A/N: Whoo! This chapter has been a long time coming and will answer those questions about what happened on that fateful night. I know there has been a lot of theories. Some were pretty good, some dark, but they all had interesting explanations or reasons behind them. In the end, this is what resulted in the dream I had that started this whole story. I also want to say that I hope everyone had a nice holiday, and Happy New Year!

Things do get a little spicy here. If you would like to read the uncensored version, you will need to head over to AO3 to check it out. It takes place in the flashback.

Chapter 11

The next couple weeks had been unbearably hellish. All due to the impending holidays.

It was the same thing every year. The final crunching of numbers and data analysis and a never-ending series of deadlines to get it all done before the end of this year's quarter. This meant pulling a lot of late hours and secretly wishing for the painless kiss of death to make it go away.

Chandler would point out in an ironic tone that this was close to a holiday tradition.

With so much to do, there was little time for him to think of anything else.

Or he would have if it hadn't been for one Joey Tribbiani.

Chandler hadn't told him he had taken Kathy out, so the logical explanation on how the actor found out was from their mutual friend: Monica Geller.

Of course, that conversation was a roller coaster hurtling in every direction.

First, Joey was very hurt that Chandler hadn't told him he had called Kathy after all the pestering he did. But his voice did not crack (or so he insisted) by expressing his feelings and he was happy that Chandler took his advice in the end.

Second, he was thrilled that Chandler and Kathy had their date! Quickly followed by the confused "Why would you ask a girl out on Thanksgiving?"

Third, Joey was disappointed Chandler hadn't gone to Monica's for Thanksgiving dinner. Though, that was superseded when it meant there had been more food for him to chow down so he wasn't too sad over Chandler's absence.

Fourth, Joey was extra disappointed that the date didn't end in sex and there was going to be no second date in the end. Then the actor admitted it might have been for the best after all. He didn't want Chandler to get too attached to her and then wind up with a broken heart.

Lastly, this was important advice that Joey felt he needed to impart: sometimes actors will cheat with other actors.

There was another chunk of the story behind Joey and Kathy's breakup that neither disclosed. She had apparently cheated on Joey with her co-star around the same time Joey was also cheating on her too.

Despite having all that great sex, both turned to other people and amicably ended things.

Chandler would have rather known about the cheating than all the sex side of their relationship. In the end, he was relieved that he decided not on pursuing Kathy. If there was something he could take away from his mother was the adage once a cheater always a cheater. In addition, Nora's cheaters in her stories would ultimately experience some sweet karmic justice in the fictional world. Even as an adult, he was traumatized over Serge's freak bike accident that led to a broken penis and the decapitation of one testicle.

Yet, Chandler was curious about Thanksgiving and her true feelings about him declining to come over. However, he didn't want Joey to get the wrong impression or jump to the wrong conclusion regarding him and Monica. He hoped with the actor's propensity to speak without thinking that he would give Chandler some idea of Monica's thoughts.

Sadly, this time Joey didn't oblige. All he told him was that Chandler was part of the trio now—well, gang—and he should be with them to celebrate the holiday next year.

Not exactly what Chandler wanted to hear. Of course, he did like that he was referred as "one of the gang". Chandler, Ross, Joey, and Monica.

Monica.

Since he admitted his crush to himself (and Kathy… he really hoped she would keep it to herself), Chandler needed to work on letting those feelings fade. Previously, another beautiful woman would take the place of his crush. Well, it didn't work with Kathy. Chances where another woman wasn't going to change the fact either. Forget distancing himself from Monica. The only way that would work is if he fired her, and that wasn't going to be an option.

If he couldn't divert his feelings elsewhere and firing her was out of the question, then he needed to change his view of her.

In other words, Monica was his friend, and he needed to continue to treat her as only as a friend. Eventually, his crush will run its course.

So, like any good friend, he did come to her defense when Kathy thought Monica had given up her dream as a chef. Of course, it did remind him he hadn't done as good of a job to ask her about her progress. Partly, Chandler wasn't ready to see her leave, but he hadn't tried to alleviate some of her work to allow her to job hunt like he had promised when he hired her.

There was something else too. He couldn't decide if this was Crush Chandler or Friend Chandler that was responsible. In truth, Monica hadn't been able to make leeway. The interviews she did have yielded no actual job offers, and the closest had been Becker and it was a pathetic attempt to keep her in his life. The lack of calls, the lack of offers all was taking its toll. Monica was putting on a brave front, but it was getting more disheartening.

Perhaps he was trying to keep her from dejection with the work she was doing. Keep her mind focused on her tasks and not on the endless parade of rejections.

All he had to do was conjure the memory of one such day where he found her wiping away tears because she had received bad news for what felt like the umpteenth time.

Putting aside his feelings of losing her at the company, Chandler didn't get it. Monica was a talented chef. A damn good one. What was wrong with these restaurants and owners that weren't giving her a shot? How could they not see her worth?

Monica had once explained that the culinary arts was usually a male dominated field, but Chandler couldn't believe that was the only reason for denying her a job. What about professionals like Julia Child or Alice Waters? Though the sad truth became clear that he couldn't name more than two.

