A/N Happy 2025! Thanks so much to anybody still reading, and thanks to those who commented on the last chapter.
To those people who were worried that I was going to pass up an opportunity for secret, sneaky Mondler, I promise that is something I would never do!
P.S. I'm publishing this on my phone, so I'm sorry if the formatting goes crazy!
Monica had always liked the kitchen in this apartment. It was not particularly grand or well equipped, nor was it exceptionally large, but it had a nice feel to it: A calm sort of warmth.
She liked how it flooded with golden morning sunshine, and how a dulcet trill of birdsong would drift in whenever she opened the window.
However, the quiet tranquility of her surroundings brought no peace to her racing mind this morning. A cacophony of emotions and thoughts battled for top spot in her head.
As she leaned against the countertop waiting for her coffee to brew, she decided that it was fortunate that she was all alone, with nothing more than the sound of the coffee machine and the whir of the refrigerator for company. She imagined that to any unwitting bystander, she would most likely appear completely insane, her demeanor hurtling back and forth between dreamy smiles and agonized winces at an astonishing rate.
She twirled a lock of raven hair between her pensive fingers. It was still damp from the shower she had taken in Chandler's apartment that morning, before the two of them had been forced to flee the scene of their beautiful crime, wide-eyed and breathless, evading Joey, who had unexpectedly arrived home before Chandler's departure for work, much earlier than predicted. He had so nearly caught them out.
That strand of not-quite-dry hair caused a delicious shudder to enliven her flesh, her lips curling as she recalled standing beneath the scorching cascade of the shower; splayed palms creating prints in the condensation as she braced herself against the frigid white tiles; his urgent fingers gripping her hips and massaging mind-blowing circles at the apex of her thighs; his lips electrifying her spine.
As her mind drifted, her head rolled back. She was almost able to feel the soapy rivulets that had caressed their skin as they gasped their bliss into the sweetly scented steam.
Her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment, and she gave a deep sigh that landed somewhere between heady fulfillment and utter self-despair.
She glanced down at her watch. Richard and Tilly would not be home for hours and she had no idea what she was going to do with herself between now and then. She would change out of last night's clothes, of course. Do some laundry perhaps. Under normal circumstances she would have prepared a meal, but such mundane tasks suddenly felt absolutely terrifying when placed within the context of what she was about to do.
"Welcome home darling, I've made chicken piccata and washed your socks. And by the way, I'd like a divorce".
How the hell was she supposed to do this?
Bile rose in her throat when she imagined the shock and devastation on Richard's face.
Her hand trembled as she poured her coffee, her nerves causing the stream of dark liquid to ripple like a ribbon caught in a breeze, and she wondered how it could possibly have all seemed so simple when she had lain in Chandler's arms that morning, his fingertips tracing lazy patterns on her back as he whispered blithe assurances that everything would be OK.
The idea that she could just end her marriage at 5.00pm and be back on Bedford Street in time to brush her teeth and retire to Chandler's bed suddenly seemed quixotic. Laughable.
But it had to be done.
No matter how inconceivable it seemed that she could go ahead with the abandonment of her husband and home for pastures so logistically unclear, the idea that she could live without Chandler was infinitely more implausible.
She felt an ache in her heart as she pictured his smile.
He was oxygen to her now.
When lunchtime arrived she still felt too nauseous to contemplate food, so instead she sat on her bed, picking her methodical way through a basket of laundry, separating light from dark.
A small laugh emerged from her throat when she encountered a toeless navy blue sock, the end of which had apparently been entirely chewed away by Tilly.
She and Richard were forever finding their footwear discarded in hilariously incongruous corners of the apartment, having been stolen and mauled by the mischievous spaniel.
Another dark cloud was quick to descend and the fond smile faded from her lips.
What was going to happen there?
Would Richard simply accept that Tilly should stay with her, or would he try to keep her for himself?
The little dog might have been bought as a gift for Monica, but she suspected that any associated paperwork would decree that Tilly legally belonged to Richard.
Would he be so spiteful as to weaponize something that he knew she held so very dear?
And could she really blame him if he did?
A knock at the front door disturbed both her dark thoughts and the laundry-related task in hand and she hobbled gracelessly from the bedroom.
Gloriously over-extended muscles in her legs were adding to her already significant physical difficulties, but they also provided an exhilarating reminder of last night's exploits.
