A/N Thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter, and thank you to everybody still reading.
The flashback continues, away from the hotel, back on home turf.
I hope you like it!
As the cab pulled up to the curb on the corner of Bedford Street it was an altogether sleepier and more subdued Monica that readied herself to exit, the short nap against Chandler's shoulder having muted her drunken effervescence somewhat.
But whilst her demeanor was rather less giddy, Monica certainly felt no more steady on her feet.
"Alright Bing, we can do this", she declared with a lugubrious sigh as she surveyed the route ahead, swinging her legs from the vehicle, kicking off her high heels and handing them to Chandler so that she could focus all of her trepidatious efforts upon preparing to stand.
"Mon, I really don't think you should walk barefoot, honey -" Chandler began to protest with wide eyes as he hastily shoved a wad of cash into the impatient hands of the surly-faced driver.
He would even have offered to carry her to the door at this point, such was his concern for the safety of her feet, but before he could make any such suggestion Monica lunged shoeless but determined, towards the familiarity of the building they used to share, her slight inebriation apparently leaving her unconcerned by the hazards and filth presented by a New York sidewalk.
Chandler however, flinched at every floundering step, watching from a protective proximity, arms poised to catch her if she stumbled; praying hard that her toes would not encounter some random fragment of glass, and that this particular strip of concrete might be bereft of the grease, spit, gum and dog urine he imagined most urban streets to be thick with.
As they entered the lobby and reached the foot of the stairwell she grabbed the handrail, swaying slightly as she paused to contemplate what was sure to prove a challenging climb with blurry eyes and another loud sigh.
Chandler wrapped a supportive arm around her waist, and was suddenly tremendously glad that she was barefoot; for when he tried to imagine her wobbling legs tackling the stairs in the towering high heeled shoes he was carrying at his side, he could practically hear the sound of a snapping ankle.
"Ugh...I miss my apartment" she moaned as her heavy-lidded eyes landed upon the hazy outline of the golden number 20 on what was now Ross's front door.
She shambled instinctively towards her old home but Chandler steered her away, fumbling with his key before urging her into apartment 19.
"I think it might be best if you stay at my place, Mon," he told her gently, "It's getting late and Ben was a little sick earlier so I don't think we should disturb him and Ross. You can take my room OK?"
The more time he had spent in Monica's company this evening, the more convinced Chandler had become that subjecting her brother to another needy and potentially sick visitor to his apartment after his earlier trials and tribulations with his vomiting son, would be unfair and unwise.
"Is he OK? God, I love that kid so much. Ross is so, so lucky..." Monica drawled as she collapsed onto the sofa with a deep groan, a pained expression etched upon her pallid face.
"He's fine. Just a bug" Chandler promised.
He carefully handed her a hastily poured glass of water, wrapping his hands briefly around hers to ensure that her fingers were up to the task of holding the vessel.
"Try to drink this," he advised, "I'm going to put some fresh sheets on my bed for you, OK? You can borrow one of my shirts to sleep in, and I'm pretty sure I have a spare toothbrush, I'll go take a look"
He busied himself preparing his room for her, working swiftly, knowing that he was on borrowed time, and concerned that she may have already passed out on the sofa by the time he had finished.
When he returned, carrying a pillow and blanket to create his own makeshift bed in the living room, she was slumped forwards, head in hands, elbows on knees, but awake nonetheless.
"I'm so sorry about this, Chandler" she murmured, "I'm such an idiot."
"Don't be sorry. Happens to the best of us," he assured her kindly, "Anyway, I haven't seen you in weeks, so it's good to hang out...even if you are hammered."
She shot him a rueful smirk of gratitude.
"And don't worry, Steve said he would let Richard know where you are. You just need to sleep it off. Everything will be fine." he smiled gently.
"Pfftt...Like Richard even cares." she slurred after expelling a bitter scoff, her chin still cradled in her palms.
Chandler's eyebrows knitted together as he told her quietly, "Of course he cares."
He placed a hand on her elbow as he helped her to her feet and handed her a freshly unboxed toothbrush before guiding her towards the bathroom.