Still… he refused to accept that sexism was the only factor. Monica needed someone to give her a chance to prove herself. Once they see what she was capable of, then they would be begging her to cook for them.

When that moment arrived, Chandler would support her through and through.

Because that's what friends do.

But then Crush Chandler would interject. He felt bad for her (he wasn't a total asshole), yet he happily reminded himself she was there at her desk each day. She was still close by, and he wouldn't have to say goodbye.

He could be selfish a little longer with her as his assistant.

Did he mention he had been dreaming about her?

Yes, another terrible, shameful secret he had been harboring. It started when she had entered his office. First, it was memories resurging. Everything from the day they first met on that Thanksgiving in 1987 to when he and Kelly broke up. Then the dreams became something else. Definitely not friendly in nature.

He had one dream in particular that caused him to wake drenched in sweat and sporting an erection that bordered on painful. He dreamt that he and Monica were in London (why that city he hadn't a clue) and she had been feeling down and he was trying to cheer her up. Before he knew it, he had an armful of Monica Geller pressing up against him and she was kissing him as her life depended on it. They stumbled into bed and what followed was a night of wild, passionate lovemaking.

How he was able to look her in the eye any time his nightly visions were explicitly pornographic.

It was easier when his dreams were very much a fantasy like the London one. Then his dreams became slightly more vivid and closer to home than he would have liked.

And it was terribly cliché too. His mother would either cheer or sneer at him. Chandler dreamt he took her in his office. On her desk. In the elevator. The break room. The conference room—all six of them. Even the desks of their colleagues.

He needed to get laid.

Hopefully soon.

xxXXxx

After months and especially the last few weeks of slaving away, the bigwigs showed their appreciation for the dedicated hard work of the underlings with the traditional office Christmas party. It was the ideal time to cater in a rich dinner and lots of booze for everyone to stuff their faces and drink themselves into a good mood. All with the purpose to keep their spirits up for the rest of the month as their souls were drained away slowly.

Then they repeat it all again next December.

Normally, Chandler would put in the necessary socialization as expected in his position and leave before the drunken Christmas caroling could begin. This year he was thinking he might stay a little longer. Maybe he'll get lucky. The company always used the same catering service and there were some hot waitresses that worked it. Or maybe someone from the office would bring a sister or cousin and he could work that Chandler charm to convince them to come home with him.

He could almost hear Joey's voice encouraging him. It would be the soap opera "doctor's orders."

Chandler had his fair share of one-night stands. It wasn't his favorite despite it scratching that itch. As he sipped his drink, he gazed around the room. Not many contenders… Well, it might be a good or bad thing.

He sighed.

It shouldn't be like this. He had inappropriate crushes before and overcame them. Hell, this wasn't his first crush on Monica! Why now he was struggling? Seriously, he should take a page from Joey and just pick a woman and vigorously pursue her. That might put an end to this feverish need!

Chandler returned his perusal of the party. They were using the largest conference room for the main festivities. The party decorating committee, as always, covered the space from ceiling to walls with festive cheer. A radio was tuned to the local Christmas music station and there was space cleared on the floor for dancing later in the evening. All the previous furniture was stored away at least until the following Monday. Another office was used as the bar and eventual buffet setup. The breakroom and the second largest conference room was the tables and chairs for people to sit and eat.

It wouldn't be long before the rooms and floor would be full. The company was given time to leave early to get themselves ready for the party. Presently, Chandler and a dozen others were back. Several more trickled in and conversations were starting to drown out the music.

He started his circulation as expected in his role. Mingling, small talk… the whole nine yards. He almost attempted Joey's flirtatious line, but he wasn't close to being drunk enough to pull it off confidently.

Who was he kidding? There was no way he could pick someone up at an office party of all places where anyone could witness his folly. He might as well face facts that he was going to go home later alone to a cold bed.

More people arrived and the party was almost in full swing. Yet, Chandler was aware of one particular guest who hadn't shown up. Until she did.

Monica was breathtakingly beautiful in her crimson and shimmering gold embroidered dress; her dark tresses pulled up in a stylish up do, showing off her swan like neck and the delicate curves of her shoulders. Around her throat was a simple gold chain and pearl drop necklace with a pair of pearl studs on her ears.

Naturally, she turned a few heads.

She nodded and murmured greetings to her colleagues as she walked around the room. It was a wonderful and dreadful suspense he felt as Monica eventually found her way to him, a smile on her lips.

But a second later her smile fell.

"Uh, Chandler… who is catering the party?"

The wafting aroma of the evening's dinner entered the room as the hired restaurant passed the hall.

In response, his stomach both grumbled and lurched.

"It's Allesandro's," Chandler grimaced. "As usual, it smells good, but best to eat less to avoid the heartburn."

"Oh." Was it him or did she seem paler than normal? Granted, it was Monica's former employer, but he couldn't understand her reaction. "Excuse me for a second."

She left the room before he could utter another word. He supposed it might be awkward if Monica recognized any of the wait staff. Then again, it had been a while since she worked there, and the likelihood of anyone remembering her was probably slim.

Chandler was reminded once more he didn't know why Monica had left Allesandro's or what her actual job title was. Well, he had his suspicions.

