A/N Thank you to everybody still reading.
Re: the comments / requests for a Wartime story, I never thought that would be something I would consider writing, because I never really thought something so very AU would be something I could do, but there is a story forming in my head now! In fact, I'm having to try really hard not to get completely distracted by it!
I haven't read the other Mondler war stories mentioned, but I just had a quick look and I think my idea is very different to both of them, so I might just take you up on the challenge!
Anyway, I should probably finish this first!
Returning to work after Christmas was always a daunting and depressing prospect, but this morning, as Chandler attempted a nausea-inducing bite of the lightly-buttered toast Monica insisted he should eat before leaving for the office, he was genuinely unsure how he was going to get through the day.
"Promise me you'll call me? As soon as you find out anything at all? Swear you're not just gonna drop off the radar for the entire day again?"
Monica eyed him remorsefully and massaged reassuring circles on his back.
"I'll be in touch as soon as I've been to the practice. I promise. And I'm really sorry about yesterday, OK?I know that I should have called you sooner."
She threaded her fingers through his, squeezing his knuckles tight to reiterate her assurance, and she used her other hand to nudge his plate closer, encouraging him to eat. Not that she had been able to stomach a morsel of food herself.
"I guess I just kept thinking that Richard might walk in through the door at any moment, and I didn't really want to be on the phone with you when he arrived; I didn't want to antagonize him." She explained with a helpless shrug of her shoulders.
"Yeah well, make sure you're not left alone with him today. Especially not in that apartment." Chandler fretted, placing his barely nibbled toast back on his plate when an image of a highly antagonized Richard intruded on his mind.
"It'll be fine, Chandler", Monica soothed, the fidget in his fingers an indication of his intense discomposure, "I'm going to see him at work. He's not going to lose his cool in front of all of his colleagues and patients is he?"
"No, but he's going to want to talk to you alone," Chandler pointed out, "That's what he'll suggest. So if you do that, please just make sure it's someplace safe. And please call me and let me know where you are?"
"I will!" Monica rested her head against his tautly bunched shoulder as she continued to gently reassure him, "You don't need to worry, OK? I know this is all a little strange, but Richard wouldn't hurt anybody. He hasn't got it in him. I know him".
Chandler's brows flickered dubiously, but he stared silently ahead as he swilled back some coffee.
Monica could understand why Chandler was quick to assume that Richard's apparent disappearance was the result of some kind of emotional meltdown, but right now, she was desperately hoping that was all this was. She was worried sick that she was going to arrive at his place of work to be told that Richard had not been seen there either, and that she would eventually find out that something terrible had happened to him while she had been enjoying a night of passion on Bedford Street. Crushing guilt was already pounding preemptively in her chest.
"You can leave Tilly here with me if you like?" Joey offered, wiping milk from his chin as he looked up from his partially demolished bowl of Frosted Flakes "I'm around all day, so I can walk her".
"That would be great, Joey. Thanks"
Monica threw him a grateful smile, but he looked suddenly uncomfortable.
"Uh...what should I say to Ross about all of this? And Pheebs?" Joey looked between his two friends awkwardly, "I'm pretty sure I'll see them both today. And Rachel's back tomorrow too. They're bound to start asking questions."
Chandler watched as a fresh wave of distress crashed over Monica's face. She pressed her lips together thoughtfully, before giving a thoroughly defeated shrug.
"Honestly? I have no idea." She shook her head worriedly as she spoke, "I'm sorry Joey, but right now I can't get my head wrapped around anything beyond talking to Richard".
Joey looked stressed and seemed ready to come back at her with some sort of mildly disgruntled retort, but Chandler swooped in before he had a chance, standing up and making his way to the bathroom, pausing to land a firm pat on the Italian's back.
"You'll figure it out, Joe. You're an actor, remember? So, act! It's about time I reaped some benefits from all those classes I paid for".
Chandler's tone was light and jovial but Joey was able to detect the faintest trace of warning that prevented him from questioning Monica any further. Instead he shot his roommate a sarcastic grimace, which Chandler accepted with a companionable smirk before leaning back against the door frame, squeezing a blob of toothpaste onto his brush, and seeking out Monica's anxious blue eyes with a soft smile and a wink of solidarity.
"Hi Monica! Did you have a good Christmas?"