Monica was so distracted by the chaotic flux going on inside her head that she did not really know who she had been expecting to see when she opened the door. But she had certainly not foreseen the bruising kiss she was immediately swept into, and she yelped in delighted surprise as Chandler's arms enveloped her in a passionate embrace.
He kicked the door closed behind him with a frantic foot, throwing his body back against it to check that it was properly closed and deftly applying the security chain for good measure, his lips never once leaving hers.
She returned his kiss with matching enthusiasm, and he practically lifted her off her feet in his hurry to get her to the sofa. They collapsed together in a frenzied heap of lust, his hands already seeking to extract her from her t-shirt and jeans.
"Richard's not here is he?" he finally thought to check as her t-shirt hit the floor, his somewhat overdue question emerging muffled, his lips already lavishing attention upon the warm swell of her breast.
"Fortunately not!"
Still a little shocked by his fecklessness, there might have been a degree of scolding contained within Monica's gasp of a reply, but certainly not enough to suggest that she wanted him to stop.
And he showed no sign of stopping; lips, teeth and tongue blazing hungrily across her skin, consuming her like fire.
His mouth landed on her center, and she cried out. He felt her stomach muscles clench taut beneath the palm of his hand, her desperate fingers taking a fistful of chestnut hair and coiling tight. She was already on the brink of unravelling, knowing that if his tongue continued to flicker, and stroke, and sweep, in mere seconds she would be blown to dust.
The quake of her thighs, the raw intensity of her moan, it was all too much, and Chandler's painfully aroused flesh begged for its own release.
"Oh my God, Chandler! You shouldn't be here! " Monica struggled to control her ragged breath, and get her mouth around her weak admonishment, her flesh rendered temporarily limp beneath the rippling glow of her recovery.
"But I'm so glad that you are..." she managed to purr as he continued to sprinkle soft kisses across her abdomen.
She summoned enough strength to drag him towards her, crashing her breathless lips eagerly back into his, and easing his pants and boxer shorts down over his insistent hips.
She groaned in impatient anticipation when he hooked an arm beneath her knee and hoisted her thigh to his waist. He eyed her ravenously, every sound she made causing fresh flames to erupt in his belly.
He felt different when he was with her. Confident and assertive in a way he had seldom felt before. She had recognized something brand new within him, reaching into some repressed corner of his soul with her searching blue eyes, and coaxing it out with nurturing fingers, without even knowing she was doing it.
The look of unadulterated bliss on his face as he slowly and purposefully pushed into her, left Monica similarly enraptured, her body contracting around him, drawing him in, thrilled by the sublime feeling of completeness he gave her; and all conscious thought was blessedly eviscerated by the rhythmic thud of his heart and the driving thrust of his hips.
They moved together, fevered eyes locked intensely, panting hard into the deep, rapid strokes that beckoned more violent, shuddering pleasure and eventual shattering collapse.
It took quite some time for the rest of the world to filter slowly back, and merge with Monica's own, and she luxuriated in their mutual return to Earth, dragging languid kisses across his spent shoulders and combing exhausted fingers across his back; enjoying the humidity of his jagged breath against her neck.
"Chandler, what are you doing here? I thought you were at work all day?" she whispered.
He sat up and reached for a dark green tartan blanket that was draped over the arm of the sofa, pulling it around her trembling flesh. She smiled softly, grateful for his attentiveness, but when she remembered that the blanket was a souvenir from Richard's golfing trip in Scotland, the thick wool suddenly felt heavy and abrasive against her sensitive and stimulated skin. She shrugged it away and dragged Chandler back down on top of her instead, wrapping him tightly in her arms and inhaling the comforting heat of him.
"I'm allowed a lunch break, aren't I?" He trailed exquisitely soft kisses along her jaw bone, "And I thought this would be nicer than a sandwich..."
She buried her fingers in his hair and gently massaged his scalp.
"Mmm. Much nicer" she agreed with a leisurely smile.
"I was pretty much useless at work this morning anyway. My mind wasn't focused on the job for some reason."
She placed a melting kiss against his lips before replying with a smirk "That's funny...Because I haven't stopped thinking about your WENUS all day..."
A laugh burst from his throat, and his face dissolved into a twinkly-eyed grin, impressed that she had committed to memory one of the more humorous acronyms employed by his team of statistical data analysts.
But his smile soon dimmed to solemnity, and as he tenderly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his voice became low and tentative.
"How are you feeling?...About everything?"