The door bounced back as her uncooperative arm made an ineffective attempt to swing it shut behind her, so Chandler eased it closed on her behalf.
He could hear water gushing from the faucets at an astonishing rate, indicating that they had been wrenched at indelicately by her heavy alcohol-numbed fingers, followed by a crash and a curse that suggested that some part of her had collided with the collection of bottles of shampoo and shower gel that stood on the rim of the bath, sending them all cascading around the enameled tub with a echoing clatter.
When she reentered the living room, her hair slightly damp and her mascara smeared from a rudimentary attempt at washing her face she lurched desperately into his waiting arms.
"Thank you, for bringing me home Chandler," she told him a little tearfully, burying her face against his chest "And I'm sorry about your shampoo. It's a bit broken."
"That's alright" he told her with a small chuckle, "I'll clear that up. Now go get some sleep."
He released her slowly from his embrace taking the hesitant, gradual care one might apply when balancing a wooden block on a tower, knowing that any movement too sharp or sudden could lead to complete collapse.
He watched as she hobbled towards his room, wincing on her behalf when her shoulder collided painfully with the left hand side of the door frame, sending her bouncing off the right like a pinball.
"I'm OK" she confirmed in a mumble. She did not turn around, but raised her arm in a half-hearted sort of wave to communicate a fond farewell.
"Night Mon." Chandler called after her softly with an affectionate shake of his head, as he watched her vanish into the dark of his room.
Chandler actually quite enjoyed having a bed on the couch, wiling away the hours, cosy and warm in his blanket, sipping his way through a cold beer or two and drowsily watching re-runs of an old detective show on TV.
When he woke feeling groggy at 4:00am however, he felt a little less snug and a little less pleased with himself, rising to abandon his beer bottle beside the sink before heading for the bathroom to brush his teeth and remove the jeans that he had woken to find digging uncomfortably into his stomach.
There had been no sign of Joey tonight. He had forewarned Chandler that he may well not return home that evening, depending on how his second date with his latest squeeze, Maria went; and given how late it was, Chandler could only conclude that things had gone predictably well for his roommate.
He was about to settle back down on the sofa when he suddenly noticed that the glass of water he had poured for Monica earlier sat untouched on the kitchen counter.
Chandler had been in her unfortunate position enough times over the years to know that waking after a night of over indulgence, head throbbing with shame and regret, and a mouth as coarse and dry as sandpaper, was one of the most terrible feelings in the world, so he grabbed a fresh glass of water and a box of painkillers to place at her bedside.
He softly pushed open the door and tiptoed as gently as he could into the stillness of the room, but stumbled a little as his foot became immediately caught in a tangle of fabric.
The room was lit only by nearby street lamps that spilled their cool luminosity through the window, and just barely supplemented by the diffuse amber glow from the door he had left slightly ajar, so Chandler squinted as he peered down through the darkness, eventually discerning that the trip hazard was in fact Monica's dress, discarded in a careless pool of midnight blue.
He bent down to retrieve the garment, glancing about the room to find somewhere more suitable to drape it, but his breath caught in his throat, and his whole body froze with a stinging jolt when his eyes landed on Monica's sleeping form, partially illuminated by a shaft of milky window-light.
He immediately averted his embarrassed eyes when he observed that in her state of intoxication she had neglected to put on the t-shirt he had left out for her to sleep in, and was splayed across his bed wearing only her underwear.
He swallowed down a sharp pang of guilt when that one, minuscule, accidental glimpse of her flawlessly proportioned, and scantily-clad form provoked a fleeting flare of forbidden desire that blazed involuntarily through the depths of his abdomen.
Quickly regaining his composure, he stepped with purpose towards the bedside table ready to deposit the water and pills, his steadfast gaze landing nowhere near the striking contrast of sheer black lace against lily white skin.
He put the glass of water down as gently as he could, but the small clink of the glass was enough to cause her to stir, and as he padded, softly and swiftly, towards the door he heard her call his name.
He paused with a shiver as he explained his presence in the room.
"Sorry Mon, I was just bringing you some water. You should really drink some, you know. You'll feel terrible if you don't."
From the periphery of his vision he could see that she had quickly drawn his comforter closely around her body, to preserve both warmth and modesty he guessed.
