A/N Thank you to everyone who read, commented or messaged on the last update: It was one of my favorite chapters I have written so far, so it was great to hear your thoughts.

After three long, fairly action-packed updates, this one is a short little vignette of a chapter, and nothing very much happens at all: It's pretty much just Chandler, pottering around, being adorable.

I actually wrote this on Matthew Perry's birthday, and he was very much on my mind as I put it together. I'll bet that in another life, he would have made the most wonderful dad.

I hope you enjoy it. Xx


Chandler had woken to find Monica absent from their bed on a number of occasions over the past couple of weeks, so this morning, when he rolled drowsily towards her side of the mattress to find nothing but a disappointingly cool and empty space, he assumed that once again, she had risen early and taken Jack through to the living room for his morning feed.

He was surprised then, when he discerned barely audible wisps of soft, shallow breath emerging from his newborn son's crib, that stood adjacent to Monica's bedside table.

Chandler shuffled his body closer; being careful not to disturb the sleeping infant; resting his head on his elbow and taking a moment to dote upon the perfectly peaceful features of their adorable little boy, his own face melting instantly into a tender smile as he did so.

When they had visited the Geller family home over Christmas, Chandler and Ross had stayed up far too late one evening, reminiscing by the crackling log fire, nursing tumblers of golden, peaty scotch, the like of which they would never drink at home. The amber liquor had burned their throats and lowered their guards, provoking the kind of profound and emotionally-transparent conversations that were seldom possible in the cold light of day.

Given their respective familial situations, their earnest discussion had naturally turned to fatherhood, and Chandler had watched as the nut-brown eyes of his oldest friend clouded over with sentiment as he had attempted to put into words the unimaginable potency of the paternal love he had experienced the very moment his eyes had first met Ben's; and he had listened intently as Ross tried to explain how becoming a parent had irrevocably transformed his entire perspective on life.

Chandler had never doubted that his love for his own child would prove similarly all-encompassing and overwhelming, but now, as he lay there contemplating his son's exquisite beauty, Ross's heartfelt description of what it meant to be a father still felt somewhat understated.

Not that Chandler thought he would be able to verbalize his own extraordinary depth of parental feeling any more successfully than his friend had.

More than anything else, it was the intense physical reaction that his baby had inspired within him that had taken Chandler entirely by surprise: Never had he expected that father/son bond to feel so deeply corporeal. He could practically feel his pupils dilate with affection whenever his eyes landed upon Jack's tiny, curled-up body, and the constant compulsion to gather him up, bring him close, and shower him with cuddles and caresses was barely containable.

Even now, as he drank in that sweetly sleeping form, it took every shred of self-restraint Chandler possessed to resist the urge to reach into the crib, so that he might stroke his son's swirl of duck-down soft hair; or to kiss his velvet cheek and inhale his deliciously addictive milky scent.

But instead, he rose cautiously from the bed and tiptoed towards the door, in search of the other beautiful human he shared his life with and struggled to keep his hands off.

As he emerged from the bedroom, he found Monica, still in her pyjamas, dashing about the living room attacking any surface in her path with a bottle of cleaning spray and a cloth, her eyes frenetic and stressed.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his forehead creasing in bafflement.

"There was a message on the machine from my mom: She said they're bringing Aunt Marilyn with them to meet Jack when they come over this afternoon. I haven't seen the woman in years, Chandler! And now she's going to see me like this! And the place is a total mess!" Monica's voice was full of anguish as she spun around to face him.

Her hyper-critical eyes roved the room, spotting a seemingly endless host of problems she felt compelled to resolve before she could possibly feel relaxed about welcoming scarcely known guests into her usually impeccably maintained home.

A pile of freshly-laundered sleep-suits that had yet to be folded into drawers sat on the couch; there was the occasional muslin cloth draped over the arm of a chair or discarded on the coffee table after one of Jack's two-hourly feeds; a paper bag full of hastily procured breast pads was awaiting collection from the kitchen counter: These were all things that one might reasonably expect to find strewn across a home that had recently welcomed a new baby, but to Monica they signaled an uncharacteristic descent into slovenliness; and she simply could not bear it.