"Nervous" she admitted, encouraging his head to her shoulder and nestling her nose and mouth into his hair. She caressed the damp tendrils at the nape of his neck as she stared glassy-eyed towards the ceiling.
"I still have no idea how I'm going to break it to him. And I can't even begin to imagine how he's going to react."
She felt Chandler's muscles become tense beneath her fingertips and she kneaded his shoulder comfortingly.
"Do you want me to be here? Or at least somewhere close by?" he asked, suddenly anxious about leaving her to face this ordeal alone.
"No",
Her reply was instant and definite, but she squeezed him as tight as she could, touched by his concern.
"What time will he be home?"
"I think around 4:00" she said, nervous sapphire eyes glancing automatically towards the clock, "He's calling in to see Michelle on his way back."
Monica had been well and truly dragged back to stomach-churning reality now. She released Chandler from her arms, patting his back to galvanize him to sit, so that she could reach for her t-shirt and slip it over her head.
"What will you do until then?" he asked as he hunted around for his own shirt and readjusted his pants.
She gave a despondent sigh and shook her head.
"Sit around here feeling nauseous?" she guessed.
He planted a lingering kiss of sympathy against her forehead but when he leaned back she was regarding him worriedly.
"But I don't want you to do the same, OK? Don't wait up for me tonight .. or expect a call, or anything..." she requested with gentle firmness, "I have no clue how long all of this is going to take.."
"But how will I know you're OK?" a flare of panic rose in his eyes.
"I'll be fine," she promised, "But I'm gonna need some time to talk everything through with him, Chandler. I mean, there's a lot to unpick".
His eyes scoured her face.
"I understand that," he assured her with a hint of reluctance. "I guess I'll just...wait to hear from you."
"But not impatiently" he offered quick clarification when she gave a warning tilt of her head.
"I just mean that I'll be thinking about you the whole time. I know it's going to be hard, but I swear it'll all be worth it."
He pulled her into an engulfing hug and pressed his lips against the top of her head.
"I honestly never knew I could feel like this, Monica," he murmured softly, "And I can't wait for us to be together. Properly together".
His earnestly delivered words caused her heart to flip in her chest, and prompted an immediate need to feel his lips against hers.
"I can't wait for that either."
Monica's second shower of the day was far less pleasurable and invigorating than her first.
It was actually almost painful, the act of scrubbing all traces of Chandler from her skin going directly against her instinctive anxious urge to clutch any tiny shred of him close, like some kind of talisman.
But it had to be done. She knew it would feel indecent to face Richard, dripping in her lover's scent.
Less brazen than having sex with him on their sofa, of course. She was very aware that the lines she was drawing in the sands of morality were ludicrously arbitrary at the moment.
As she glanced around her bedroom she wondered whether she ought to pack a bag ready for her departure, wishing momentarily that there was some kind of "How to End a Marriage", manual or handbook that might assist her with this most uncomfortable of prospects.
Eventually, she decided not to pack. She was trying hard not to allow her mind to stray too far into the future, after all.
Despite her desperation to embark upon a real and full relationship with Chandler, the dissolution of the life she had been working towards with Richard for so long was quite terrifying. Years of routine and stability were slipping through her fingers, her future suddenly feeling uncertain in a multitude of ways.
In this unsettling new world, Chandler was the only thing Monica did feel sure about, so she could not bring herself to look any further ahead than the part where she arrived at his door and found herself ensconsed in the safe haven of his loving arms.
That was the only prize she could bring herself to eye right now. Her one security and her sole focus.
The homecoming of her husband and their dog was eventually signalled by the scrabble of excited claws against the wooden floor, and when she heard it, Monica's stomach lurched. Tilly's unrestrained outpouring of love and devotion was able to offer only the scantest reprieve from the queasy churn of bile that soured her gut.
She calmed the dog with reassuring strokes before bravely seeking out Richard, eventually finding him sitting somber and ruminant on the sofa. She could not help but notice that he had come to rest in the precise spot where Chandler had brought her to ecstasy just a few hours before, and she choked down a curdled lump of guilt that became lodged in her throat.
The pounding in her chest grew suddenly louder as she inspected Richard's face more closely.
Something was wrong.
He was yet to speak a word, but his cheeks looked unusually drawn, his complexion worryingly ashen.
What if he already knew? Perhaps somebody had seen her with Chandler? At the theater maybe? Or leaving his apartment this morning?
"Hey, honey."
His greeting was subdued, but not angry.