He turned to face her, worried that his having been there when she was in a state of partial undress might have upset or discomforted her, and he was ready to offer further groveling apology for his inadvertent invasion of her privacy.
But instead she asked in a small, teary voice, "Could you please stay for a second?"
She rubbed her eyes lethargically before gulping thirstily at the water he had provided.
He swallowed hard, hesitating before perching a little stiffly on the edge of the bed.
"Sure. What's up?" he asked huskily.
"I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about tonight," she told him with a regretful shake of her head "I'm so embarrassed. I haven't seen you in about a month and then you get dragged across town to rescue a drunken mess... "
His tense shoulders softened and he angled his body to face her.
"You don't have to be embarrassed around me, Mon. You've had to look after me often enough! Remember that time you found me asleep with my head in your toilet? And the night of the vodka jello?"
She gave a watery sniffle, "Yeah. I miss those days."
"Really?" he asked doubtfully.
"I mean, not those specific parts, obviously." she said with a small laugh "I just miss being here. I miss having fun. I think that's why I got so wasted tonight. But it wasn't fun at all, because I was with the wrong people."
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the room now and he could see her forehead begin to crumple as she admitted tremulously, "I feel so old, Chandler."
"What? That's crazy, Mon" he told her adamantly, "We are not old!"
"You might not be.." she replied.
The irony was, that when he gazed back at her now in the soft bluish light, her fists rubbing at her tear-filled eyes, the comforter drawn up around her chin, and a tousle of dark hair tumbling over her cheek, she looked so sad, and so lost, that she actually appeared younger than he had ever known her to look before; childlike almost.
He sighed sympathetically and shuffled closer, leaning back against the headboard and wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder, subtly tucking the bedding more tightly around her, cocooning her body and forming a barrier to protect her bare flesh from accidental touch.
"I know what you're thinking," she told him, her expression almost warning, "I know that I asked for all of this."
"That's so not what I was thinking..." Chandler shook his head and started to object, but bitter regret continued to spill from Monica's lips.
"I know that I went on and on about how I wanted to find somebody mature and responsible to settle down with, and start a family.
I just... I never thought that it would be like this.
I hardly ever see you guys. I feel like Richard and Tilly are the only people in my life now; and Richard hardly speaks to me anymore. And Tilly's... a dog.
We socialize with people my parents' age, which again, I should have known would be the case; I guess that's just what happens when you marry your dad's friend; but I have nothing in common with these people, Chandler."
She pressed her eyelids closed and a solitary tear glistened its way down her cheek before being swiped away by her wrist.
"And I know what Richard's friends all think of me: They all think I'm some dumb little gold-digger.." she whispered shamefully.
"Nobody thinks that" Chandler rejected, squeezing her tight.
"They really do. It's written all over their faces." She sighed miserably, nodding her head with knowing resignation.
"Well, then they're idiots" he told her softly, "You're as smart as a whip, and you're the most genuine and down-to-earth girl I ever met. And you're drop dead gorgeous too; they're most likely just jealous".
She glanced towards him, doe-eyed and grateful, before continuing "It's not just his friends: His children hate me too... Probably even more so after tonight..."
She stifled a sob and shook her head sadly.
"And I still don't have any kids of my own... "
Chandler felt another fat tear splash against his forearm as it escaped from her eye.
"Sometimes I wish I could just turn back the clock. I feel like I've made a total mess of my life. And it feels like there's no way out." she let out a small whimper of distress.
"Come on, Mon. You guys are just having a tough time at the moment, that's all. I know how much having a family means to you and Richard, so the whole baby thing is bound to be wearing you down. I'm sure that when that eventually happens for you guys, things will feel so much brighter again. Richard loves you, and he knows he's the luckiest guy in the world," he spoke soothingly as he gave her shoulder a tender squeeze.
"I'm not so sure anymore. In fact, I don't think Richard even wants to have a baby with me. Not really." her hoarse whisper was barely audible; as if it was a suspicion she hardly dared speak.
He turned to stare at her in disbelief, his hand rising intuitively to her cheek to brush away a tear with a soft graze of his knuckle.