She has her reasons. You did tell her that she could talk to you when she was ready.

He was going to still honor that. Though now he hoped that Monica would have fun at the party regardless of the caterer.

Chandler ran into her again. Monica's color returned to her complexion courtesy of the liquid courage in her hand. He thought about casually bringing up her stint at Allesandro's, but he did promise himself he wouldn't do it. Not until she wanted to. Besides, her smile was back in full force. He didn't want to take it away.

Furthermore, the buffet wasn't ready. It didn't stop the alcohol from being consumed.

Chandler did his obligatory conversations with the higher ups (and to learn what they were doing for the Christmas bonus), and he was ready for another refill. He was walking by to get to the bar when he heard snippets of some of the Allesandro's staff.

"—see her?"

"—can't believe—"

"—no one's going to believe—!"

"I heard she can't—"

It was all very quick and in hushed voices, yet Chandler couldn't shake the feeling that they might have been talking about Monica. He supposed that even former coworkers would want to know how someone was doing. And again, going from a restaurant to an office job is a pretty big leap in difference. He might have been curious to know more if he was in a similar situation.

Half-shrugging to himself, Chandler went to the makeshift bar and ordered a white wine spritzer. Once his new drink was in his hand, he glanced back to see the progress on the buffet. He frowned, noticing two of the group of five were missing. In fact, one of them was gesturing to the other two and pointing, presumably letting them know the direction the others had gone.

It wasn't his business. It could have been about the food for all he knew. Yet, he had this niggling feeling that was coiling around his spine. Maybe he was being paranoid… or he was reading too much into what was right before him.

Still.

He returned to the other room and did a quick survey to see if Monica was around.

That niggling feeling became more pronounced when he couldn't spot her. He needed to find her.

Chandler set his drink down and left as he headed towards the elevators. That had been the direction he had seen that person pointing. As he briskly walked, he wondered if he was jumping to conclusions and began to slow his pace. He could only hear the murmuring of the party, and the lights were dimmed on this side of the floor. He stopped in front of the elevators and instantly felt ridiculous when he could see it was heading down.

What was he doing?

The workers were obviously working, and Monica was likely in the ladies' room. And he was…

Overreacting.

Go back to the party. Maybe get another wine spritzer. He honestly couldn't remember where he had put it when he decided to charge ahead on this whim. Shaking his head, Chandler was about to turn on his heel when he heard Monica's high pitch voice.

Okay. That didn't sound good.

He pivoted and ran to where he heard her, coming to a skidding halt when he saw the backs of the missing workers who were practically cornering Monica. Her eyes were closed, her chest moving in deep breaths, and her face and some loose strands of hair were dripping wet…

Chandler's eyes widened when he realized it must have been her drink that was all over her.

"Oh, look," one of the women sneered. "You spilled your drink on yourself. Wow, Monica. You should really be careful what with your drinking problem and all. What would your coworkers think?"

"C'mon, now. It must be difficult for her. What else can she do when no one wants her to work for them? Chef Geller reduced to a lowly assistant in some dead-end office. I think she found her place finally," the other one laughed.

"Just leave me alone!" Monica's voice sounded broken, weak. She still hadn't opened her eyes, and her chin was quivering as if she was holding very tightly to the reins on her emotions. This didn't look like Monica. Hell, it didn't sound like her. "I don't work at Allesandro's anymore. Isn't that enough?"

"'Isn't that enough?'" the first woman mocked. "That's rich considering what you did. You really should have thought twice if you think leaving was enough. You shouldn't have pissed everyone off."

"Please," Monica pleaded. "You made your point. You all did. Just stop. I quit like you wanted, and no one has been willing to hire me. I know someone is saying something, and it has gone on for too long. I got it. What else do you want from me?"

Chandler heard enough. Before they could answer Monica, he jumped in.

"What the Hell is going on here? Are you seriously harassing her? And is that a drink on her dress? I hope you're prepared to pay for the dry cleaning for starters."

He delighted in the way those women had started, not expecting they would be found. The terrified expressions on their faces were somewhat satisfying. Until one tried to regain her composure.

"We didn't. It's not… She did that—"

"Because of her 'drinking problem'?" Chandler interrupted with air quotes. "Seems to me you're holding the smoking gun—Angela." He looked at the other name tag. "And Victoria. Don't bother with your excuses. I'm calling your boss and reporting this. I think it's about time we rethink our contract with Allesandro's, especially if this kind of unprofessional conduct is to be expected towards one of my staff."

It was clear they realized how far they went. Too bad, he thought. They should have thought about that before they decided to go after Monica. "Get out."

The women didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled away, no doubt going to tell their colleagues what happened. Let them. I will be making that phone call. I'm sure I could even get a couple of other higher ups to agree with me to cancel that contract. Even better… if those two were fired then I would consider this paid in full.

But first things first.

He went to check on Monica. She was shaking and tears were pooling in her eyes. Gingerly, Chandler touched her cheek, and that simple touch was all it took for her to fall into his arms, burying her face into his shoulder as she cried. Immediately his arms encircled around her, holding her tightly, as he let one hand run up and down her back in comfort. It took her a minute to stop trembling, and another for her to lift her tear-stained face to his. Then her gaze shifted her to where she cried on him.