Monica was light-headed with nerves by the time she edged through the door into the almost empty waiting area of Richard's ophthalmology practice, and was greeted by Sophie's wide beam. The relaxed welcome and the cheery sparkle in the English girl's clear, green eyes felt immediately jarring to Monica: Such normality and wholesomeness held a strange kind of discordance for her today.
Sophie was standing behind the reception desk, clutching a stack of what appeared to be patient records and a handful of manila envelopes against her sylphlike waist, her blonde curls bouncing against her shoulders as she tilted her head expectantly and awaited Monica's reply.
"Hi," Monica's own voice sounded more like breath than words "Pretty good thanks. How was yours?"
She drew her lips into what she hoped would pass for an interested smile and bobbed her head attentively as Sophie told her something about a tapas bar. When she saw Sophie's lips stop moving, Monica knew it was time to ask the all-important question she needed to ask, but she was already dreading Sophie's response. Her mouth was thick and numb, and she was struggling to form the words, as if she was trying to speak under water.
"Is uh... is Richard here?"
"Yes, he's in his office, he hasn't got anybody with him yet, so come on through" Sophie replied affably.
Monica felt her shoulders drop in relief as her lungs issued a deep exhale that was almost a laugh, and the smile she bestowed upon Sophie felt immediately more sincere. If Richard was here, at work, he was fine. He had not vanished into thin air. He wasn't lying injured in a hospital bed, or worse.
Her relief was intense, but it could only ever be fleeting. This was far from over, after all.
A pool of guilty bile that had been simmering persistently in her stomach for longer than she cared to remember, spumed an unpleasant reminder that there were still many awful conversations to be had, and the first of those was approaching fast.
Before either she or Sophie had a chance to take a step towards the office door, it swung open and Richard emerged, looking just as cool and collected as he always did.
"Thanks Sophie, I'll take those."
Monica watched, nervous and wide-eyed as he relieved Sophie of the paperwork and post, his demeanor so natural and clement that Monica could only assume that he had failed to notice that his wayward wife was even in the room, but then he turned to face her, and his gentle smile remained. In fact, it grew wider.
Her lips parted in astonishment as he took a step closer, slipped a warm arm around her shoulder and softly pecked her on the cheek.
"Hi Sweetie, what are you doing here? Is everything OK?"
By this point, Monica's jaw was positively slack with confusion, her skin prickled all over, as she scoured Richard's smile for a single trace of any one of the emotions a person might reasonably expect to see on a husband's face following his wife's abandonment of their marital home on Christmas night. But she found not a single one.
Feeling like she might have slipped into some parallel universe, her perturbed eyes flitted briefly across to an unconcerned Sophie, who had taken a seat behind the desk and was flicking through the large desk diary, absentmindedly tapping a pen against her blithe, rosy lips.
When she turned back towards him, Richard was regarding her a little quizzically, his eyes sparkling with what looked very much like fond amusement, and Monica flinched when he reached out to caress her arm affectionately, "Are you alright?"
She was totally dumbfounded. She could not stop staring, convinced that she would find some tiny flame of anger or distress lurking insidiously in the depths of those grey irises, but there was nothing. Nothing but calm, soft normality.
Despite the slightly stifling heat pumping out of the radiators in the waiting room, Monica shivered.
It occurred to her that perhaps this was all just some strange dream from which she was about to wake up, and she gulped hard, realizing that whatever the hell was going on here, all she could feasibly do at this point was play along.
"Uh... Yeah... Do you have a second?"
"Sure!" he smiled amenably, before turning to address a bespectacled, elderly woman who was sitting in the corner, bundled up tightly in a red woollen coat, and skim-reading an interior design magazine.
"I'll just be five minutes Mrs Lopez, I'm sure Sophie will grab you a coffee while you wait?"
"Oh that's alright Dr. Burke, I know I'm a little early."
Monica observed this excruciatingly ordinary interaction numbly, then her brain began to whir as she attempted to recall every minutiae of that fraught, angst-fueled Christmas Day phone call. The way Richard was behaving now was causing her to doubt whether it had actually happened at all.
He gestured for her to pass through to his office, and as she shuffled towards the door she cast more troubled glances towards both Sophie and Mrs Lopez, checking one last time for the merest suggestion that anybody else in the room could feel this strange air of unease, but she was alone: Nobody else seemed to have any cause for disquiet.