"Of course he does! Who wouldn't want to have a baby with you? You're like.. the perfect woman, Monica."
The words of intended comfort, delivered with soft sincerity, sounded wholly inappropriate as soon as they fell from his lips; and Chandler's gaze dropped awkwardly to his lap.
His fluster increased when he suddenly felt the scorch of Monica's intense eyes crackling against his skin, and he struggled to galvanize the courage to look up and face her, nervous, and unable to predict her reaction; hoping that she was not too scandalized by his impropriety.
But as their eyes met, he did not think he could ever have imagined the look she was giving him now; not even in his most sequestered of dreams.
The moonlight rendered her eyes so impossibly blue they sparkled like sapphires in the dark, studying him intently and shining with need.
To Chandler, the air in the room suddenly became stiflingly hot and thick, and he felt an unfamiliar tightening in his chest that left him completely unable to breathe.
His lips parted as he stared back into that compellingly beautiful face, that was at once so familiar, and yet suddenly brand new.
The lost, confused, and vulnerable girl of ten minutes ago had vanished without a trace; replaced by a woman who appeared to know exactly what she wanted.
"I've missed you so much, Chandler" she breathed, "You know, you've always been so special to me".
He blinked as he felt himself beginning to drown in the dark depths of her dilated pupils, and before he knew it she had wriggled free of the bedding and sprung to a kneeling position, her slender thighs straddling his.
He inhaled sharply as their lips collided with unexpected ecstasy, his exhale emerging as a gutteral groan of complete enchantment.
His palms were suddenly gliding instinctively along her taut hamstrings and over the soft curve of her hips to roam the sensitive, velvet skin of her back.
Ardent fingers raked sensual trails through his hair, as her lips continued their feverish caress, and Chandler mirrored her ardor; his right hand gently gathering a fistful of her ebony locks at the warm nape of her neck; his left squeezing the firm flesh of her lace-covered buttock.
His tongue darted hungrily between her lips as she moaned into his mouth, and that was when he tasted the barest remaining trace of sweet, smoky, scotch that brought him immediately to his senses.
His hands moved to her shoulders and he angled his face away from hers, speaking her name through ragged breath.
Her insistent fingertips moved to his jaw, nudging him gently, in an attempt to encourage his lips back towards hers, and he suddenly felt panicked.
He could not push her away; he could never do that; so instead he pulled her as close as he possibly could, his arms wrapped tightly around her back, one hand softly cradling her head, his face over her shoulder, hiding in her hair, as far away as he could get from her eager lips.
"Monica, this is wrong" he asserted in a graveled whisper.
"It feels pretty right to me," she contested, her lips and tongue trailing agonizingly sultry kisses against his neck, her fingers slipping beneath his t-shirt, blazing fire across his back.
"You've been drinking..." he panted.
"I slept that off, I'm fine now" she dismissed in a murmur, her humid breath against his ear sending a thrill down his spine.
"You're married".
She flinched in his arms and became quiet and still.
Chandler was similarly frozen; paralysed with embarrassment.
Their bodies were now so intimately intertwined that he was devastatingly aware of the heaving of her scarcely covered breasts against his chest, and he knew full well that she must be able to feel his painful arousal just as keenly as he could feel the heat of hers.
Neither moved an inch or spoke a word for an inordinate amount of time, their mutually labored, slightly tremulous breath deafeningly loud in the fraught silence of the room.
"Well maybe I wish I wasn't married..." she finally muttered as she clambered briskly from his lap, wrapping her arms protectively around her torso as she curled into a ball on the edge of the bed.
"I am so sorry Monica.." he began to mumble but she cut him off angrily.
"Oh, what do you have to be sorry for, Chandler? We both know whose fault that was. I just pounced on you in my bra and panties, for God's sake!"
"Yeah.. well... I should have stopped it faster" he insisted.
"It lasted about 5 seconds: You stopped it plenty fast enough" she snapped "Too fast, if you ask me. Anyway, it was nice. Nice to feel close to somebody for a few moments. Nice to feel anything, in fact."
The tears of bitterness and hurt that filled her eyes tore at Chandler's heart.