"I got your jacket wet."

Chandler gave her a half-grin. "That's not important. What was that all about? Why were those women harassing you?" He could feel her flinching from his sharp tone, but he wasn't directing it at her. He was furious and concerned at what he witnessed. He also really didn't like seeing Monica in this way. She appeared so small, so fragile. This was not the Monica Geller he knew. Even when she had her low moments, he never saw her like this where she was curling almost inside of herself.

Inhaling shakily, Monica stepped back and wrapped her arms around herself. "It's—" He could see she was going to deny it, deflect the situation, or worse… make excuses.

"Don't," he told her. "I want to know the truth."

She lifted her tearful eyes to him when suddenly both jolted, hearing the loud cheers from the party. They might have been on the other side of the building, but they weren't exactly in a private space. Also, Monica seemed aware of the wet patch on her dress.

Without saying another word, they both retreated towards his office. Monica stopped at her desk first and opened her bottom drawer. He gazed down to see an assortment of cleaning supplies that were neatly arranged. She picked up a tiny spray bottle and a dry hand towel. First, she blotted the area and then spritzed the stain. After a minute, she dabbed it again with the towel. Then, she grabbed another towel to pat her face and her hair.

The motions of cleaning up seemed to have calmed her. Her shoulders weren't quaking, and the tears had subsided. He could see the real Monica returning from that dispirited shell he had seen minutes ago. Chandler released a relieved breath to see the familiar woman in front of him.

She returned the spray into its proper place. The towels she rolled up and tucked back into the drawer. Then she pushed the drawer back in its place and nodded to his office. Even by her desk they could be overheard and seen.

Once they were safely inside, Chandler closed the door and took a seat next to Monica by his desk. He angled it so he could look at her better, but still kept some room between them so he wasn't crowding her. His fingers were interlaced as he leaned forward, waiting for her to speak.

Finally, Monica spoke.

"I wasn't honest with you before, and frankly, I didn't want you to know. I was embarrassed, ashamed, and… I didn't want you to be disappointed."

His eyebrows leapt to his hairline. Not what he expected her to say, let alone begin to explain what happened back there. "What are you talking about, Monica?" What wasn't she honest about?

She continued as if she didn't hear him. "Out of everyone I knew… you were the one who always believed in me. You always supported me and I-I couldn't bear to tell you that I failed."

Her voice quietly choked on the last word as she began sniffling anew. He blinked as her words rolled around in his head. Oh my God… She was talking about her being a chef. But… he knew she wasn't one. That was the whole point of her coming to that interview to be his assistant.

Chandler reached across his desk to grab the box of tissues and held it up for her to grab a sheet. As she wiped at her nose, he said gently, "You can't blame yourself. The job market can be tough. Just because you haven't found a chef's job yet doesn't mean it won't happen—"

"That's not it, Chandler," she interrupted. "Part of it is. But that's not the full story."

"Tell me the beginning," he beseeched. "I want to know."

So, she did. During her story, Chandler started to see all the pieces come together to the extent of her plight and the misery she endured for the last year. Now, he understood why Ross and Joey meant when they told him how happy she was to work for him. If he had known beforehand, well, Chandler didn't know what he would have done but he would have tried something.

It started three years ago when Monica had been promoted as the head lunch chef and purchaser. It had been a big step that would have brought her closer to being executive chef. Iridium was popular and pulled in a lot of business and it was a dream job. She had been hired as a prep cook after culinary school and was slowly moving up the ranks. It was going so well!

Until their meat vendor changed.

That decision was made before her promotion, and the new vendor gave her some steaks. Monica thought it was a complimentary gift; however, her boss saw it as a kickback, which violated their policy, and she was immediately fired.

She couldn't believe that after all the years of loyalty and hard work she put into there, she was kicked to the curb. They didn't even allow her to explain!

From that point on, Monica floated from job to job, hoping for another break. This included her stint at the Moondance Diner. She had worked doubling as waitress and line cook. Of course she did this in that embarrassing and hideous costume. It was humiliating but it was a job and paycheck. She swallowed her pride every time she had to walk in for her shift. The waitressing she could handle, although the cooking was another story. There was no flexibility to change the menu or create new specials. Any ideas she had were rejected before she could finish describing them. Yet the diner would accept ideas from customers from their stupid comment cards. Like Joey's idea that the blonde wigged waitress should have bigger boobs. He meant it as a joke until she showed up to work where her boss handed her the foam cups that bumped her into at least a DDD.

She could have killed him.

Then she met Pete. To her, he was only a customer. A regular customer who came in far too often. Yes, he was nice and pleasant to talk to. He would commiserate with her and he would take her recommendations on the menu as limited as she liked about it. She had no idea he was harboring a crush on her. Apparently, his idea of flirting was ordering what she suggested. Then he started asking her out.

Most men would accept a "no" and be done with it. Not Pete. Eventually, that became history after the infamous tip. At that point, Monica couldn't go back to work. Bad enough she was degrading herself every time she walked through those doors. The situation with Pete was the final nail in the coffin.