"Hi" her throat was so dry and constricted, her words felt like they were sticking to the sides "Are you OK? What is it? You look upset."
His grey eyes connected with hers and he exhaled before replying steadily.
"I just had some bad news," he admitted quietly, "I called in on Michelle, and she told me that Barbara found a lump in her breast. She's having a biopsy".
Monica could do nothing but stare back at him, blindsided by this sudden shocking reminder that outside of her all encompassing bubble, where she was lost in the most desperate and burning love she had ever known, the world continued to revolve on its unpredictable axis for everybody else.
Richard's eyes were doleful as he bent down to stroke Tilly, who had flopped down at his feet, before continuing calmly.
"It sounds like Barbara's being pretty stoic about it all, but Michelle's in a real mess. Obviously, she's really worried. Barbara's mom died from breast cancer, so..."
He gave a mournful shrug, his features troubled.
"I'm sorry." Monica finally managed to choke, "I really hope Barbara is OK".
Richard nodded as he pulled himself up to stand.
"Yeah, me too. Listen honey, I hate to ask, but Michelle wanted to know if you'd be OK with Barbara joining us all for Christmas this year? She was supposed to be going to Florida to spend it with a friend but she had to cancel. I know it's a big ask, to spend the day with your husband's ex-wife, so if you'd rather we just bow out completely and do something else, just the two of us, we can. There's no pressure."
"No. Of course that's OK," she replied weakly, "I can understand why Michelle would want you all to be together."
He made his way towards her and pulled her into his arms, pushing his face into her neck and inhaling deeply.
His touch, his breath on her skin, the smell of his cologne, it was all so familiar and yet now so awfully awry; a thoroughly jarring assault on her senses that caused her breath to grate against her throat.
"Thank you, honey. You're incredible, do you know that? I don't know what I'd do without you.'"
His loving gratitude made her head swim and her eyes sting.
Her arms felt numb, like dead weights, as she drew them up to encircle his back in a tepid hug, before pulling away and making one final attempt to garner sufficient resolve to tell him the truth.
"Richard, I.. uh.."
His hands dropped to her waist as his sad, slate-colored eyes met hers with expectation.
Panic gripped her lungs, her muscles suddenly feeble and her head unpleasantly light.
She could not do it.
"I..uh..thought I'd make chicken piccata for dinner. I hope that's OK".
So there she stood. Still in her same old bathroom. Wearing her same old pyjamas. Getting ready to collapse in a self-loathing heap on her same old bed.
Her contemptuous eyes avoided her own weak-willed reflection as she stood in front of the mirror and brushed her teeth vigorously, taking out her frustration on her own poor gums.
How the hell was she going to face Chandler?
She considered trying to call him to explain herself, but with Richard right there in the apartment it felt too risky.
Just picturing Chandler's face induced a potent stab of yearning that almost caused her to double over in pain, and she winced when Richard's voice penetrated the bathroom door.
"Honey? Did you hear that message from Ross? He wants you to sit with Ben tomorrow morning from about 8.00 until 9.30 when Carol comes to collect him. He has an early meeting. I can drop you over there on my way to work if it helps?"
The idea that she might be able to catch Chandler before work and beg his forgiveness for her cowardice brought both relief and anxiety.
"Thanks, I'll call him" she called back thinly.
She stood at the door for a moment, listening hard, waiting to hear the sound of Richard's feet padding away before she dared to emerge. She made her way softly from the bathroom, persuading Tilly to her ankles with a click of her tongue.
She did not usually allow the dog to sleep on her bed, but she decided right there and then to make an exception to that rule tonight.
Tonight she needed all of the comfort she could get.
Agitated fingers raked harsh trails of anxiety through Chandler's hair as he stared gravely at the clock. His eyes drooped and his head felt fuzzy after a fretful, largely sleepless night. He would have to leave for work within the next half hour, and he was still yet to hear a word from Monica.
Despite her plea for patience, he could not prevent the build-up of fatalistic thoughts that vied for space in his head, most of which suggested that her lack of contact must be a sign that his pessimistic inner voice had been right all along: This was all just too good to be true.
When he had lain with her yesterday, watching her revel, heavy-lidded, in the afterglow of their love, reclining and stretching with all of the blissfully lazy gratification of a cat in a patch of warm sun, he had truly believed for a moment that this was it: Everything he had ever wanted. And the way she looked at him made him believe that she wanted it too.