"Where's that t-shirt I left out for you?" he asked gently, as his eyes scoured the room, sure that she must be feeling horribly exposed, sitting there in her underwear.
"Probably over there on the floor, next to my dignity" she said sharply, collapsing forward and hiding her face in her hands as he stood up to retrieve it.
He located the head hole and held out the garment in front of her "Come here" he whispered softly.
His blue eyes met her regretful gaze with aching tenderness as she allowed him to slip the cotton shirt over her head and draw it down over her body, before enveloping her in a loving embrace.
"I'm really sorry I let that happen" he whispered again, "And I'm sorry that things are so hard for you right now".
"You must think I'm a horrible person" she stated, her eyes drifting closed as a rivulet of tears made its way down her cheek.
"No." he rejected "I think you're one of the most wonderful people I ever met. But I also think you're sad, and confused. And I'm sorry that I let you down just now."
"Chandler, I just mauled you. Please don't pretend it was your fault," she told him somewhat witheringly before swallowing hard, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I'm so sorry for putting you in that position. I just feel so alone... and I miss you so much. I guess I just wanted to feel close to you."
He squeezed her tighter as the two of them settled back down together on the bed. "I had no idea you were feeling so lonely, Mon. I don't think any of us did. We're all still here for you though, you do know that right? I know we don't see as much of each other as we used to, but we can try harder..."
"It's not the same" she said sadly, "I'm on the outside looking in now:
You and Ross and Joey are like a little gang since Ross took my place here;
And since Rachel moved in with Phoebe, the two of them are so much closer than they used to be. I know they're not trying to leave me out or anything, but it all just makes me feel so jealous.
And not just that they have each other, but because they have.. everything I used to have. Everything I should have taken better care of."
Chandler's lips rested thoughtfully and silently against her hair, his fingertips swirling gentle patterns of comfort against her arm as she spoke.
"Please don't think I'm blaming you guys for how I'm feeling; none of this is your fault, and it's not Richard's fault either; It's all me.
I allowed myself to get totally swept away by this new life that I thought I so desperately wanted; I threw every little bit of myself into it, and I neglected everything else.
And suddenly I'm just...lost."
"You do know, that when you're not with us, we always feel it." he assured her softly, "There's always something missing when you're not there. And that won't ever change."
"I miss you so much" she reiterated in a high-pitched whisper, her breath hitching with emotion as she drew her knees up to her chest and nestled even closer to him.
"We'll try harder to spend more time together, I promise" he vowed.
She gave a mirthless laugh "I doubt it. We won't be able to look one another in the eye tomorrow. Or Richard for that matter."
Chandler gulped guiltily, "Do you think you'll tell him?"
Her eyes clouded over in contemplation and she made a gesture that was halfway between a head shake and a shrug.
"You do still... love him... right?" Chandler asked awkwardly.
"I can see why my behavior would make you ask that question... " she said sardonically.
But then she paused, deep in thought, shrugging the same gesture as before, her face suddenly contorted with anguish.
"I don't even know anymore. I used to. I loved him so much Chandler, you know I did. It's hard for me to imagine that could just go away.
The idea that I could have gotten that so wrong, after feeling so certain... it makes me question everything I ever believed.
He's my husband! I must still love him, right? Deep down?" her eyes were pleading; begging him for answers she knew he could not possibly provide.
"I don't know if maybe the pressure of the whole "trying for a baby" thing has just caused so much emotional turbulence that it has changed things?" she continued sorrowfully,
"And I don't know whether those changes are permanent, or whether everything would just slot right back into place if I found out I was pregnant?"
A fresh stream of tears spilled from her eyes as she admitted "I'm not even one hundred percent sure if the only reason I'm so obsessed with having a baby is just to stop the loneliness; maybe the reason I want a child so much is so that I'll have somebody to love, and to love me back, you know? I have no idea."
Her voice became higher in pitch and laced with panic.
"And I just don't know what to do about any of it! It's a total mess. I'm a total mess.
And now I've done this... "
"This is nothing you have to worry about OK?" Chandler told her, the idea of adding to her considerable mental burden making him feel suddenly desperate.