As soon as Richard closed the door behind them, flummoxed though she was, Monica was determined to take control of the situation, and she made sure that she was the one to speak first.
"Richard, I waited in the apartment for you all day yesterday! Where the hell were you? We really need to talk!"
"Oh, I was just driving around. Thinking." Richard replied evenly, leafing casually through the files Sophie had given him, then arranging them in neat piles on his desk. "I did go home eventually. Just after you left".
Her brow furrowed as she scrutinized his face incredulously. What did that mean? Had he been watching? Waiting for her to leave?
He leaned back against his desk and folded his arms across his chest, smiling gently as he offered her a seat, which she promptly refused.
"I do know that we need to talk, honey, and we will. Just not yet." He assured her lightly, "But I want you to know that you don't need to worry, OK? I know what's been going on, Monica. And I know why it's been going on. And I'm going to put it all right."
He reached out and tenderly brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, before shuffling through the bunch of letters in his hand and setting them down on his desk. Monica was too dazed to react.
"Listen, I'm stacked out all day today, and I have an important appointment tomorrow morning, but I'd really like it if we could talk everything through after that?"
He made it all sound so reasonable and rational that it was hard not to simply nod along and agree, but instead Monica shook her head briskly, as if that might rid her of her considerable bewilderment, and she cleared her painfully dry throat, her fingers gripping the back of the chair for support as she addressed him slowly and gently.
"Richard, this isn't something you can just put right, OK? We really need to talk, and it has to be today! There are things I have to tell you, things I should have told you weeks ago."
Her eyelashes felt damp with shame as they grazed her cheeks, and she took a long breath before regarding him with tender sympathy.
"I can wait until you've finished up here? But, honestly? You seem pretty... strained. Do you really think you should even be at work? I think it might be better if you just went home and got some rest..."
Richard sighed deeply, his slate grey eyes suddenly a little weary and beseeching.
"Monica, do you remember how you didn't feel ready to talk to me on Christmas night? Well, I'm not ready to talk to you now".
She dragged a frustrated palm over her face, but Richard continued to speak.
"Like I said, I have an important appointment tomorrow. It's with a fertility expert. I should have done it sooner, I know that," he raised both his palms in a futile gesture of apology, "But anyway, I'd really like to speak with them first, and that way, you and I will be armed with all of the information we need, and we can work out how we're going to move forward from this... silly mess"
He placed gentle hands on the tops of Monica's arms and gazed adoringly into her face, and her eyes smarted with guilt and pity.
"Richard..Sweetie, I am so sorry... but we're not moving forward from this - " her whisper was quiet and gentle, but it felt brave.
"Don't say that." He cut her off sharply, and she felt a barely perceptible tightening of his fingers jerking her shoulders. This tiniest hint of an outburst was the first explicable trace of emotion he had shown since she had arrived, and whilst it shocked Monica, strangely, it also came as something of a relief.
"I told you: I know what's been going on, and I know why it's been going on, and I forgive you, alright? In fact, I don't even blame you. I don't need your confessions, or your explanations, Monica. You can go back to your little friend tonight, but then that's all done with, OK? By tomorrow I will have spoken with the doctor, you and I will know what's what, and we can start afresh. We can think about our future; we can plan our family; maybe we look for a bigger place outside of the city-"
"Richard! You must realize how crazy this sounds!" Monica cut into his rant and began to object, but by this point she was genuinely lost, and struggling to find sufficient words.
"I'll see you at home tomorrow." he reiterated firmly, "Say about 4:00 pm? We'll sort everything out then. Don't try to come to the apartment tonight, OK? I won't be there".
The unnerving calm had returned to his voice now, and before Monica could say another word he had taken a step past her and opened the door.
"Tomorrow".
His low whispered promise came with a nod and a resolute smile, his eyes burning into the depths of hers. Then he turned away.
"Mrs Lopez? You can come on through whenever you're ready" he called out into the waiting room, holding the door open with his back.
Sophie was on the telephone but she was peering at the couple with a degree of curiosity, which was hardly surprising, given the fact that Monica was convinced that every drop of blood had drained from her face.
Her mind continued to splutter as she stood frozen to the spot beneath Richard's solemn, but unfathomably tender gaze.