But with big feelings came vulnerability, and for Chandler, they were always accompanied by a generous side-helping of doubt.
These were, without question, the biggest feelings he had ever felt, and therefore they came hand in hand with the greatest jeopardy.
How would he cope if she had changed her mind? What if Richard had convinced her to stay?
There were worse thoughts waiting in the wings too. Chandler felt he knew Richard well enough to be confident that he was fundamentally a decent human who would not harm another. But still, the guy's behavior had become increasingly strange and less predictable over recent months, and the idea that Monica's admission might have sparked some kind of meltdown made Chandler's blood run cold.
At what point did he have to consider that as a possibility?
He had just swigged back the last of his orange juice when Ross stuck his head through the door, the tentatively optimistic look in his eyes immediately telling Chandler that a request for a favor was incoming.
"Hey Chandler, is there any way you could come sit with Ben for like five minutes? Monica should be here to babysit any second now, but I really need to head off to prepare for that meeting I told you about. He's just finishing his breakfast".
"Yeah of course," Chandler agreed without question, gathering up his keys and his bag ready to follow Ross across the hall.
She was on her way here. His lungs took pause as he struggled to contemplate what this meant. She had not told him that she was babysitting Ben, so presumably this plan had been made recently. And yet Ross did not seem aware of any marital strife in the Burke household. A fresh wave of anxiety rolled through Chandler's stomach
As he entered Apartment 20, he fought back his preoccupation, greeting Ben cheerfully by ruffling his blonde locks, and taking a seat next to him at the table. The little boy was happily gnawing on a crust of jam-covered toast, his fingers and cheeks smeared sweet and pink.
Ross was clearly a little jittery about his meeting and he wasted no time bidding Chandler and Ben farewell, but the two were not alone for long. No sooner had Ross scuttled from the apartment than the door swung open once more, in fact Chandler had not even had time to offer the child a refill of milk.
"Hey look, Ben! Aunt Monica's here!"
The sight of her beautiful face set off an immediate explosion in Chandler's chest, a burst of love that softened his eyes and drew his lips into an unstoppable smile. But sadly, that surge of dopamine was as short-lived as it was intoxicating.
When Monica's wide blue eyes met his, they were fearful and pleading, and it did not take long for Chandler to work out why, because Richard stepped into the apartment right behind her.
"Hi Ben!" Richard greeted the child enthusiastically, before his tone waned to one that was rather more subdued, "Chandler."
Monica continued to stare back at him with mute desperation, attempting to communicate an apology with her eyes, but Chandler could see nothing beyond Richard's possessive fingers on her waist, and he felt his heart sink to the depths of his stomach.
He dragged his eyes to meet Richard's. There was no way he could look at her.
"Hey," Chandler spoke gruffly, rising from his chair with a brusque clatter. "I'd better take off. I'm running late for work, so I'll leave you guys to it."
He kept his head down as he bent to say goodbye to Ben, and made briskly towards the door, all the time feeling Monica's stricken gaze clawing at him, seeking a connection that he felt just too fragile to give.
Work was just as futile this morning as it had been the day before, but for tragically different reasons.
Today as Chandler's eyes stared pointlessly at the brain-numbing jumble of information on his computer screen, instead of being distracted by glorious memories of velvet skin, deep kisses and ardent fingers dredging over his spine, his mind was unable to settle upon anything but the throbbing ache in his chest.
It was already past 10:00am and he was yet to achieve a thing, and when he answered a call from his officious clipped-toned receptionist he did not even attempt to disguise his misery.
"Mr Bing, I have Monica Geller here to see you. Shall I send her through to your office?"
He took a deep breath. He was by no means surprised that she wanted to talk, but he had not expected her to visit his place of work.
"You mean Monica Burke." he corrected wretchedly, a reminder that was more for his own benefit than for Linda's.
"She definitely said Geller," Linda sniped back, irritated by his apparent inference that she was incapable of relaying a simple message.
"Shall I send her through?"
"Yes OK, thanks Linda. She can come on through", he replied soberly, his jaw clenching as he awaited her arrival.
When she burst through the door her eyes were beseeching, and her breath heavy and uneven, her evident distress exacerbated further when she was met by Chandler's dead-eyed cheerlessness.
"So, change of plan, huh? I was awake all night worrying about how you were getting along, you know."
His voice was the saddest kind of bitter, and Monica felt like she deserved far worse, instantly dissolving into a pool of contrition.
