AN: Very, very, very, very VERY sorry for the delay. I hope this chapter makes up for it. Probably from now on there will be a new post about once a month. I'm trying to work on some other stories and job hunt, so I'm not sure when I'll post next. Thanks to all who remembered this story and took time to review and encourage me to get with it.

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"Wh-what?"

"I'm pregnant," Monica repeats, sitting back and allowing Ross a view of her round belly. He gapes at it dumbfounded.

"How far along are you?"

"About six months. Twenty-six weeks, actually."

"Who's the father?"

Ahh, the money question. I open my mouth and attempt to summon my courage.

"I am."

That proclamation came easier than I expected. I sit back and wait calmly for the inevitable explosion. Ross' eyes dart to my face in incredulity.

"You knocked up my sister!" Ross shouts, eliciting the attention of everyone in the restaurant, some people on the sidewalk, and a group of senior quilters three buildings away.

"Shh," I hiss, trying to quiet Ross down, "not exactly."

"Not, n-not exactly? Well, what, exactly, do you call that?" He gestures to Monica's grossly distended abdomen.

"Okay, that looks bad," I agree, "but hear me out."

"Hear you out?" he roars, and over his shoulder I can see the maitre'd whispering to our waiter. "You slept with my sister!"

"It wasn't like that!" I protest feebly. Oh, God, I am going down in flames.

"Uh, excuse me? I have a son. Trust me. To get that—"again Ross gestures to Monica's stomach, "—it's exactly 'like that'. I can't believe you'd do that! Monica, what were you thinking?" he adds not missing a breath.

"Uh, excuse me?" she retorts testily.

"Oh, God, this wasn't some I'm-never-gonna-get-married-and-have-a-baby-biological-clock-ticking-sperm-donor kind of thing, was it?"

"What?!"

"Mon, I know how much you want a baby, but believe me you could have found somebody to spend your whole life with and raise a family. The right guy is out there. He's caring loving, and a wonderful father and a wonderful husband," he emphasizes. "You don't have to settle."

"Gee, thanks," I reply sarcastically.

"And you," he says turning to me red-faced, "I can't believe you went along with this."

"Along with what?" I expel.

"This…this..this." He gestures to Monica. I cross my arms over my chest. "I thought you'd have a little more common sense than to go along with a plan like this. I mean, really, what did you do? Leap at the chance to screw my sister?"

My mouth drops open in surprise.

"Hey!" Both Phoebe and Rachel exclaim.

"I didn't just screw your sister," I state furiously. "How can you even say that? I've always treated your sister with respect."

"Oh, come on. I know you used to have the hots for her."

Rachel and Phoebe look over at me with interest.

"She's depressed," Ross continues, undaunted, "wants to have a baby, and you're presented with an opportunity you can't say no to."

The scary thing is, there is some small sliver of truth in Ross' accusations as to how we really came together. I wouldn't necessarily say I leapt at the chance, but I certainly hopped. And just substitute "slightly drunk and willing" for "wants to have a baby" and there's pretty much the story of London.

"Hey, that's not fair to Chandler!" Joey cries.

"Yeah!" Rachel chimes in. "You don't know Chandler at all if you really think that."

"And besides, what makes you think out of all the guys Monica could ask for sperm she would choose Chandler," Phoebe pipes in. "I mean, there are much better guys than Chandler." Thanks, Pheebs. "Take Joey, for instance."

Joey gives Phoebe a pleased smile.

"Look," Monica snaps, the word firing out of her mouth with the effect of a pistol shot. "I wasn't settling, or looking for a sperm donor. Chandler's sweet, he's smart, and funny. He's caring, he me treats with respect and love. He's a great husband, and I know he'll be a great father." She smiles at me, sending a welcome blast of heat in her otherwise icy expression.

"Husband?" Ross intones, wrinkling his forehead in confusion. "Did you say husband?"

"That's right. Husband. Not one night stand, not mistake, not neighbor, or good friend, or sperm donor with a face. Husband."

Ross looks absolutely astounded.

"You two are married?" He points at us. Monica shows him her wedding ring and I nod, not trusting myself to speak. "Is this for real? You married my sister? When did this happen?"

"A couple of years ago," I admit.

"What! You guys have been married for two years—and—this—how--when—how long have you two been…together," he manages, looking as though he just managed to pass a large walnut down his esophagus.

"Since, well, since London," Monica says, glancing at me.

Ross shoots out of his chair, sending it crashing into the table behind us. I see the maitre'd striding determinedly in our direction as I help pick languine off our neighboring patron's lap. After a rather too personal impersonal swipe she knocks my hand away with an indignant squawk. I straighten in time to greet our maitre'd.

"Monsieur," he says in stilted tones. I give him an apologetic smile. He sniffs in disdain at the mess around us and turns back to me.

"Monsieur, I am afraid I will have to ask you and your party to leave."

"I understand," I say, reaching carefully inside my pants pocket. "But I'm sure we can all come to an understanding and enjoy a peaceful dinner." I get my fingers wrapped around the twenty and watch as it flutters to the floor when I try to slip it to the maitre'd. Monica sighs quite loudly and I look at her defensively.