"Bye honey," he dismissed her gently, "I love you, OK? And it's all going to be fine. I promise".
Monica was not entirely sure how long she stood outside of Richard's practice, staring vacantly into space. Her encounter with her husband had left her shaken and unsettled, so utterly confounded in fact, that it felt like her emotional gearbox had completely seized; she was stuck in neutral, coasting, disengaged, and unable to act.
Her promise to keep Chandler updated at every turn was at the forefront of her mind, but a phone call became a woefully inadequate concept when you doubted your own ability to string two words together. Even face-to-face she had no idea how to explain to him what had just happened, because she did not really understand it herself.
As she made her way towards Chandler's office, she replayed the scene over and over in her head, analyzing every little thing she had said and done; which, in retrospect, really wasn't very much; desperately trying to figure out if she had inadvertently misled Richard in some way? If he had just been following her lead? If she had somehow given him the impression that she was the one focused on forgiveness and reconciliation?
Every step she took was pensive and cautious, so the journey took far longer than it would usually take a fast walker like her, but by the time she reached the uniformly executive grey reception area on the 11th floor of Chandler's building, she was still no closer to making sense of Richard's behavior.
Her throat was still as coarse and dry as sandpaper, so she grabbed a paper cone of water from the cooler with wildly trembling fingers, before approaching a typically irritable Linda.
When she was ushered into his office, Chandler jumped immediately up from his desk, his previously glazed ocean eyes coming alive, desperately relieved to see her, but equally anxious, and hungry for news.
As soon as they were alone and the door was closed behind her, he swept her into his arms and cradled the back of her head in his palm.
"Are you alright? How did he take it?"
Monica was quiet for a moment, taking a second to bury her face against his chest for a fortifying breath, before bringing her chin to rest upon his shoulder, and admitting in a disturbed whisper, "I don't really know..."
She felt Chandler stiffen, and he drew back from her slightly, taking her elbows gently in his hands and looking into her face with curious trepidation.
"He refused to talk to me" she elaborated, "He said he'll speak to me tomorrow. Apparently he has an appointment in the morning that he wants to go to before we discuss everything."
Her eyes darkened with nerves, and she winced as she told him, "An appointment with a fertility doctor".
Chandler digested her words with a look of total disbelief.
"A fertility doctor? What the fuck? But you told him about us right? You told him you're leaving him?"
Monica was pretty sure that the way he was looking at her now, was a carbon copy of the way she had been looking at Richard an hour ago, his face displaying all of the comprehension of a dog who had just been given the punchline of a joke. She wasn't convinced that her own expression had moved on very much from that either.
"Kind of...yeah..." Her befuddled blue eyes flickered pensively as she tried to arrive at a conclusion, " Well, I don't know..not exactly.."
"Monica!"
"I don't know what to tell you, Chandler! I tried! I did! He wouldn't listen to anything I had to say! I mean, I'm pretty sure he already knows about us. He even told me to go back to you! Just for tonight. But then he kept saying he didn't want me to confess, that he forgave me, and that he was going to fix everything, and make it all right!"
Shattered and shaking, she cleared a small space on his disorderly desk so she could perch on the edge, her face flourished with guilt as she told him, "It was all just so... weird. I think he might be losing it, Chandler. I feel just awful."
Chandler raked his fingers though his hair, his hand coming to rest on the crown of his head, still looking every bit as disoriented as Monica felt.
"He wants to see me tomorrow afternoon, at the apartment".
Her anxious eyes followed Chandler as he began to pace and brood.
"Well, you absolutely cannot go", he declared conclusively.
Monica gave a small scoff of incredulity, "I kinda have to! I'm married to him! I can't just pretend this isn't happening, Chandler!"
"Monica! The guy's nuts! You just said it yourself! There's no way you can be alone with him in that apartment".
"And whose fault is that? Who drove him to it?" Panic bloomed in her eyes, "I just can't believe that I've done this to him! How did I let this happen? I should have been honest from the start. What the hell do I do now?"
He paused in front of her with sympathetic eyes, but before he was able to attempt any physical comfort, she pushed past him and began her own frenetic march back and forth in front of his desk.