"This was just... seeking comfort from a friend..and it got a little out of hand for just a moment. You said it before: It was over in seconds. It was just a five second kiss, Mon. It doesn't mean anything."
He felt the muscles in his shoulders contract as her somber cobalt eyes locked upon his once again with brutal intensity. "Maybe not to you" she said.
An astonishing urge to bring his lips back to hers, to make her forget; to make her feel the way he wished she felt; took his breath away.
Instead, he dragged her as close as he could again, anything to avoid that crystalline gaze, clamping her against the frustratingly honest thud of his heart and planting a ferociously chaste kiss on the top of her head.
"We'll figure it all out." he promised, his voice husky and full of determination.
It was unclear to Chandler if the reason his arms remained locked around her body for the rest of the night was that he held a genuine and avid need to offer her comfort, or whether he was, as she had predicted, simply too afraid to look her in the eye.
Probably both.
But the two of them remained there, curled up tightly on his bed in a tangle of clinging limbs until morning; her face buried against his chest, his in her hair; both drifting in and out of fretful sleep.
As the room grew ever lighter and the sounds of the city transitioned from night to day, neither of them sought to move, or to speak a single word more.
Hours later Chandler heard the low drone of male voices vibrating through the wall and he gently lowered Monica's sleeping body onto the bed before easing himself into a standing position.
He smoothed his hair with a pensive palm and allowed his mind and body a moment to calm, and free themselves of any telltale signs that he had spent the night in the arms of a beautiful, married woman.
Albeit chastely.
For the most part.
He strode confidently from the bedroom ready to face Ross and Joey. But he was less ready to face Richard, and he felt himself shrivel immediately under the man's disbelieving stare.
"Uh... hey" he greeted the three men lightly, wishing that he had thought to put on a pair of pants before leaving the bedroom and feeling woefully exposed standing before them in his boxer shorts.
"I'm looking for my wife, Chandler" Richard spoke sternly "Steve told me you were taking her back to Ross's place."
Chandler moistened his lips. Richard was generally a docile and unflappable man, and whilst his tone remained characteristically calm and measured, there was a sense of danger lurking in his eyes that Chandler had never seen before.
"She's fine. She's in there. Sleeping." he nodded towards his room. "Sorry, I meant to let everyone know earlier, I just overslept I guess. But I left a note at Ross's to say I was picking her up, so I figured you'd all know she was safe. And Steve said he'd let you know ..."
"She's in your bedroom" Richard reaffirmed and Chandler could feel his slate grey eyes boring into his soul.
"Yeah. I gave her my room and I made myself a bed on the sofa" he gestured towards the stone cold blanket and pillows that had long lain unused on the couch.
"You just came out of your room" Richard pointed out.
"Yeah," Chandler cleared his throat and combed guilty fingers through his hair before speaking the shred of truth that belied what felt like a world of sin "I went in there to leave her a glass of water and some painkillers. She was pretty wasted when I picked her up, I wouldn't be surprised if she's feeling a little delicate this morning."
"Why didn't you take her to Ross's? Like you told Steve you would." Richard continued his interrogation.
"Well, it was late; Ben was sick last night; Mon was hammered. I just thought it would be less disruptive for everybody if she slept here..."
"Thanks, man" Ross told him, glancing a little pointedly towards Richard, feeling sorry that his well-intentioned friend was receiving such a grilling, "I appreciate it. I'm sorry it all fell to you."
Chandler shook his head, a shameful knot of nausea twisting in his gut and Richard's gaze still weighing heavily upon him "It's fine. She's my friend, I was just trying to look out for her. I'll uh.. go wake her up..let her know you're here. " he offered.
But Richard spoke firmly, "I think I'll go wake her up, Chandler. I assume that you're happy for me to go in there?"
Chandler gave a baffled shrug, "Of course. Be my guest."
As Richard stalked off towards the bedroom Chandler regarded his friends with a defiant, stone-faced neutrality "Anyone want coffee?" he asked, as casually as he was able, mooching blithely towards the kitchen and trying to ignore the increasingly fraught voices that were emanating from his room following Monica's rude awakening.