Monica was back to being unemployed. This time it was a welcome relief. Not that her parents understood it. Thankfully, Ross and Joey supported her decision to quit. Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long for another lucky break. Or what she believed it was to be.

A friend of hers had asked her to fill in as a food critic for a week. It was certainly different from what she wanted to do, but she thought if she did a good enough job then a restaurant would recognize her skills and would want to hire her.

It just happened that her assignment was to go to Allesandro's. The food was awful, especially the marinara sauce, which tasted like tomato juice. The owner, furious with the review, demanded a retraction. Instead, she made him a sauce that would make Italy proud (not Lebanon where the owner was from), and he offered her a job on the spot.

"I know I lied and said I wasn't the chef there, but if you knew what happened… you would be disappointed. And part of me was worried you would take back the job offer as your assistant."

"No, I wouldn't," he objected.

"See it from my point of view. We hadn't seen each other in years. People change. I was scared that you would have followed up at my last job and that was it. I was so mad at myself for putting it on there, but you didn't know. I was safe with this job here as long as you never found out. You have to remember Chandler—I was desperate."

Chandler nodded, following along. "All right. You're the head chef like you always wanted. What changed?"

In exchange, the previous head chef was fired. There was no way around it. Chef Emilio might have had been talented years ago, but he had lapsed in his ability to produce quality food. Chefs come and go. Nothing in her review was a lie. It was the truth. Other food critics had their share of negative comments towards Chef Emilio. Monica would have deemed hers to be the nicest in comparison.

Yet, that didn't matter.

She found out on day one that three of the staff were Emilio's children and several were nieces and nephews. To say his relatives weren't pleased with the situation was an understatement. They didn't like Monica as the one in charge. She brushed it off, thinking their anger would go away. She didn't fault them for being upset that Emilio was fired. But that wasn't her who did it. She figured they would get over it once she returned Allesandro's back to its respectability.

Nope.

Almost immediately they all started hazing her. At first it had been annoying, though harmless things. Hiding or moving ingredients around. They even switched the salt and sugar. Luckily, she tasted as she cooked so she was able to fix it before any food went out to a customer. Then they started to not "understand" her or claim they couldn't speak English while doing so in perfect English.

Stupid stuff.

Yet, it quickly escalated to writing fake specials that disrupted service, waiters switching tables, food being delivered to the wrong table and thus sent back. She would find herself often remaking meals three to six times during dinner.

Of course, the mistreatment didn't stop there.

They would hide her chef's jacket and hat, and one time they had set her jacket on fire by throwing it in the oven. Another time they wrote "Quit Bitch" across her hat. Another they locked her in the walk-in for an hour. The fact she got sick didn't stop the senseless cruelty.

However, things became progressively worse once the Allesandro's staff found out about her being fired prior. Even though it had been over a year ago, it was the fodder they needed to ramp up the abuse. Food and equipment started disappearing. Even the alcohol sales weren't matching up with the amounts left.

It had all the appearances of someone stealing from the restaurant.

"Where was the owner during this?" Chandler demanded. "Didn't he know this was going on?"

"No," Monica murmured. "Allesandro wasn't a hands-on owner. He came in once or twice a week and would spend most of his time in the dining room. And his arrival wasn't a secret. He always called ahead of time. Everyone would be on their best behavior. They also knew he wouldn't fire me since my food was making him money. Their only option was to force me to quit."

"What happened next?" he asked, dreading the rest of her story.

She discovered that nearly everyone was responsible for taking something from the kitchen or bar. Despite hating confrontations, Monica was prepared to take action, but they turned the tables. They warned her if she fired anyone, then they would tell Alessandro that it was she who was stealing. It would be they said, she said. Everyone would support each other in saying they weren't involved. Plus, Allesandro knew the staff very well, and who was he going to believe more?

"I had no choice. They were setting me up. Allesandro might have been clueless, but he would notice the discrepancies in time. It would fall on me to be accountable. So, I made the decision to quit. I thought that would be the end of it." Shaking her head, Monica had new tears slipping down her cheek. "I stupidly underestimated how vindicative they were. You know those job interviews I had? How I said they decided to go in a different direction? Well, the staff had connections, and if my name was mentioned, then a call would be made to convince the restaurants I wasn't chef material. No one wants to hire a problematic chef, especially one with a history already."

She covered her face. "I made one dumb mistake! Or two if you count my review. How was I supposed to know that they would carry a grudge for this long? No matter what… it follows me! I will never work in a kitchen again. The only hope, the only chance I had I gave up because I wanted to earn it. There's nothing I can do. Nothing."

Chandler knew she meant Becker, and now he felt bad talking her out of it. He only meant to be helpful, reminding her how she would regret taking something that was handed to her. No doubt the memory of Allesandro's also played a role in that decision too. After all, the owner hired her after sampling a sauce. He was appalled, infuriated, and wanted nothing more to go to those people and have security remove them. He didn't care if his coworkers would hate his guts for ruining the Christmas party. He didn't want them under the same roof as Monica.

Of course, he didn't realize he had said it out loud until she gasped. "Chandler, no! It's not worth it."

He snapped his head up. "Why not? Like they deserve any favors? Mon, they are borderline harassing you. Hell, I would even say they are stalking you!"

