A/N Thank you so much to anybody who is reading and to those who have shared their thoughts!
It's all getting pretty toxic at Chez Burke now...
"Thank you honey, that was incredible."
Richard lounged back in his chair with a sated grin, patting at his mustache with a napkin to ensure that his face was free from any remnants of his sandwich.
"Nobody makes a better grilled cheese than you do".
He slipped an affectionate arm around Monica's middle as she cleared his plate, and she smiled down at him.
"Good to know I haven't lost my touch after being out of the kitchen for so long. Let's just hope I can graduate to something a little fancier than grilled cheese soon."
Monica still had no real idea how she was going to cope with long shifts in the frenetically paced and highly pressurized environment of a professional kitchen given her less than adequate stamina and agility at the moment.
Her return to work was looming large and she felt like her employers had lost so much patience with her that they were already on the cusp of subtly urging her towards the door.
Richard had assured her on many occasions that this would not be a problem: They could comfortably survive on his salary alone.
Soon after they had married she had reduced her working hours with his encouragement, but unless she had a good reason to give up work entirely; parenthood for instance; there was no way Monica could imagine herself completely without employment.
In fact, after her recent experience of spending so much time at home, the very idea of losing her job terrified her.
As she turned towards the door ready to wash up the lunchtime dishes her eyes darted, as they so often did, towards the clock. It was a glance so fleeting that it was amazing that Richard noticed it at all.
But he did.
And he knew exactly what she was waiting for. Or more accurately, who she was waiting for.
Richard's own pensive gaze followed her as she limped from the room using only one crutch, balancing the two plates and the jingling cutlery with unsteady determination, and he wondered to himself whether their stealthy lunchtime caller would have the gall to put in an appearance at all today after yesterday's little escapades in the rain.
Chandler and Monica could plead as much innocence as they liked, but non-waterproof mascara and rain-drenched crutches seemed like a pretty weak defense strategy in the face of Richard's own infallible eye witness account: There could be no mistaking the intentions of a man whose body is pressed up against that of your spouse with his unprincipled fingers stroking at her face and creeping around her waist.
Chandler had typically tried to disguise his obvious guilt with vain attempts at humor and bravado; Richard would have expected nothing less; but there was no doubt that his untimely appearance had left the guy a little rattled.
If Chandler had an iota of shame or decency he would make himself scarce for a while after being caught red-handed the way he had been, but Richard feared that his attempts to get his insidious hands on his wife were becoming ever more brazen, and he would not put anything past him now.
This was precisely why Richard had popped home from work for this impromptu lunch date with Monica. He needed to start making his presence felt.
However, he was actually hoping that Chandler would have the effrontery to pay a flagrant visit today, in fact he was quite looking forward to seeing the guy.
Richard had a little proposition for Mr Bing that he would much rather deliver in the flesh than over the phone.
As her husband continued to stew at the table, Monica filled the sink with water and dish soap, her eyes glazing over as she created a foamy whirlpool with dazed fingertips.
Her mind was just where Richard had suspected it might be; debating the likelihood of a regular lunchtime visit from her friend, given the cataclysmic intensity of that adrenaline-charged moment between them yesterday.
She had basically propositioned him.
Again.
Not in so many words of course, but the terror in his eyes when she had asked him to come upstairs told her that he had known exactly what she wanted.
Her skin tingled and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she moistened the dish-washing sponge with a tight squeeze.
He had not said no.
She wondered if they would have gone through with it.
In fact, she had since spent an inordinate amount of time imagining the outcome of her indecent proposal had her husband not appeared.
As she had stood there on the street, lost in those ocean eyes, watching as raindrops sparkled from his lashes before falling to caress his lips, she had felt absolutely sure of her dishonorable intentions.
And she knew that he wanted it too.
It was right there in his gaze, in the tender fingertips that had framed her face, in the thumping rise and fall of his chest.
If they had made it upstairs undisturbed, surely they would have finally succumbed to the tidal drag of the magnetic temptation that hung so tantalizing between the two of them.
Perhaps this was just something they needed to do in order to be able to move on? An itch they simply had to scratch?