"And I have to go back to the apartment! All of my stuff is there! I have that meeting with Nancy about the new job this week, I need all of my documentation! My social security card, my passport, my driver's license-"
"Mon! Honey! We'll sort it all out, OK?" Chandler halted her increasingly frantic chatter, grabbing her by the hand, and encouraging her into a calming hug.
"Listen, we know he's out for an appointment tomorrow, so why don't you and I head over to the apartment and collect whatever you need then? The most important stuff, at least," he suggested sagely.
The way his eyes moved and flickered told her that he was thinking out loud, "I think I might have a meeting but I can ask Linda to reschedule it for me."
He sighed hard and looked at her thoughtfully before finally conceding, "And if you really need to speak with Richard alone, then you should just tell him it has to be at our place. That way, I can be close by. Just in case you need me."
Monica allowed herself to become still as she contemplated his words, exhausted by the chaos in her mind and grateful for anything that felt remotely like a step towards a solution.
Chandler kept hold of her hand, taking her with him as he navigated his way around his desk and sat down to rifle through his diary. When he found the appropriate page he offered Monica a seat in his lap and he hugged her tight, landing a kiss on her shoulder before reaching for his phone. She closed her eyes and rested her head against his as he phoned through to the reception desk.
"Hey Linda, I have a meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning at 10:00 am with Don Porter and Stacey Schafer from 8th. I'm not going to be able to make that I'm afraid, could you please reschedule it for me?"
After a pause and a thank you, he hung up the phone and reached his fingers to gently cup Monica's face, tilting his chin and coaxing her lips to meet his.
"Thanks," she whispered, stroking the back of his neck and sighing deeply as she let her body melt into his. Chandler gave a tired hum as he held her close and began to knead at a tight knot that he felt between her shoulder blades.
"So, Stacey Schafer from 8th... hot and blonde, by any chance?" Monica eventually queried with a sideways glance.
Chandler's initially surprised face quickly dissolved into a wide grin as he gave the tip of her nose an affectionate poke. "Nothing gets past you, does it? You're like one of those police sniffer dogs".
Her lips curled into a smirk and she kissed him again, more vigorously this time, grateful and somewhat amazed that whatever the circumstance, they always managed to make each other smile, just a little bit.
December 28th felt like Groundhog Day on Bedford Street. Joey was slurping enthusiastically at his Frosted Flakes, Chandler was feeding the crust of his toast to a bright-eyed Tilly, whilst Monica leaned into him, her face faraway and distracted, her and stomach churning with nerves, as she sipped delicately at her tea.
Joey eyed her cautiously before mentioning, "Ross was asking after you yesterday, Mon. He said he's been calling your apartment and he was starting to get a little worried because nobody's been picking up".
Chandler narrowed his eyes, keen to shelter an already overburdened Monica from any further worry. "Well, I assume that you told him that you'd seen her? And that she's OK?"
"Yeah, of course I did, but -"
"Then there's nothing to worry about, is there?" he threw his roommate a pointed glance.
"He and Phoebe were also quizzing me about why I had Tilly". Joey muttered.
"What did you say?" asked Monica quietly, picking anxiously at her thumbnail.
"Well, I just told them that you were busy, so I'd offered to walk her for you".
Chandler gave a sharp gasp of mock- incredulity.
"Wherever did you come up with an elaborate story like that?" he asked with wide, theatrical eyes, "How on Earth did you manage to convince them? Do you think they bought it?"
Monica gave his arm a light slap of amused rebuke.
"Ha ha" said Joey, irritated by his roommate's mocking, "I'm just saying, they're all going to keep asking questions! What do you want me to tell 'em?"
"Sounds like you're doing a fine job on your own, Joseph, I don't think you need any input from us." Chandler dismissed, taking his friend's empty bowl, stacking it on top of his plate and heading towards the sink to wash up.
Monica rolled her eyes apologetically, and placed a tired hand on Joey's arm. "I'm sorry, Joey. Just tell them whatever you want, OK? Tell them the truth if you like, I honestly don't care any more. Ross is the least of my worries".
Chandler's head whipped around in panic, the horrified expression on his face suggesting that Ross was certainly not the least of his worries.
Joey had no intention of being the one to reveal all to Ross, but as he locked eyes with Chandler he relished the opportunity to raise a mischievous eyebrow and throw his cocky, sarcastic friend the smuggest of grins.