"I know," she exclaimed. "But I don't have any proof. At least nothing that will hold up. I have to keep my head low and give it more time before applying again." Monica inhaled deeply. "And, look, I wasn't exactly forthcoming with you either about my job history. You have a right to be mad at me too."

"Monica, you can't think that. Why would you… I could never be mad at you. Not over this." Chandler's hands were itching to do something other than clutching his knees. He noticed a strand of her hair became loose once more as it laid upon her cheek. Reaching over, he tucked the unruly curl behind her ear and allowed his fingertip to gingerly graze along her jawline.

Her blue eyes bore into his and he was glad that she was no longer crying or sniffling. His heart sped up as she leaned into his touch, her hot breath caressing his wrist. At least she didn't seem bothered by his comfort. She wasn't pulling away or telling him to back off. Then again, she had been holding all that in for a long time, and he could imagine how emotionally drained she must be. She probably didn't have the energy to push him away.

"I'm mad at myself."

Her brow furrowed as Monica sat up, breaking their contact. "What?"

Chandler returned his hand to his lap, his knee bouncing nervously. "I'm mad at myself. This shouldn't have happened to you."

"I know that!" she exclaimed. "But I don't know why you're mad at yourself. You had nothing to do with this."

Chandler stood up, his hands flailing in the air. "Exactly!"

This had Monica jumping up. Indignation now took over. "Are you kidding me?! Why does it matter to you?"

"It matters a lot!" he retorted. "I-I could have helped you."

"Help me… how?" Monica hissed. "You weren't even there, Chandler."

"I know!" Chandler shouted sharply, making her start. "I wasn't there, Monica!"

Her jaw dropped ungraciously, gaping at him in disbelief. Then, she lifted her shoulders to look him squarely in the face. "And whose fault was that?"

They stared at each other, their chests moving almost in sync due to their quickened breaths. Monica's accusation hung heavily between them as it became very apparent about the other issue they always skirted around, but never brought up. The elephant in the room.

Chandler never felt he would be prepared for this conversation. Hell, he still didn't feel he was ready for it. Yet here they were facing it… dragging it out in the open, kicking and screaming despite their wishes.

But she wasn't done.

"You left Chandler," Monica stated coldly. "You LEFT. No explanation. No goodbye. Poof! GONE!"

"I don't need a recap."

"Well, obviously, you do," she shot back. "Then again… maybe I ought to thank you."

"What?!"

Monica grinned. There was no trace of humor in it. "Uh-huh. You helped me to realize that no man—including my best friend—would ever want me as I was. So…" She exaggeratedly ran her hands down her body. "I lost all that weight and kept it off. And guess what? I was suddenly hot and desirable. Thank you, Chandler, so much!"

The sarcasm was like venom in his ears, but the glare in her eyes and the unfeeling smile cut right through him as he could only open and close his mouth like a fish out of water. Then his body finally reacted, his spine snapping straight and his jaw cracked.

"That's not what happened! How could you—Why would you think I'm shallow like that?! I never—"

"Get off your high horse, Chandler!" Monica snarled. "I was there too!"

"But that's not what it was!"

"Then what was it!?" she cried, moving forward, her eyes glittering with unchecked rage.

"That's… who wouldn't want you?!"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't get me started, Chandler Bing. I'm really not in the mood to hear your excuses."

"You're gonna!" he yelled. "You were always the most beautiful woman I've ever known!"

Clearly, that was the last thing she expected him to say. "What?!"

"You're the most beautiful woman ever. That hasn't changed. Not after all these years."

Before Monica could utter another "what", he cupped her face with both hands and jerked her towards him. Her chest collided against him as his lips came crashing down on hers. He felt her gasp, the surprised intake of breath, her mouth parting under his. It was all he needed to angle his head to deepen the kiss.

Her fingers crept up and instead of pushing him… she was pulling him closer, her nails digging into his skull as the other twisted in his hair. It was hard to tell who was moaning, likely both, but the sound sent shockwaves of pleasure down his back to his belly.

Oh my God! His mind groaned. Her touch, her taste! The fact it was wholly Monica… Chandler lapped it up. He could still remember that first kiss in his dorm room, the numerous kisses of that night, and now the desire ignited in him was spiraling out of control.

He forcibly pulled himself away, swallowing deep gulps of air, but still he held her close as he looked down into her lidded eyes and her cherry red lips, now deliciously swollen and quivering. Slowly, she opened her eyes—they were glazed over in a daze, her pupils blown and dilated.

She whimpered.

It took every ounce of strength in Chandler to not swoop back in and claim her lips once more. He had one more thing to say. The moment of truth that he had kept in him for all these years.

"I left because I wanted you so fucking much!"

xXx

The instant their lips met; Chandler was a goner. It was just like that night at the mixer—a spark that electrified him down into his soul. He never knew a kiss could have such an impact. Even the roots of his hair were standing up! How he convinced himself before that it meant nothing or didn't feel incredible was beyond him. He doubted the alcohol had any sway over how amazing this kiss was.