"What?" Chandler rolled his eyes with annoyed disbelief, feeling immediately outraged that Monica's parents would see fit to surprise her with random visitors just fifteen days into the chaos of new parenthood. "Do you want me to call them and put them off?"

Monica shook her head despondently "No. If you do that, Mom will just get all moody about it, she'll imply that I'm not coping, and then we'll probably argue. It's more trouble than it's worth."

"Well, you're definitely coping. You're thriving, in fact, and so is Jack, thanks to you. And you don't need to clean for them Monica! You just had a baby! Let them come round here and take care of you!" Chandler insisted with a sigh.

"I guess I just don't want the apartment to look as terrible as I do" she told him dejectedly, "Look at the state of me! My hair's greasy; my skin's as dry as a rhino; I'm still wearing maternity pads the size of mattresses; and look at my boobs!" her eyes dropped woefully to her chest.

Chandler regarded her softly and told her with a small smile, "Honey, I hope this doesn't sound in any way unsympathetic, I mean, "engorgement" sure doesn't sound like any fun... But if it's any consolation at all... Your boobs look spectacular."

Monica laughed despite herself.

"Well, they feel like rocks!" she complained with a shake of her head "In fact, I'm going to have to wake Jack to feed him in a second, or we might be headed for some kind of volcanic eruption."

"And don't even get me started on my belly" she continued her relentless self-critique by poking disgustedly at the softness of her abdomen "I still look pregnant! I thought breast-feeding was supposed to make everything contract faster, but I just look like a slowly deflating balloon. No doubt Mom will enjoy telling me the story about how she was back in her favorite jeans three days after she gave birth to Ross."

"You're beautiful, Monica. Always." Chandler assured her firmly, swallowing down his anger at Judy for making her daughter feel this kind of undue pressure, "And I've gotta say, when your breasts look like that, nobody's going to be looking at your belly."

Monica smirked "I don't think Mom and Aunt Marilyn are going to find them quite as distracting as you do, Chandler."

She tutted when she saw that his suddenly rather amorous eyes had failed to move from her painfully swollen chest and she scolded "Seriously! You can stop staring! You know Jack's not going to let you anywhere near them anyway!"

"Yeah that's true," Chandler agreed ruefully, "That kid seriously needs to learn how to share."

"Anyway, please sit down!" he begged her, forcibly removing the bottle of spray and cloth from her hands, "I'll go fetch Jack so he can relieve your boobs, and while you're feeding him I'll run you a bath, so you can sort out your rhino skin. How does that sound?"

He discarded the cleaning items by setting them down on the coffee table, and then drew her into his arms.

"But first, come here. I want a hug before that baby steals you away from me again."

Monica relaxed gratefully into his embrace, her eyes drifting closed as she buried her face into the comfort of his chest, whispering a muffled "Thank you" against his t-shirt.

Chandler sighed in deep satisfaction as he pressed a kiss into the tousle of her hair, before bringing his lips to her neck and sliding his fingers beneath the seam of her shirt to softly caress the small of her back.

"Smoothest rhino skin I ever felt" he teased in a murmur.

Monica smiled contentedly, enjoying his gentle, tactile affection.

But their moment of peace was over in a matter of seconds when they heard a high pitched mewl emanate from the bedroom.

"How does he know?" Chandler asked incredulously, "He literally cries every time I go near you! Seriously! He's the worst sharer ever!"

Monica gave an exhausted chuckle.

Chandler dipped his head to brush her lips with his own before releasing her from his arms with a smile, and heading for the bedroom to collect their grumbling baby.

True to his word, after placing their hungry offspring into his mother's tired arms, Chandler parked himself in the bathroom and drew what he hoped would prove to be a relaxing bath for Monica.

He swirled a handful of lavender-infused salts into the tub, stifling a yawn as his fatigued, glazed eyes stared trance-like into the cascading stream of water.

Their decision to exclusively breastfeed Jack for the first months of his life meant that Monica would inevitably bear the brunt of their son's night time demands, but Chandler was keen to mitigate that in any way that he could, and as a consequence, was sharing at least a small portion of her exhaustion.

During these mind-boggling first weeks of parenthood, they had already fallen into something of a rhythm in the evenings, whereby Monica would collapse into bed for around 9.00pm and Chandler would take their sleepy, content little boy, freshly changed and fed, and bundle him snugly into his baby carrier.