Chandler imagined he looked a little like a Bond villain as he stood at the window of Richard and Monica's apartment, surveying the street below with cool eyes, stroking Tilly's soft head as she lay in his arms, nestled against his chest, her eyes soft and relaxed as she enjoyed the attention.
Monica was racing around frantically, grabbing a panicked selection of her belongings, and stuffing them into the suitcase that lay open on her bed. She had never packed with so little care before, and she was sure that fact alone was adding to her already considerable stress.
"Sweetie? Can you please take a look in the drawer by the refrigerator for me?" She addressed Chandler breathlessly as she darted past him clutching a couple of pairs of shoes, "There's a dark blue file in there, and my passport should be inside it."
Chandler set Tilly down on the floor and headed towards the kitchen, rifling through the drawer and quickly locating the file that contained two passports.
He snorted as he took a quick flip through Richard's "Oh my God! When the hell was this picture taken? Look at those sideburns! And that shirt! He looks like he's on his way to deal cocaine in Studio 54!"
"Put that back!" Monica scolded as she snatched her own passport from his fingers, but Chandler could tell she was secretly amused.
A sudden clattering sound at the front door put an immediate end to any hint of lightheartedness, and Monica stopped dead in her tracks, swinging around to face Chandler, her eyes round with horror.
They were both stuck in momentary paralysis, but when she discerned the distinctive rattle of a bunch of keys, Monica hissed "Get in my bedroom!"
Chandler obeyed, making a dash for her room and closing the door behind him as quickly as he could without slamming it, leaning back against it as he tried to control the panic in his breath.
He could not recall ever having been in this bedroom before, and as his eyes began to roam the space he experienced a creeping chill of unease.
The sweet familiarity of Monica's belongings; the comforting smell of her; at first he could feel her right there, he could breathe her deep into his lungs, and it seduced him, lulling him into a false sense of calm and security; but it was smoke and mirrors; every trace of her was tainted, melded with Richard. It was an offense on Chandler's senses that felt so obscene, it rendered him dizzy and sick.
He did not want to spend any longer in here than he had to.
He pressed his ear to the door, his eyes squeezed painfully closed as he anticipated Richard's voice, his mind clambering to work out how best to proceed.
"Michelle! Hi!"
Monica knew that she looked far too pleased to see Richard's daughter, considering the manner in which they had parted on Christmas Day, and her enthusiastic welcome provoked a predictably suspicious scowl from Michelle.
Chandler heaved a sigh of relief.
"Where's Dad?" Michelle demanded brusquely.
Baby Leah was balanced on her hip, and when Monica reached out to impart a light stroke of greeting against her chubby thigh, Michelle quickly angled her away.
"He has an appointment this morning. I'm not expecting him back" Monica coolly informed her.
"What? He's supposed to be babysitting! He said he'd meet me here!"
From the other side of the door Chandler mouthed a horrified expletive, he could not allow Richard to arrive back here to find him lurking in their bedroom. He imagined that Monica must be feeling similarly dismayed.
He was not wrong, Monica's mouth had dropped open as Michelle continued to grouse, "He should be here by now! Where was his appointment?"
"I'm not sure" The rasp in Monica's voice betrayed her stress, and Michelle began to eye her strangely again, but then both of their heads spun around in shock at the sound of a toilet flushing in the bathroom that adjoined Monica and Richard's bedroom.
Monica was already internally lambasting Chandler for his apparent inability to cross his legs, when he wandered casually from the bedroom, wiping his hands on one of her fluffy white guest towels.
"I think I fixed it for now," he said "The flush valve was stuck, it's a little corroded, it probably needs replacing, but it's flushing and refilling at the moment."
He came to stand between the two women with a relaxed smile, and he handed Monica the towel. "You might want to wash this. I wasn't sure where your laundry basket was".
"Hi Michelle, I'm Chandler, we met at the wedding.." he finally greeted, with a pleasant smile.
"I know who you are", she replied icily, "Knight in shining armor when she's falling down drunk, dog-sitter, and a plumber too? Handy guy to have around".
Monica rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest.
Chandler stared at Michelle and raised his eyebrows, taken aback by her unabashed rudeness, but he managed a convivial chuckle.
"Well, Monica certainly seems to think so".
