A/N: Whoo! I'm on a roll. Here's another chapter for you!

Chapter 3

The following Monday started Monica's first day. Mrs. White stayed on to help train her and to help with the transition. He had approved two weeks and was astonished to hear from the old bird that Monica wasn't going to need two weeks to train. It was quite impressive to his now former assistant how adept Monica was at the work.

It didn't surprise Chandler. She was Monica Geller after all! When she sets her mind to something, nothing can stop her. She not only adapted to the office setting and the various acronyms, but also took the current filing system and improved it. Everything was sorted from top to bottom based on urgency, priority, follow up, and less important. His meetings were scheduled in a way that allowed for breaks in-between rather than the back-to-back Mrs. White would arrange. Monica even noted what would constitute better as a phone call, in person, or an email depending on the inquiry and the person in order to utilize the best use of his time.

She promised organization and she brought it to a whole new level.

Matters that could be delegated were sent to his department, and if someone had to see him, she was able to arrange it in an efficient way where he could have "office hours" for his team. She was a tornado in the best way.

Chandler didn't think it was possible, but Monica was the breath of fresh air in this stale environment. She was becoming an invaluable member and in a short time too.

It wasn't long that a month went by. During that time, their interactions were of the professional variety. He wanted to give her the space to acclimate to the office and he didn't want to distract her as she oriented her workspace to what she needed it to be. More than that, Chandler was trying to navigate what would be ideal in this situation now that she was back in his life.

On occasion, Monica would bring up Ross in conversation ("He says hi and maybe you guys could meet up"), and he would respond in kind ("That would be great!"). That was about as far as their friendship renewal went. They were treading waters as it were, and neither was willing to bring up the past itself. In addition, their phone call about Allesandro's wasn't mentioned and his offer to her about just listening wasn't cashed in. He hoped he didn't mess things up.

Again.

It was practically ancient history. Yet, he couldn't stop obsessing if Monica were still upset and if she agreed to work for him was because she ran out of options. Maybe her civility towards him was borne out of necessity and not that she wanted to see him again. Seven years was a long time, and he was fooling himself to think he knew her well. He didn't… not with that massive gap.

And yet, he found himself nervous to talk to her. Chandler didn't have the best track record when it came to women. He inevitably found a way to muck it up. He either came on too strong, told too many jokes, or was too sarcastic. If by miracle of miracles he managed to get past the awkward conversation, and land a date, and if it went further than that usually killed the romance.

Not that he was intending to ask her out. That was presumptuous of him. And they were working together. Big no-no in the rulebook. Besides, there was no way Monica would ever want to go out on a date with him.

But he did want to take the next step to start mending the bridges. Become friends. He could accept it may not be like it once was, but it would be nice, nevertheless.

The problem was finding the opportunity to start.

Chandler would watch through the glass panel between his office door and the wall to see her at her desk. He could hear her talking and laughing with the others and he wanted to be a part of it. When he did step out to see what was so funny, the others would make their excuses and leave.

Of course, Boss Man Bing. Run for your life! He was respected but they didn't get him. Then it would be him and Monica… alone together and it would be his shot to make the first move, to repair and fix, and he would tell her he had to run to the bathroom. It was possible she might think he was sick or something. But his mind would go blank. No, not completely blank. Thoughts, so many thoughts firing off and he choked with only one word: "Bathroom."

He was pathetic. He knew that. How could he break this cycle?

Then one day it happened.

Chandler had been reviewing the weekly statistics and noticed a discrepancy. He printed out the sheet in question to look at it closely. Certain there was an error, he called Monica to come into the office. She did and he explained what his concern was and if she saw it too. One of the skills he learned that Monica possessed was her ability to do fast math in her head. She confirmed what he suspected, and he groaned.

"I was afraid of that. Once the WENUS is off then it throws—" He stopped, his brow raised as Monica pressed her lips together, but she had slipped out a snort. He found the corner of his mouth quirking. "WENUS," he repeated with much deliberation.

Monica guffawed and it was like music to his ears. His smile grew wider. No one else seemed to find the humor in the almost inappropriate sounding acronym for the Weekly Estimated Net Usage System. He always had to bite his tongue, especially in front of his superiors whenever it was quoted. He knew his immature sense of humor wouldn't fly so he had to suppress it as best as he could. For Monica, to react as she did… it was fantastic.

"I'm sorry but how can anyone say that with a straight face?" she asked.

"I ask myself that every time. Glad I'm not the only one who finds it funny."

"Yeah, I picked up that no one else in the office does."