He would then head over to Joey and Rachel's; his baby's small body nestled securely against his own; and lean against the kitchen counter as the three of them chatted for a while, all the time having to bravely fend off Rachel's ceaseless requests to remove Jack from his carrier, desperate as she was hold him and smother him with kisses.

When he eventually left his friends, Chandler would zip his thick winter jacket around both him and his son, before heading out into the cold night air, and pacing relentlessly up and down the sidewalk in a manner that he imagined must appear reminiscent of a chronically-bored, zoo-constrained lion, parading repetitively along the periphery of its enclosure.

Chandler had quickly learned that keeping Jack constantly on the move, cosy and warm against his chest, soothed by the white noise of the city and the rhythmic thud of his father's heartbeat, was the best way to keep him settled and fast asleep for as long as possible, thus allowing Monica a few precious hours of undisturbed sleep in the peace and quiet of an empty apartment.

After a couple of hours of walking and jiggling and rocking, Jack's tiny tummy would begin to feel empty, kickstarting once more his neverending quest for milk, and he would begin to stir and fuss accordingly. Chandler would stave off his increasingly vocal demands for as long as he was able, before returning home to gently rouse Monica and deposit their restless baby into her arms.

Monica would then be the one to attend to Jack's needs for the rest of the night, plucking him from his crib and bringing him to her breast at the first hint of a whimper, leaving Chandler largely undisturbed.

There were times, however, when her tiredness became so debilitating that she would take too long for their impatient son, and Chandler would roll over to see her bleary eyes struggling to focus as Jack's cries became ever more insistent.

At these times, Chandler would be the one to rise from the bed, sweep up their irritable little bundle, and slide him gently against his mother's body enabling her to encourage Jack's latch without having to entirely abandon her slumber, her eyelids remaining somewhat heavy and her breath maintaining the deep and rhythmic quality of sleep; the need to attend to her treasured baby keeping her just the right side of consciousness.

Having witnessed the violent exertion her body had been put through during labor, Chandler found it astonishing that Monica was able to find it within herself to greet this latest brutal physical bombardment from their son with limitless softness and patience; lavishing him with gentle words of endearment and adoring caresses, whatever the time of the day or night.

When he had proposed to Monica back in January, Chandler had truly believed that he loved her as much as it was possible for one human to love another; but seeing her as mother; watching the way she nurtured and cherished his baby; had somehow caused his heart to expand exponentially, bringing him to a divine new level of devotion.

When the bathtub was almost brimming with fragrantly steaming water, Chandler twisted the creaking faucets and padded drowsily towards the living room.

He stood still for a moment to observe Monica, who was sitting quietly in the window seat, ethereally illuminated by the golden morning sun that spilled through the glass. One knee was drawn up to rest against the coolness of the windowpane, her arms tenderly cradling Jack's tiny form against her breast, a lock of raven hair tumbling over her cheek, as she gazed down at their son in utter enchantment.

Chandler still found it miraculous that her body had managed to grow from scratch and bring into the world an entire human being, and the fact that she could now continue to nourish him and fulfil his every bodily need with her own, never failed to take his breath away.

He wished, for a moment, that he was more artistically inclined, so that he might preserve her maternal perfection in a sketch, or a painting, or a silver-grained black and white photograph.

He would love nothing more than to be able to allow her to see beyond the exhaustion, and the breast pads, and the slowly recovering abdominal muscles; and instead, to view herself for a moment as he viewed her: Powerful, resilient and beautiful beyond belief.

But instead he took a moment to sit at her side, resting his chin on her shoulder, as he joined her in gazing with awe-stricken eyes at the memorizing rhythm of baby Jack's jaw as he suckled peacefully at her breast.

"I wish I could explain to you how beautiful you are Mon," he whispered "And how amazing. I am so proud of you, you know? And I'm so in love with you."

"I love you too. So much", Monica told him, as she exhaled a sigh of the sweetest satisfaction, and smiled the weariest but most blissful of smiles.

She rested her head against Chandler's, feeling like she might just be one of the most exhausted, but perhaps also the luckiest woman in the world.