Richard returned to the living room first, sober and silent as he awaited his wife's emergence.
Poor Monica slunk through the door, a sorry state indeed. She was back in her crumpled cocktail dress, her hair a wild tangle and her eyes smudged with tear-streaked mascara. She shot Joey and Ross an embarrassed, tight-lipped smile of greeting as they regarded her sympathetically.
"Would you like some coffee, Mon?" Chandler offered tentatively "Richard?"
"Thanks, but we're going to take off" Richard answered briskly on behalf of them both.
"Chandler, do you know where my shoes are please?" Monica asked him with as much poise as she could muster.
"Oh yeah.." he darted across the room to retrieve her discarded heels from where he had placed them neatly, next to the sofa.
Their mutually wide and shame-tainted eyes locked poignantly for the briefest of seconds as he handed them to her with a tender smile.
"Well honey, I have to say, I thought my days of running around the city after drunk young women had ended when Michelle turned 22" Richard quipped grimly.
"Don't speak to me like I'm some stupid kid, Richard" Monica snarled beneath her breath, before sighing groggily as she bent to slide her shoes onto her feet.
"Well if the cap fits.." Richard snapped back.
Ross and Joey exchanged uncomfortable looks and moved awkwardly towards the kitchen.
"Oh come on, Richard, give her a break. We've all been there." Chandler muttered in low tones, turning to glare at him reprovingly, but the older man met his eyes with fire, almost daring him to leap harder to Monica's defense.
"Where's your coat?" his voice was almost a growl as he addressed his wife, his eyes still firmly trained on Chandler.
"I don't have one" she mumbled.
"Would you like to borrow a jacket? Or a sweater?" Chandler offered quietly, keen to spare her the cold indignity of facing the morning street in last night's scant and disheveled attire.
"Let's go" Richard spoke over Chandler's suggestion, striding to the door, holding it wide open, and gesturing for Monica to pass through
But before she did she came to pause in front of Chandler "Thank you for taking care of me." she told him her watery blue eyes loaded with lament "And I'm sorry to have put you in an awkward position."
"Nothing awkward about it" he assured her, attempting to convey with his eyes every one of the hundreds of words of comfort he wished he could impart.
When they were sure that the Burkes had descended the stairs, Ross gave a loud sigh and said with wide-eyed concern, "Wow. Poor Mon. Glad I'm not in her shoes today..."
Chandler looked back at him with grave alarm "Well shouldn't we say something then? If you think he's going to be a jerk to her? Do you think she's going to be alright?"
"Of course she is!" Ross clarified, "Come on, Richard's not a jerk, he's just a little pissed that his wife got drunk at his son's party and then passed out in another guy's bed. I just meant that hungover arguments are never fun."
"Best to keep out of it. In my experience, it's never a good idea to involve yourself in other peoples' marriages..." Joey's dark eyes bore into those of his roommate as he imparted his sage advice, and Chandler returned a look of scathing irritation.
The Italian's gaze continued to follow him around the room long after Ross had crossed the hallway and returned home, and eventually Chandler spun around and looked him dead in the eyes.
"What is it, Joey?" he snapped at him impatiently.
Joey regarded him with scrutiny before speaking slowly, "I arrived home at least half an hour before Richard showed up here. You were in your bedroom that whole time, man".
Chandler rolled his eyes.
"Did you spend the night with her?" Joey asked, with a look of utter disbelief.
"No! I went in there with some water for her, just like I said, but she was sad and wanted to talk, so we talked... and I guess we fell asleep. I just left that part out because I didn't think it would fly with Richard."
Joey nodded understandingly, accepting this abridged version of the truth instantly and without question, which could only lead Chandler to conclude that his friend found the idea that Monica would even consider spending the night with him, completely inconceivable.
Ridiculously, rather than feeling relieved, Chandler felt almost offended.
"I'm going back to bed" he muttered, striding grumpily to his room and throwing himself onto the bed that Monica had taken time to make up with typically neat precision, despite her marital strife and raging hangover.
He sighed deeply into his pillow, his brow wrinkling in anguish when he inhaled a frustratingly delicious lungful of recently-laundered bed linen, laced with Monica's perfume.