She channeled her frustration into a vigorous scrub as she worked on a stubborn smear of melted cheese that had welded itself to a plate.
Of course, it might have been that the journey upstairs would have been enough to break the spell and allow the onerous shackles of good sense and virtue to tighten around their yearning spirits once more.
Maybe they would have sat companionably in the living room, drinking hot tea and surviving on stimulating eye contact alone. But the more time they spent together the harder that became.
Monica knew that what she ought to be doing was fortifying the sensible barriers imposed by friendship and marriage by pulling away from the unruly tempest that threatened to bring it all crashing down, and creating space and distance instead. But try telling that to her heart.
She simply could not stop herself from wanting him near.
And why should she?
Her desperation for him was not entirely borne out of wicked carnal desire after all.
There were so many other things she craved: His generosity, his thoughtfulness, the way that just by being there he restored lightness to her innermost self.
He made her laugh in a way that was so liberated and pure it made her feel like a child.
Yesterday's giggles in the rain were not the sort of laughter we all learn over time; the kind designed to appease, or attract, or ingratiate; a signal to the world that we get the joke.
This was laughter at its most genuine and sublime; an honest and uninhibited outpouring of the joy he sparked in her soul.
She needed that, and she needed him.
The plates were still dripping on the draining board when the doorbell eventually rang.
Richard had disappeared to the bathroom by now so Monica made her way keenly towards the door, her stomach dancing with nerves.
What if yesterday had been a wake-up call? What if her shameless behavior had scared him so much that he was the one to require space and distance? What if he had come to tell her that enough was enough, and that he didn't want to see her anymore?
"Hey"
Her greeting was breathless and her blue gaze fearful, but the way his eyes crinkled as he drank her in, his whole face melting into an instantaneous fond grin, allowed her to exhale her partial relief.
"Richard's here," she blurted out in a low whisper, before Chandler had a chance to say a word.
"I mean, not that it matters that he's here... it's not like... that's a problem or anything.."
A flustered rosy blush warmed her cheeks as she shook her head and stood to one side, gesturing for him to enter.
"Come in."
"So you dried off then? That rain yesterday was really something, huh?" he glanced at her a little shyly before drawing her into a hug that was far more brief than usual, but still just as sweet.
"My work shoes were still so wet this morning I couldn't wear them, so I had to borrow these off Ross."
She looked obligingly down at his feet as he moved his ankles to display his footwear, before the two of them headed towards the sofa.
"I was going to borrow some off Joey... but guess what size his feet are?"
Chandler could not disguise his glee, and was practically bouncing in his seat as he looked forward to exposing his roommate's secret shame to Monica.
Monica smiled wryly and gave a shrug, "I dunno... a ten?"
"Seven!" he declared with a toothy beam, barely allowing enough time for the vastly erroneous guess to leave her lips, such was his delight.
"No way! That's not much bigger than my feet!" Monica's jaw dropped and her eyes widened and with genuine surprise as she and Chandler shared a conspiratorial snigger at poor Joey's expense.
"I know! He swears blind that everything else is just fine, and that it's all just a myth that shoe size has any bearing on the rest of your anatomy, but you've gotta wonder, right?"
Monica shook her head in mirthful despair and chuckled at the implication.
"I'm an eleven and a half by the way. Almost a twelve on warm days," he told her, wiggling a suggestive eyebrow that caused her to roll her eyes and smirk before biting down on her bottom lip and dropping her gaze to the floor.
"Chandler!" a sudden booming voice turned both of their heads.
"I'm beginning to think we should convert our spare room into a bedroom for you! You spend more time here than I do!" Richard's tone was jovial enough, but Chandler was immediately unnerved, given the terms they had parted on the previous day.
However when their eyes met, Richard appeared to be exuding a genuine cheerfulness that mitigated Chandler's initial guilt-ridden wince.
"I'm glad you're here actually" Richard took a seat next to Monica and pecked a sunny-natured kiss against her cheek, still employing a tone that was far more congenial than Chandler was used to hearing from him of late, "I have a bit of a favor to ask."
Chandler exchanged a bemused glance with Monica before returning an amenable if mildly anxious smile.
"Of course? What is it?"