"What? I did everything right. He dropped it." She just rolls her eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," Ross says, righting his chair and issuing his own trite apology to the mix. "We won't cause any more trouble again." He looks to the pasta-covered couple. "Really. I promise." They scowl and turn their heads with a "harrumph!"

We all manage to resume our chairs and, as a measure of good faith, resume eating our dinners quietly, no one talking for a good ten minutes. Then the silence gets the better of Ross.

"You guys have been together since London? That's like, five years!"

I nod, still not trusting myself to speak. Monica raises her eyebrows, but remains quiet.

"How could—how-how did—how, how, how?"

"Do you really want to know?" she asks dryly, reaching for her water.

"Yes—my best friend and my sister?" I'm surprised after all these years of nothing that Ross would still consider me that. I'm not sure that after half a decade of avoidance I'm so charitable. My first instinct, in fact, is to say no. But perhaps it was a slip, something mumbled in confusion when words fail to truly express what it is you're feeling.

"So seriously," Ross persists when no one offers any details. "How did it happen? You guys were friends for years. What—what made that change?"

Honestly, I'm not sure. Maybe it was the alcohol. It had to be the alcohol. Because without it, Monica would have never have gotten drunk. And then she wouldn't have come to my room. And she wouldn't have been so uninhibited as to full on kiss me. Or sleep with me, for that matter. But thank god she did. I can't imagine how pathetic and depressing my life might have been had she not decided that night to get her groove on with me.

"We just…" Monica begins, surprising me. I didn't think anyone was ever really going to answer. I'm not sure if Ross has earned the answer to that complicated question.

"I don't know. We just suddenly saw each other differently. I don't really know how to explain it," she says, trying to dismiss the subject.

"I do. You got hammered and did the nasty with Chandler," Phoebe offers.

CRASH! "What!"

Joey jumps up and rights Ross' chair. Rachel comes around and makes her apologies. Monica and I exchange looks as I see our maitre'd making his way to our table. This time he looks pretty ticked off. This is reinforced by the subtle motioning of his hand that produces two bodyguard-like busboys at his side.

"Monsieur Bing. If you do not leave the premises I will have you removed!"

"We're going," Monica jumps up. Or tries to, but it's pretty difficult when you're six months pregnant. "We're very sorry," she offers. One of the busboys actually growls.

"Honey, let's just grab your coat and go, okay?" I say, inching her away from the culinary triumvirate bearing down on us.

"You know what, that's fine. Let's get out of here." Monica grabs her coat and purse and starts pushing her way to the exit.

"Yeah, let's make like a tree and split," Phoebe agrees.

"Leave," I can't help but correct.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Monica cuts in, giving me a warning look.

We spill out onto the sidewalk amidst a shuffle of coats and feet and hurled insults.

Everyone stares at everyone else, before Phoebe says pleasantly, "Well, that was a wonderful dinner. We should really do it again sometime, Ross. But not too soon. TAXI!" She bellows causing the five of us and four other patrons nearby to jump. A cab swerves at her hand signal and she disappears into the cab before any one can react.

"Yeah, I need to get back, too," Joey announces hesitantly. "Early day tomorrow."

"Yeah, I should go. The, uh, Emma's…" We nod in understanding. "We" as in Monica and I. Ross just stands there with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Share a cab?" Joey offers.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Rachel smiles, her first of the evening I think. "See you guys later. Ross."

"Yeah, uh, yeah, bye Ross." Joey offers before turning to hold the car door open for Rachel and settling in beside her.

"And then there were three," I remark.

"And then there was one," Ross corrects glumly. "Look, I'm—I'm sorry about this evening. Everything's…everything's been a big surprise, and…and I'm sorry," he finishes lamely. "You guys…I understand if you don't want…if you never want…"

"Come on, let's go home," Monica interrupts, turning to walk down the street to where our car is parked.

"Yeah. Later, guys. And Chandler," I turn to face him again. Monica stops. "Thanks for trying, man."

I nod. "Sorry," I offer, not sure why I'm apologizing, but I realize I am sorry that things didn't work themselves out. Even though our evening was far from pleasant I missed the six of us being together.

"Come on, I'm freezing," Monica says softly. I nod again and check my pockets for the car keys. We start walking towards our parking space when Monica abruptly turns again.

"Come on, Ross. It's too damned cold to dawdle outside all night."

Ross and I both stare at her in surprise. She returns my look with a shrug and says, "We'll discuss it in the morning."

Ross' face breaks out into a grin and he hurries to catch up. "Thank you," he offers quietly. Monica wraps her coat tighter around her rounded midsection and presses her lips together.

"This isn't over," she says finally, as I pull out our car keys. "You've still got a lot of explaining to do." She fixes Ross with one of her stares. "But I'm too tired tonight to listen to it."

"I know. I—we'll talk in the morning," Ross promises. We walk on a few more paces in silence.

"Hey, isn't home the other way from here?" Ross observes as we round the corner. I click the unlock button on the key fob and hear the alarm chime off.

"Not anymore," Monica replies tiredly.

Looks like we still have a lot of explaining to do.