He replied with the mildly British inflection that Monica noticed he often used when he was working hard to come across as particularly aloof or debonair, and she could not help but smirk.
Michelle narrowed her eyes and turned back to Monica. "Can I use the phone to call the practice?"
"Let me just check your dad's calendar first" Monica suggested, nipping into the kitchen, leaving Chandler to be resolutely ignored by Michelle.
"Oh yeah, he's written "Leah" on the 29th. Looks like he has the wrong day." Monica called.
Panic over. Richard was not imminent. Her alleviated heart sang and she exchanged a glance of relief with Chandler as she returned to the living room.
"Oh well that's just marvelous," Michelle tutted and rolled her eyes, giving a loud, pained sigh, "I just lugged the stroller all the way up here for nothing, and now I'm going to have to drag her along to this appointment".
Monica smiled at Leah with wistful fondness before making a nervous and hesitant offer, "If it helps, I could watch Leah for an hour? I could take her to the play park, maybe?"
"No thanks!" A scathing scoff erupted from Michelle's throat, "I only just finished cleaning up all the vomit from the last time she saw you. No offense Monica, but I think Christmas proved that you're no Mary Poppins. In fact, you're clueless. I wouldn't trust you with a pet hamster, let alone a baby".
Chandler frowned as he watched Monica's shoulders slump and saw her throat shift with a heavy, uncomfortable swallow. A torrent of quiet fury roiled in his chest as he looked back at Richard's sneering daughter. God, he found the woman truly repugnant.
"Let me help you with that stroller," he said darkly, holding the front door open, an unsubtle gesture that requested Michelle's immediate departure.
He followed her out, bouncing the stroller down the stairs in silence, waiting until they were out on the street, and Leah was safely clipped into her seat and tucked up in her blankets before beginning to speak.
"Listen Michele, I know you're going through some stuff right now, what with your Mom and all, and I feel for you, I really do."
Michelle's mouth puckered with disdainful curiosity as she met Chandler's steely eyes.
"But the way you just spoke to Monica was completely unacceptable. Telling her she's bad with kids? Hitting her where it hurts like that? Do you really have to be such a bitch?"
Michelle's jaw dropped wide open and she huffed in utter disbelief.
"Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you are?"
She shook her head in outrage before continuing,
"And what are you talking about, anyway? Hitting her where it hurts? Her childcare skills? Please! There's only one reason a woman her age marries a guy old enough to be her dad, and it's so she can bypass all of that stuff and go straight to the pristine apartment and fancy vacations. That woman doesn't have a maternal bone in her body! Believe me!"
Chandler's skin glowed red hot as he looked back into that perfectly made-up, smarmy, embittered face.
"Well that just shows what you know about her, Michelle. Monica is the most loving and nurturing woman I ever met: She was born to be a mother."
Michelle tossed her shiny hair as she kicked the brake off the stroller and gave another smug scoff.
"Well if that's the case, then it probably wasn't the best idea to marry a guy who had the snip way back in the 70's then, was it."
The protective anger that had been raging through Chandler's veins began to crystallize, hardening to ice, his whole body freezing solid, mute and not so much as breathing, as he watched Michelle stick her petite snub nose in the air and begin to stalk away.
Her words floated through his brain in slow-motion, like a feather coming to ground, but when they finally landed it was with the painful thud of a lead weight.
He barely felt conscious when he made a desperate grab for her elbow.
"What did you just say?" he breathed.
The unsolicited physical contact caused Michelle to spin around in shock, and Chandler was equally alarmed to have instigated it, pulling his hand away from her as if he had just been stung.
"Richard had a vasectomy?" he asked, slow and hoarse.
Michelle knew she had spoken out of turn and she stuttered, flustered and pink-cheeked with guilt.
"I don't know! That's just what I always assumed...Tim said something when we were kids.. I might not even be right, it's not exactly the kind of thing you talk about during family dinner, is it?"
She shook her head and quickly scrambled to gather up the splintered fragments of her composure.
"And I'm damned if I'm going to talk to you about it!" she snapped decisively as she turned on her heel.
She recovered quickly from her slip of the tongue, and already looked a little more confident and pleased with herself as she scowled imperiously over her shoulder.
"Weirdo."
But the blood that pulsated in Chandler's ears was so deafening that Michelle's churlishly muttered insult could not come close to touching him.