"How are you fixed tomorrow night? A friend of mine has asked me to help him out with something but it will involve being out all evening, and I already feel bad about leaving Monica alone all day long while she's still struggling to get out and about... "
Monica's vehemently independent streak almost prompted an instinctive objection and a stubborn assertion that she was more than capable of being alone in her own home without need of a babysitter; but when she realized that Richard was essentially offering a gift of an evening spent in Chandler's company, she pressed her lips firmly closed.
"Yeah, that's fine, I have no plans, I'm available all evening," Chandler told him, more than happy to offer his companionship to Monica, so much so that he was hardly able to conceal the shameful eagerness that he could feel dripping from his grin.
Monica squirmed a little in her seat, a wanton rush of jubilant butterflies taking flight in her abdomen.
"Great!" Richard sounded delighted as his eyes flitted from face to face, ingesting both responses with apparent satisfaction.
A glancing frown suddenly bothered Monica's brow as she studied her husband's expression more closely, and thought she discerned something distinctly knavish lurking within his smile.
"You know I told you about my friend's niece, Sophie, who's doing a bit of temp work at my practice?" Richard addressed Monica first, before turning to Chandler, "She just arrived in New York from England, she's about to start a graduate program in Cinematography, and she doesn't really know anyone here yet, so I told her uncle I'd keep a bit of an eye on her and help her settle in."
Chandler nodded along slowly, perplexed as to where Richard was headed.
"Anyway, her uncle told me that she really wanted to go to the Federico Fellini exhibition at MoMA, but she didn't have anybody to go with, so I managed to get a couple of tickets for tomorrow night and I booked a restaurant close by..."
Richard moistened his lips before continuing casually, "But I figured she'd have a much better time going with somebody her own age. And to be honest? I feel a little strange about taking her out myself; I mean she's only 27... "
"When has that ever stopped you before?"
Monica's pertinent sarcasm was drenched in bitterness, as the reality of Richard's plan slotted into place in her mind and her stomach churned with sour foreboding.
The absurdity that she should feel resentful that her husband would prefer to stay home instead of spending time with another woman was not lost on Monica.
In fact, that realization alone made her want to weep.
Richard shot her a sardonic smirk and dragged his knuckles affectionately across her cheek, before turning his cool gaze expectantly back to Chandler.
"You... mean...you want me to take her?" Chandler stuttered uncertainly, his round, hesitant eyes darting unconsciously towards Monica, whose cheeks were drawn in, with lips set in a vexed pout as she stared avidly down at her lap.
"She's a great girl," Richard assured Chandler, "Very smart, well-educated, attractive, funny. I'm sure you two will get along like a house on fire."
"Don't you think she might feel a little uncomfortable about being set up on a blind date with some random guy if she only just got here?" Monica interrupted curtly, "Maybe she would prefer to go with you, or somebody else from the practice that she actually knows? Or perhaps she'd prefer to go with a woman? I could ask Rachel if she's available? Or Phoebe?"
She reached across Richard and made a violent grab for her crutch, hoisting herself to her feet so incautiously that she felt her recovering ankle scream its discomfort, but she gritted her teeth, absolutely unwilling to allow even the tiniest shred of pain, physical or otherwise, to show on her face.
"Come on honey, Chandler's hardly some "random guy" is he? He's one of our best friends. And I already told Sophie all about him, and how great he is, and she seemed pretty excited...
...Especially when I showed her our wedding album and she saw his picture..." Richard arched an eyebrow and shot Chandler a pointed smile of encouragement, taking a moment to relish the way the younger man was writhing uneasily in his chair and noting his wife's visible wince.
"So you just offered Chandler up without checking with him first?" Monica gave a lofty tut.
"No, I just suggested Chandler as an option, and asked Sophie what she thought, but I told her that I didn't know for sure if he would be available." Richard countered reasonably, "But thankfully, it seems that he is."
Chandler stared back at him blankly, completely unable to think of any possible way that he could retract the availability he had confirmed so readily, without rendering his unholy motivation entirely transparent.