In that moment, Chandler felt his earlier worries dissipate. This was her… Monica, his friend. He could talk to her just like he had done before. She wasn't a total stranger.

xXx

He walked into the kitchen and stood there while Monica rummaged for a saucepan. She found one and set it on the stovetop. Next, she got milk and two glasses. When she ignited the burner, he moved over to the table and leaned against it. He watched as she tapped her chin and she asked him, "Do you like honey and cinnamon?"

"Separately, yeah. I haven't had it together."

She rubbed her hands conspiratorially. "You're in for a treat!" She went into the pantry to pull out the ingredients, including a bottle of vanilla extract.

"Doesn't milk already have enough of a vanilla taste?"

Monica clicked her tongue. "Just wait and see." Once the pan was warm, she poured a generous amount of milk inside. She grabbed a wooden spoon, stirred the contents, and took it out as she watched it carefully.

Silence settled between them, and Chandler wasn't sure how to break it. He didn't have a plan once he entered the kitchen. He couldn't even think of a joke and that was unusual for him. What was also even more unusual for him was how moments ago he was considering telling Monica about his estranged relationship with his mother. In all his life, Chandler never felt compelled to share that with anyone. Not even with the childhood therapists his parents had arranged during their less than amicable divorce. Not even Ross who was well on his way to becoming Chandler's best friend.

But somehow, he felt differently with Monica. What was it about her? He regarded her as she gave the milk another stir. Maybe it was her predisposition in her face changing color that was endearing. Or the discomfit way she would stammer or the dorky snort that would erupt from laughing.

Or maybe he was feeling a little loopy from being tired. Yeah, Chandler was inclined to believe that was it. Besides, no one could understand his situation. Not truly. All anyone could see was a successful and wealthy author and that would equate to a happy, enriched life for Chandler. What would a spoiled rich kid understand? Even though that could be further from the truth. Chandler wasn't rich. His parents were. He just happened to live under the same roof.

No. No one could understand that. Least of all Monica Geller. What would she know? She and Ross had both parents still married to each other and they even loved each other. No way brother and sister could empathize with Chandler.

"You know…" Monica conversed nonchalantly, breaking the quietude. "I don't get along with my mother either. Nothing I do is right or good enough. I'm not perfect. Not like Ross."

That floored him. Was this a ploy to get him to open up? But she did sound pretty earnest, and now that she mentioned it, Chandler had to admit he did notice this weird like idolization between the Gellers and Ross. At first, he dismissed it, thinking all the peppering questions and interest was that they hadn't seen him in a while and wanted to catch up. The perk of having loving parents who are actually invested in their offspring. But then he recalled that Ross actually talked regularly on the phone with his folks. The "catching up" wouldn't be much in that respect.

They only seemed to acknowledge Monica when Ross did or said something that they wanted her to know. Especially Mrs. Geller. The other time her mother sought her out was to eat the rest of the leftovers when there was no room left in the refrigerator. Chandler did feel a little bad because if he had eaten the food then there wouldn't have been as much extra food, but he couldn't bring himself to stomach it. As it were, Monica didn't want to, but Mrs. Geller kept pestering her until the teen relented. Rachel sat with her and offered to nibble on a slice of pie, but Mrs. Geller insisted she should let Monica do it.

His stomach churned at the implication of Mrs. Geller's actions. Boy, was he really glad he hadn't called her fat to Ross! At the same time, he felt a spark of anger towards his hostess. Why would she single Monica out other than the fact she was overweight?

"Even when I try to make her happy, I can't win," Monica continued speaking. "Sometimes I feel the only way I can make her proud of me is if I get married and have babies." She laughed then realizing what she said, she quickly added, "Not right now! I'm too young to even be thinking about that yet. I'm not. No way."

Amusement flickered on his lips. Translation: she was thinking about it. A lot. He kept his comment to himself.

"Um… do you have siblings?" she asked him.

"Nope," he answered. "One of me is enough. Two would signal the end of the world."

She snorted, then covered it with a cough. Chandler was starting to realize that was part of how she found something funny. Wait… she laughed! He couldn't even get the girls on campus to laugh. Well, if Monica liked it, then she had good taste. Okay, she scored some points there to earn his favor.

"What's it like to have an older brother?" he asked.

"Depends on the day and even the time," Monica replied. "Ross has his good moments, and can be a great brother, but—"

"Be a pain in the ass?" Chandler suggested. She looked over her shoulder at him and he gave her a half-shrug. "I'm his roommate. I get it."

She beamed. "You know, I'm glad he met you. You're one of his coolest friends." Then, her eyes widened, and she whipped her face away to busy herself with taste-testing the milk.

In all his life, the word "coolest" was never associated with him. That did a number on Chandler's ego as he quietly swayed in place. He was going to say something flippant but decided to take pity on her and rein it back. If he wanted to hear that again, then he needed to keep it cool.