The only reason it had to be because it was Monica. This time she was awake and there was no mistaking the fact she was kissing him back. It wasn't until his lungs were burning that he had to let up, mentally cursing the stupid need to breathe. The expression on her face was that of drugged awe. She tentatively touched her lips, the wonderment in her voice as she whispered:

"It was you. Y-You kissed me." Her mouth curved upwards. "My midnight kiss…" Then as quickly as the realization hit her, a flash of horror came after. "You were the good kiss and—" Whatever it was, she didn't finish the sentence. Instead, Monica reached for him, and he willingly went as they kissed again.

There was hunger behind this one. Tongues too. Any previous notions of being gentle were gone. His hands were everywhere at once—stroking, caressing, and pawing. No matter where they went, he knew he wanted more.

Monica panted then softly keened as he moved his lips to her chin and down her neck, suckling her pulse point. Sweetness. He nibbled the flesh and laved the spot with his tongue, feeling her shudder and gasping.

More.

He moved in closer, pressing his front against her, driving her back into the pool table. Monica's gasp this time wasn't that pleasant. She grumbled about the "stupid bow," and he couldn't help the chuckle as he stepped back to give her room. Monica didn't hesitate as she lifted herself to sit on the edge and pushed the balls that were nearby away. Then she was grasping his shoulders, tugging him back to his previous position. It was the leverage he needed and the access they craved.

He cradled her jaw with his palm as he resumed his exploration of the little dip at her throat, then skimming the tips of his teeth across her collarbone. He was moaning insensibly as her hands pushed at his jacket before trailing down to his waistband to grip his shirt. It felt like every fiber was on fire as she yanked the material out of his pants. He hissed when her nail caught his skin underneath. He barely heard the soft apologies as she moved to his tie. The pressure was soon released as he could feel the tie slipping out of its knot and then sliding out of his collar.

Just a tiny thing, but he was grateful as his hands moved to her hips, giving her a slight squeeze. He could feel her gripping his shoulders again, though he barely noticed the tremors. Not when his face was nuzzled against her heaving bosoms.

Chandler's brain was a fogged cloud of lust as he moved his right hand to cup the fullness of her breast. Years ago, he had accidentally touched her, and the sensation did burn his fingertips as briefly as it was. The next time his hands touched a breast had been Kelly. She had some curves, but Monica was more well-endowed in comparison and that thought was turning him on more.

He closed his mouth over her covered breast, his saliva dampening the velvet. Her moans grew louder, fueling his desire as his body tightened. He opened wider, trying to encompass more and flicking his tongue near her nipple, causing her hips to shift. The buzzing in his head intensified as the heat climbed higher in his body and Monica's raspy voice only heightened his desire.

Chandler moved to now touch his lips to the top of her breast, tasting her skin. Her left hand dug into his shoulder as her right arm shifted out of her sleeve to adjust her neckline, partially revealing her breast. He covered her with his mouth, lightly sucking; at the same time, he pulled the other side of her dress. His hand began to move against her skin, feeling the slight hardening of her bud.

Not enough. More. He still wanted more.

Switching his mouth and hand, he continued his actions, his breath quickening as he touched her. He looked to see the effect and… he was captivated. He was mesmerized by the contrast of her pale skin against the dark burgundy of her dress.

Once the other side received similar attention, he let his hands roam as he encouraged her to lean back on the green felt. He felt a thrill as Monica complied, her hands moving from his shoulders to his hair, her fingers tangling in the strands. He felt her tense as he slipped his hand under her dress. His fingertips lightly skimmed her inner thigh, eliciting a soft gasp as her trembling intensified.

This encouraged him as he moved upwards and met her underwear. He lightly touched her—the warmth and slight dampness of the fabric causing a reaction as she shifted beneath him.

Chandler lifted his gaze to finally look at her face. She was lying flat on the table, her eyes tightly squeezing shut, nostrils flaring, and her mouth hanging open with every drawing breath.

"Please" came the breathless plea from his best friend.

His best friend.

That thought was the sudden shock that sobered him instantly.

Chandler scrambled off her, ripping his hand out from under her. He was… he almost… He abjectly stared with dawning clarity that he had been kissing and touching Monica (Ross's little sister) in her most intimate places. Both his libido and guilt warred at the rough manner he had pawed at her, his jaw aching over how he consumed her.

And holy fuck, Batman… Monica looked flushed and disarrayed. Her hairdo was mussed, and her lipstick was smudged. A faint mark was visible at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He remembered the passion of their embrace, the way he had touched and kissed her, his attention lingering on her chest.

Gone was the caveman impulse to leave his imprint. Gone was the roaring lust in his blood.

They had been drinking and playing that childish game that became heady with those personal questions. Then learning he had been her first kiss… It had been a rush to his head, and she was looking so goddamn beautiful with those big, blue eyes and those luscious lips she was chewing on. It was a siren call that he was helpless to resist, and the temptation was too much for him.

Too far. He went too far. It should have been a kiss… Oh, God… what if she was still a virgin? A wave of horror washed over him if he had continued his drunken lust. They were in no position to be making this decision, especially if he suspected her inexperience.

It was at that point that Chandler became painfully aware of something else.

Stupidly, he raised his hand to find clinging between his fingertips was a pair of panties, which had a visible damp spot on them. His face radiated heat that he had removed in his haste to move away.