Richard closely examined his wife as he mused earnestly "I'm sorry if I'm out of line here? I was trying to do a good thing; I mean, Chandler's single; I thought that introducing him to a beautiful, intelligent woman might be doing him a favor? Apologies, if I've overstepped the mark, Chandler?"
Richard's intense eyes came to rest keenly upon Chandler who was still twitching awkwardly.
"It's fine...You haven't.. I mean... I appreciate the thought..." Chandler began to stumble over his words.
"I did think about asking Tim or Michelle to go along with Sophie, but then I thought of you and it just seemed perfect. I really think that the two of you will have a good time together. And there's no pressure, it's just an exhibition and dinner: There are no great expectations."
Richard turned to scrutinize his wife's pursed face again as he continued to speak, trying not to lace his words with too much meaning or acidity.
"Like I said, she's only 27: I'm sure she'd rather spend time with a dashing young man like Chandler instead of being stuck with a boring old guy like me. Don't you think, Monica?"
Monica gave a scathing shrug as she hobbled towards the window, muttering with slight fluster "Why are you asking me? I have no idea do I? I never even met her.. "
Richard's eyebrow flickered a little as he absorbed her discomposure before turning back to Chandler.
"Well, it's great news that you're available Chandler, I know Sophie will be pleased. Her apartment's way uptown though, so maybe you could pick her up from here tomorrow, if I bring her back after work? Say about 6.30? "
Richard turned back towards his wife "That way you can meet her too, Monica."
The idea of having to watch this apparently spectacular specimen of a woman bat her eyelashes at Chandler before waving the two of them off on a date caused vicious talons of jealousy to claw at Monica's insides.
She was suddenly convinced that this was all an act of cynicism on Richard's part; that he was deliberately trying to remove Chandler from her orbit in the most hurtful way that he could.
She could only assume that his desire to do so was being driven by insecurity, which she grudgingly conceded was not entirely unreasonable given some of her recent behavior and the majority of her innermost thoughts.
She supposed she ought to feel guilty.
But right now what she actually felt was desperately enraged; so utterly provoked in fact, that as her fingers gripped painfully around her crutch, she wondered if her nails might be drawing blood from her palm.
"Why would she want to meet me?" she asked through clenched teeth.
"Well, who wouldn't want to meet you?" Richard mused with innocent fondness, planting a kiss on top of her head and ruffling her hair before sauntering in the direction of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him and leaving Monica and Chandler drowning in deafening silence.
Chandler rose to his feet and made his way hesitantly towards her, the air in the room so thick with her hostility, that he felt like he was wading through a substance as viscous as honey, but far less sweet.
"What should I do? Do you want me to try to get out of this?" he mumbled quietly as he approached.
"Why would I want you to get out of it?" Monica asked blackly, refusing to turn around.
"Well...you seem... pretty angry..." Chandler's voice was low and tentative.
"Why would I be angry?" she choked.
She actually sounded more sad than angry now and Chandler felt himself move instinctively closer as she continued to glare fixedly out of the window.
"Anyway, it has nothing to do with me, does it?" Monica finally dared to continue, only the smallest hint of a tremor in her hushed voice, "It's your life. It's up to you. Do you want to go out with her?"
Chandler paused before answering softly and honestly,
"No".
Still, Monica did not turn around. Hot tears stung her eyes and she could feel her breath beginning to run away from her.
A frisson of anticipation tingled down her spine as she boldly whispered,
"Why not?"
Her words crackled in the air like static electricity and Chandler moved closer still.
Too close really.
Far too close, in fact.
Close enough to feel her whole body flicker like a flame when he gently stroked her arm from her smooth shoulder right down to her hand;
Close enough to hear the tremble in her breath when his palm gently cupped her fingers as they gripped ever more desperately at her crutch;
Close enough to inspire the beat of his heart; that he had been trying so hard to keep steady and decent of late; to burst forth from its honorable cage; to pound and thrash and allow its crimson heat to flood his being.
"You know why not," his graveled murmur hissed white hot against her skin as his lips grazed her cheek.
The sound of unscrupulous blood pulsating through his ears caused rational thought to temporarily abandon him, and his hand swept her raven hair from her shoulder and he slowly, savoringly, brought his lips to the newly exposed smooth alabaster curve of her neck, skimming a langorous, humid trail against her skin,
What the hell was he doing?