Huh, he thought. That's like the second time I held back. What is up with that?

Chandler frowned and then became distracted as Monica turned off the stove. She poured the now foamy milk into each glass. Then she got the vanilla extract and put two drops in each one. Next, she squeezed a dollop of honey in each one. She took the handle of the wooden spoon and used it to combine the ingredients. The spoon was deposited in the sink, and she finished it by sprinkling the ground cinnamon on top.

"Ta da!" Monica grinned big as she handed Chandler his glass.

"Thank you," he told her. "Cheers." He raised his glass in a mock toast with Monica copying him. She watched as he took the first sip, and his eyes flew open in pleasant surprise. Monica smirked, a silent "told ya," as she took her own gulp. Chandler drank another mouthful, musing that she was definitely onto something. Hours ago, when he told her that she should be a chef, he hadn't been serious. Just another caustic jab to deflect. Now, he was rethinking his earlier words and realizing there could be some truth to it after all.

All these startling revelations and so late in the evening too. Chandler didn't know what to make of it. Well, he obviously misjudged Ross's little sister. Although, he still couldn't figure out why she had been following him like a puppy. Guess there's only so many truths this night can yield, he thought.

"I'm converted now. Vanilla, honey, and cinnamon in my milk from now on."

"I'm glad." Monica covered her mouth with her glass. "Do you wanna sit?" She motioned to the chairs behind him. He took the one on his right while she sat across him on the left. She held her cup between her hands on the table, her tongue sweeping across her lower lip, as she now shyly slid the glass from side to side. "What I wanted to say is… I get how mothers are not easy to deal with. Preaching to the choir and all."

He inhaled deeply. "I don't have much of a relationship with both my parents," he heard himself saying.

That got a reaction from her as she stiffened in her seat, her eyes blinking rapidly. She probably didn't expect him to say anything on the subject. Frankly, he surprised himself. That or Monica worked some witchy magic with his milk.

"I won't go into the gory details," he went on. "It wasn't easy growing up when your mom doesn't hide the fact she writes explicit stories. Everyone looks at you differently and not in a good way. There are certain expectations and—and it doesn't help that she doesn't have a filter. She just blurts things out and it's over for me."

Monica nodded sympathetically but he could see the confusion in her eyes. It was something that only being a guy would understand. He was grateful she didn't ask him to clarify.

"They're divorced too," he said softly. "I was nine when they broke up." Then as an afterthought or just the need to get it off his chest, he said, "It was Thanksgiving."

She gasped. "Is that why…? Oh, I'm sorry Chandler. That couldn't have been easy. Why… Why would they do that on a holiday?"

He shrugged halfheartedly. "Who knows. They are actually selfish people. I found out Santa wasn't real on Christmas. I was five years old. I guess I should have expected something like that."

It felt… good to tell someone this. Ross knew his parents were divorced, but not the details. At the time it felt embarrassing to admit that this childhood event had still affected him. On some level, he wondered if he should be over it, and maybe some people could, but Chandler would think about that moment—his appetite, once ravenous until his world was turned upside down, became void; the food in his mouth tasted like ash. He ran out of the room and threw up what had been swallowed. Since then, the smells that represented Thanksgiving would make him gag. He had gotten better with his gagging over the years, but he couldn't shake away the revulsion.

That was his secret to keep, and yet he told Monica.

He knew he was screwed up. His parents made certain of that. And still he revealed this to a stranger.

Correction: Ross's little sister. Why? WHY?!

Chandler felt her arms wrapping around his shoulders, not even noticing she had left her chair. Her hair tickled his cheek, her arms warm and solid, a gentle squeeze—comforting. But something wasn't right.

He stood up, breaking her hold, and he moved around to where he was now facing her. Monica's face was now pink, and her eyes were looking down at her feet.

"It's better to hug this way," he said warmly, her chin jerking upwards. Chandler raised his arms and enveloped her in them. Monica swiftly returned the gesture, her face averted, but he could feel her breasts grazing his chest.

She didn't speak nor did he. The hug did all the talking. When Monica moved away, he wanted to object, to pull her closer, but the instinct had his inner voice screaming at him to "abort, abort, abort!" Chandler let her go and she returned to her seat as did he.

They both took a long drag from their drinks. His was empty and he didn't feel ready to go back to bed.

"I'll wash these up if you want to go back upstairs," Monica said. "I'll see you in the morning—"

"Actually," he interjected. "Could I have more? I'm not sleepy. If you're not tired…, do you want to stay and maybe hang out more?"

"Really?" She tried not to sound too eager or excited but failed miserably. "Okay!"

TBC…