Fuck… he was holding Ross's baby sister's panties. If Ross for some reason had returned…

Chandler didn't want to think about it. He would have been a dead man.

A justifiable homicide.

Why am I holding them still? He thought panickily and flung them, but it was too late. He was branded with the shame that he betrayed his best friend's trust. Both Ross and Monica. All because he couldn't control himself.

"I'm sorry, Mon," he mumbled, closing his eyes and turning away from her. He couldn't look at her. It was his fault… His fault…

There was a long pause. Of course, she must be coming to her senses. He couldn't bear to look into her eyes and see the alarm in them, especially at how he had exposed her. She probably thought he was some kind of boob pervert, and she wouldn't be wrong. What he done… He didn't do that with Kelly. In fact, he never ravaged her the way he did to his best friend. It was like he had been possessed, a starved man not thinking about what he was putting in his mouth.

And God help him… He wanted to do it again.

NO! This is Monica! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Chandler screamed at himself.

He wished he knew.

It was quiet. Too quiet but then he heard the slight groan of the table and the soft tap of her shoes as she returned to the ground. He still couldn't bring himself to meet her reproaching gaze, and he stood there like a fool with his throat feeling dry and his tongue too heavy for words. He half-expected her to slap him, yell at him. He was bracing for it.

Yet, Monica did nothing. She, too, was silent.

No doubt she was in a state of shock realizing that her best friend—the man she could always trust—had mauled her. Everything he had told her from a guy's perspective about sex came hurtling at him, and his knees buckled at the enormity that he could have irrevocably destroyed their friendship.

Wait. No, he did destroy it. From the very second, he kissed her. The mixer had been the beginning of the damnation. Now, he had really stepped into hell. How could she bear to be around him? And why wasn't she saying something?!

Chandler ventured a glance in her direction. She wasn't facing him. She kept her back to him as her hands ran through her hair, trying to return it to some semblance of the original style.

"We, uh, should lock up," he said, his voice sounding foreign to him. He was at a loss for what to say anyways.

Monica nodded, acknowledging she heard him.

They kept their distance as Chandler collected the empty beer bottles to put into the kitchen sink while Monica straightened up the pool table and cue sticks. She locked the front door and shut the lights off. Only the lights in the kitchen remained on as they walked out to the back door. He waited patiently as she flipped the switch off, locked the door, and then hid the keys in the mounted mailbox.

He trailed behind her as they went around the building to the sidewalk and then over to the apartment entrance. The entire time he escorted her to Number 20, they didn't speak a word. It was unnerving this painful and awkward silence and there was no one to blame but Chandler for causing it in the first place. He couldn't even conjure his go-to defense mechanism to deflect. Of course, if he did it would be tone deaf for what happened between them. The last thing Chandler wanted was to make it even worse than it was.

And he knew he would.

At last, they approached the landing of the apartment. Chandler stayed near the stairs as Monica lumbered to her door.

"Monica?" he asked softly.

Her shoulders tensed but she turned her head, her eyes downcast.

His stomach coiled. This was uncharacteristic of her. She couldn't even look at him… Chandler wanted to see Monica as her happy, bubbly self. But he ruined it.

And bastard as he was, he wanted to push her up against the door and fasten his mouth over hers.

There was something seriously wrong with him.

Thankfully, a mental image of a furious Ross clocking him for kissing his sister killed any lingering horniness.

Chandler sighed. What could he say to make things better? How could he salvage their friendship?

"Um… good night."

Good night… Good night!? That's the best you could say?!

Monica lifted her head, her lips pressed together in a thin line. She still wasn't looking at him, but he thought he caught a lone tear in the corner of her eye. She quickly turned and slipped inside the dark apartment, and he heard the tell-tale click of the deadbolt.

Shakily, he released his breath and stuck his hands into his hair. The damage was done. There was no way to fix this. His gaze shifted to the apartment across from hers… Number 19. Ross told him that it was going to be available soon, and it would be great if Chandler could get it.

He could practically hear Ross saying, "Nana is actually planning on moving out and is going to let Monica take over. If you live across from her, then I know it will give me peace of mind that she has another brother to watch over her."

Chandler let out a derisive snort. There was nothing brotherly to how he felt and what he had done to her. It didn't matter that alcohol was involved. It was unforgiveable. There was no going back or forgetting this happened.

He couldn't live with the fact that he hurt Monica and effectively destroyed their friendship.

By the time he left the building, Chandler made up his mind. There was no way he could see Ross with the searing memory of Monica sprawling on that pool table and him holding the evidence of her arousal. The guilt would be all over him and Ross would rightfully murder him. It was normal for people to drift apart. Even college friends and roommates could stop being friends. Over time, Chandler Bing would be a memory, an anecdote when reveling in memories. If he were to see Ross again, then it would probably be a reunion, and they could be cordial acquaintances.

And Monica?

Chandler knew she was destined for greatness. Whenever she opens her own restaurant, he will support her even if she doesn't remember him.

TBC…

A little angsty there, but we will pick up with Monica and Chandler in his office in the next one. There will also be some more developments too. ;)

Again, thank you for all your support!