Was he actually trying to seduce another man's wife while he stood in the next room?
Who the hell did he think he was?
But he couldn't stop.
This was not wrong.
Monica was not just another man's wife, and this wasn't just some groundless, seedy attempt at seduction.
His soul needed hers and there was nothing he could do to fight it.
This was pre-ordained.
Divine.
No words were enough for this.
The scalding heat of his kisses caused a gasping whimper to escape from Monica's throat and he felt her back arch recklessly against his body.
His hand dropped from her hair to clasp her hip; he drew her pelvis flush against his with fingers that burned with desire, his lips caressing her jawbone.
She could feel the viscerality of his need, and the fire of his touch aroused shockwaves that coursed through her every cell.
Her insides were rendered molten; her body was entirely ready for him; ready to spin around to face him, to grab him by the collar...
The sound of movement in the bedroom convulsed them both back to reality and Chandler immediately took a step back.
"What are you doing?" Monica barely managed to demand through ragged breath as she finally whipped around to face him.
She was not even entirely sure if she was asking why he started or why he stopped.
"I don't know" he panted sincerely, similarly disoriented.
Their wide eyes frantically searched each other's faces, each finding reciprocal fear, frustration and guilt.
But mainly want.
"I'm sorry" he whispered, and the sight of him backing further and further away from her caused some previously unknown, primal inner voice to howl its distress deep within Monica's core.
When Richard ambled obliviously back into the room Chandler already had his hand on the door to leave.
Monica swung her head back towards the window, squeezing her eyes tightly closed as every devastating emotion that rushed through her veins amalgamated into an avalanche of tears that built up painfully behind her eyes and threatened to emerge with an agonized wail.
"Oh, you're leaving Chandler?" Richard observed "Well thanks again for agreeing to help me out with Sophie. I really appreciate it. We'll see you tomorrow?"
"Uh...Yeah... I guess I'll see you then..." Chandler mumbled gruffly, as he scrambled desperately through the door.
Richard listened as Chandler's frantic footsteps faded from earshot and he smoothed his hair thoughtfully.
What happened next should let him know the extent of the threat. He had left the two of them alone just now knowing that they would either seek to galvanize or else they would implode.
The state of Monica right now suggested the latter.
He could not see her face, she had made sure of that, but he did not need to. Her distress hung heavy in the air.
However, Richard knew that if he received news that Chandler was backing out of the blind date, he could take that as a signal that the situation was worse than he feared and he would need to cultivate a far more robust response.
Monica stood absolutely still, her shoulders so tight they were drawn up practically to her ears; a rigid statue formed of painfully knotted sinew, so tense and taut that it seemed that even the lightest touch might cause her to shatter into a million shards of hurt.
Richard was not proud to admit it, but he would be lying if he said that he had not enjoyed her reaction to the grenade he had willfully landed at her feet.
Part of him was angry with her.
How could he not be?
How could he not want to prod her, and push her, to goad her, until she broke and disclosed the truth that would prove that he was right about that wolf in sheep's clothing she called a "friend".
Part of him wanted to show her; show them both; that he was not the fool they imagined him to be.
He pressed his eyes closed and took a deep breath as he swallowed down the scantily veiled acerbic taunts that part of him wanted to spit in her direction right now, despite her visible upset.
But Richard knew that he would bite his tongue once more, because a much bigger part of him did not really want vindication.
He loved her. He simply wanted to cleanse his marriage by banishing the Machiavellian influence to the shadows for good.
He needed neither Monica's confession nor her contrition, he just needed her to come to her senses.
And she would, just as soon as he freed her from distraction.
"Shoot, look at the time, I should really get back to work. Are you OK, honey? You're very quiet" he probed lightly, watching a shudder ripple across her back as she struggled to formulate even the barest response.
"I'm fine" she eventually managed to murmur, her body completely motionless.
Monica stayed there at the window, paralyzed by her anguish, until she was sure that Richard had moved to gather up his keys and wallet from the kitchen counter, at which point she brought her forearm across her face to swipe away the cascade of emotion that she no longer had the energy to contain.