nerves in check, and slid his palm into her smooth and soft one.

"Monica Geller."

TBC…

This was meant to be a one-shot, but it had quickly become a multi-chapter story. I'm not sure how many there will be yet. I have it mostly handwritten and I'm close to filling a second notebook and will likely continue soon in a third one before I get to the end. I can't make any promises on how soon updates will take place, but this one currently has all of my attention.