"Chandler, I am so, so sorry!" she cried, "I was going to do it, I really was, I promise! But... God... it was just so hard!"
"It's fine, Monica. I get it," he replied with a stiff shrug and a hard swallow. "It was a pipe dream at best."
Her confused eyes frantically scoured his face.
"What?"
"Well, what am I supposed to think, Mon? You tell me you're leaving him, and the next morning you come swanning into Ross's place with his arms wrapped around you? I can only assume that when you saw him you changed your mind? Maybe you just had some stuff to get out of your system these past few days? Reality bites, I guess. I suppose you and Richard can get back to normal now? Back to real life?"
"Chandler, what are you talking about?..You don't... you don't actually believe that!" she stammered in disbelief, and he looked down at the floor to avoid her wounded expression.
"I wanted to leave him! I'm going to leave him, but you have no idea how hard it is!" Her imploring eyes glistened with fraught tears. "He came home and told me that his ex-wife might have cancer, and that Michelle is totally distraught. Then he started talking about plans for Christmas - I just... panicked!"
He moistened his lips pensively and brought his eyes to meet hers, pausing for a moment before acknowledging her explanation.
"I can understand why that would be hard... And obviously I feel for Michelle and her mom..."
"I know that there's never going to be a good time to do it" she gave her head a despairing shake "But he looked so shaken up already, Chandler, I just couldn't bring myself to... destroy him!"
He unsuccessfully attempted to disguise his fear with coolness.
"Do you still love him?" he asked, his voice low and concertedly steady.
"No!" she declared forcefully, stepping closer and grabbing his hand, "I told you! I love you! Only you! I meant everything I said! I want us to be together and I am going to leave Richard, I just need more time!"
She brought his knuckles to her lips and he felt a hot tear hit the back of his hand. She dropped her gaze, but refused to release the tips of his fingers from hers.
"I don't love him, but that doesn't mean that I feel good about hurting him. I do still... care about him..."
Her admission emerged as a barely audible whisper, laced with a level of shame that, in his heart, Chandler knew she did not really deserve to feel.
"It would be pretty weird if you didn't", he conceded with a conciliatory nod.
He regarded her thoughtfully before giving a resigned shrug and exhaling dejectedly.
"Look, you were the one who said you didn't want an affair, Monica. So if you can't leave your husband either, then where does that leave us? What is it that you want?"
"I want you."
Her sad, guileless eyes bore deep into his, and they both paused for a moment, mutually yearning for a time and a place as simple as her words.
He gave a heavy-hearted shake of his head.
"So what do we do? You want me waiting in the wings until after the big Burke family Christmas? Or until Richard's ex-wife gets the all clear? And until then, I just come running when you have a spare half hour to fit me in? Lying to everyone? Sneaking around behind everybody's backs and just grabbing what we can, when we can?"
She squeezed her eyes closed sorrowfully and began to shake her head, knowing that he had every right to demand more.
"Because I'll do it." he told her, his voice unwavering and his eyes deadly serious "If that's what it takes."
It took her a while to digest his words and she could only gape back at him.
"I mean it," he continued, "If you need more time to leave him, then take it. I'm not going anywhere, Monica, I love you".
His fingers clasped her waist and he drew her body close, his voice a lulling hum against her ear.
"So if we have to sneak around, then we'll do it. If we can't be together all of the time, then we'll take what we can get, until we can be together properly."
"I know you deserve better than that," she told him softly, as he gently squeezed her fingertips. "I want to give you more, Chandler. I want to give you everything. And I will."
He cupped her chin in his hands, ready to close down the final piece of unendurable space between them.
"Whatever it takes." he reaffirmed with certainty "I'm not giving this up, Monica. Not ever."
Richard downed the remnants of his coffee as he scanned through his list of patients for the day, relieved that at first glance it appeared to consist of what would hopefully prove to be an uncomplicated chain of routine check-ups. The last thing he needed today was any drama.
He had barely slept a wink last night, with Barbara's prognosis weighing heavily on his mind.
Given the longevity of their relationship, his instinct was to reach out to her and offer support, but he had no idea what the appropriate response was for an ex-husband in the face of something like this, or whether she would even appreciate a call.
His vain pursuit of sleep had not been helped by Monica, who had spent the entire night thrashing restlessly around her side of the mattress, apparently plagued by some kind of insomnia of her own. Inexplicably, she had also brought the dog into their bed for the night, and Tilly's interminably flailing paws had only made matters worse.
Consumed by a sudden longing for calmer waters, his eyes glazed over. Their family seemed to be careering from one stressful episode to another at the moment, what with the ongoing fertility struggles, Monica's accident and subsequent long-winded recovery, and now another potential health scare on the horizon. They could all use a boost, that was for sure.
"Hi! How was your trip?"
Sophie's pretty grin snapped him out of his depressive thoughts, and as she placed a pile of patient records on his desk he managed to return a small but genuine smile.
"Hi Sophie. It was fine thanks. Productive. And Michael and I managed to sneak in a quick round of golf too, so I shouldn't complain."
"How was the play?" he asked as an aside, suddenly realizing that he had not actually set eyes on Sophie since he had waved her off on her date with Chandler last week.
Sophie laughed as she replied "I really enjoyed it! It was probably the most entertaining night of Shakespeare I've ever experienced. Joey did a great job with his Wham song!"
Richard gave an amused chuckle.
"And everything's going well with Chandler? I just saw him actually, when I dropped Monica off at Ross's place, but he was in a rush so I didn't get a chance to speak to him."
A perplexed frown flickered across Sophie's face, and she paused, unsure of how to respond for a moment .
"Oh... I thought Monica might have told you... Chandler and I had a great time at the exhibition, he's a really nice guy, but afterwards we ended up spending the evening with Phoebe and Ross and.. well... Ross and I kind of... hit it off..."
There was a darkness to Richard's confusion that prompted further nervous explanation from Sophie as she sought to exonerate herself.
"Don't worry, it didn't cause any problems or anything, Chandler wasn't upset, he was totally OK with it! In fact, I kind of got the impression there might be somebody else on his radar."
Her skittish chatter faded to white noise in Richard's head as he began to replay his conversation with Monica before he left for the Hamptons, attempting to work out precisely how and when she had managed to mislead him.
He felt the muscles in his jaw tighten when he recalled how her phone conversation with Phoebe had prompted a sudden miraculous recovery from that weekend-long headache, her buoyant encouragement of his night away without her, and how she had gently persuaded him to take Tilly along for the ride.
He cleared his throat when he noticed that Sophie was shifting uneasily from foot to foot.
"No, Monica didn't tell me. But I'm glad it all worked out. Ross is a great guy" he assured her stiffly.
"Well, it probably just slipped her mind" Sophie excused, the look on Richard's face continuing to provoke a feeling of disquiet. "To be honest, I didn't get much of an opportunity to speak with her or Chandler at the play, they were sitting right up at the back."
Something about the way Richard's eyelid twitched made her feel like she had spoken out of turn, and she quickly added "With Rachel too... It was two groups of three..."
Her green eyes were wide with fluster by this point, it felt very much like she had inadvertently dropped Ross's sister in some kind of trouble, and she gulped hard as Richard considered her words with a slow nod.
"Can I get you another coffee? Or a cup of tea?" Sophie stuttered weakly, keen to change the subject and relieved to be able to scuttle from the room when Richard politely declined.
He watched as she eased the door closed behind her, before flopping back heavily in his chair, his tired grey eyes growing dark and misty.
He had really thought things had turned a corner on that score.
He had only laid eyes on Chandler for a matter of seconds this morning, but there had been a marked difference in his behavior. There had been no glances of defiance, no surreptitious looks of longing directed at Monica. Richard had felt cautiously optimistic that the guy had finally got the message.
He pushed his pile of paperwork to one side and reached across the desk to pick up one of the framed photographs that sat in a cluster next to his computer.
It was one of his favorites from his wedding to Monica. It was not a posed photograph, just a candid snapshot that neither of them knew was being taken, depicting a quiet private moment between the two of them, a shared secret smile, intimate and full of hope.
He gazed wistfully at that captured glimpse of happiness before setting it back down and beginning to leaf decisively through his diary, locating the required number and bringing the phone to his ear.
After a few unanswered rings, Dr Palmer's answer machine picked up his call and Richard took a deep breath before leaving the message he should have left weeks ago. Months even.
"Uh hi, it's Richard Burke. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you, everything's been a little crazy this end, and to tell you the truth, I've been a little nervous about following things up. But.. uh.. if you have any time to see me, I'd really appreciate it. I really want to start the New Year on a positive note, you know?"
He sighed, and pressed his eyes closed, knowing that his anxiety was causing him to ramble.
"I think I might want to try again."