A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone! They are wholeheartedly appreciated. I'm glad you guys thought the ping-pong innuendos enjoyable. I sure did. Anyway, this is the last part; consider it my present to you all.

Ps: Fellow Chandler lovers, I hope you know you totally made my day. His ass is a thing to be appreciated, isn't it?

-

"Don't you think we should go in there?"

"Yeah, I guess . . . maybe . . . I mean, they have been in there for like two hours . . ."

"Two hours and five minutes, actually – if you count the argument."

"Just shut up and move your head, Ross. It's blocking the keyhole."

"You move."

"I was here first!"

"Hey, yeah, you guys, before we get into this, I was wondering . . . um, why aren't we just opening the door again?"

"Why? Why? Because we're freaked out! We're freaked out we're going to go in there and catch them doing it on the ping-pong table!"

"Oh. I see."

"Yeah, about that. Is this considered voyeurism, or is that only when your friends – and sister, I might add – aren't involved?"

"Well, I don't know, Ross. I'll check my handbook on perverted hobbies. Because that's what I carry around everywhere."

Before Ross could do or say anything, the apartment 20 door opened and Joey came out, holding sodas, potato chips, leftover Thai food and a half-eaten carton of butter pecan ice cream. Ross stared at him in sheer wonderment. "I thought you were going to the bathroom."

"We're going to be here for a while, aren't we?" Joey replied, plopping on the floor next to Phoebe, who immediately grabbed one of the spoons stuck in the ice cream and dug in. "We might as well eat and get comfortable."

"Amen," said Rachel. She grabbed a spoon and took the Diet Coke Joey handed her. "I can't believe Monica hid this ice cream from me! I could've used this, like, months ago."

"For what?" Ross asked skeptically.

"For something, obviously," Rachel shot irritably. Ross rolled his eyes and mimicked her under his breath.

Joey pressed his ear against the door, listening. "I don't know about you guys, but I can't hear anything."

Rachel listened quickly and shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. Maybe they're just freakishly quiet."

Joey laughed. "Chandler must su-uck," he said in a sing-song voice. Ross looked at him in disgust and Joey cleared his throat apologetically. "Or maybe the door's just really thick."

"And that helps the visual images scurry away," Ross said sarcastically.

Joey patted Ross's back good-naturedly. "No problem."

A half an hour passed by. Joey had grown tired of the Thai food and Ross finally gave up his position at the keyhole, murmuring angrily that he couldn't see anything; and besides, it was just as well, because Monica was, after all, his sister, and if anything should happen, manning the keyhole might not be such an ingenious plan.

Rachel laid back against the door and pressed the cold soda can against her face. "I'm so tired. And bored. And sore . . ."

"And hot," said Phoebe, fanning her face with the now-empty bag of potato chips. "Is it just me or is it really stuffy here in the hallway?"

"Yeah," said Ross and Joey dully.

"We should just leave," said Rachel, looking at the door with a frustrated sigh. "They're probably not even doing anything. They're probably sitting on the barcaloungers watching TV and listening to our stupid conversations for their own twisted amusement."

"I wouldn't call it twisted, Rach, without considering what we're doing," said Ross bossily. Rachel glowered at him.

"Yeah, anyway, I think she's right. We should just go," Phoebe said, taking another bite of ice cream.

No one moved. Everyone looked down and studied their shoes guiltily.

"Yeah, um, on the other hand, maybe that's not a good idea," said Rachel. "They might need – support or something. Morally."

"Yeah, see – now I'm curious!" Joey whined. "We can't go now!"

Ross twiddled his thumbs. "Don't ask me. I don't even know why I'm here."

"Okay then. We'll set up camp here," Phoebe said excitedly. Her eyes widened. "Oh wow, yay! I've never been camping before! I mean, real camping. Not camping in cardboard boxes or anything."

"Well, we can't actually camp here, I mean – if the super found out, we'd be fined or something, right?" Ross said. Phoebe's face fell.

"Oh, what do you know?" Rachel said quickly, noticing Phoebe's expression with an angry glance at Ross. "We're not bothering anyone. Besides, we reserve the right to hover outside doors and trespass uponour friends' sexual affairs."

Phoebe and Joey nodded supportively.

"I still don't think they're doing anything," said Ross cynically. "Think about it. It's Monica and Chandler. Monica and Chandler. Chandler and Monica. Chan –"

"Yeah, okay Ross, that'll stop them. Throw their names at them in different ways."

"He's just mad that I'm right and he's wrong," Phoebe said to Rachel. Ross spun around and cricked his neck.

"I am so not wrong," Ross stressed.

"You so are," Phoebe retaliated. "You saw them get all heated in that fight. You saw them leave to play 'ping-pong'. How can you just – throw away the evidence like that? Erotic novels don't lie, my friend, they just don't."

Joey nodded and exchanged knowing glances with Phoebe. Ross looked at them as though they grew two extra heads and declared the Tyrannosaurus Rex was, in fact, from the Jurassic period.

"I shouldn't even have to say anything," said Ross, struck speechless with incredulity.

"Then don't, for once," Phoebe said. "We actually want to hear what's happening."

Ross sighed and shrugged, defeated. "Eh, fair enough."

Like one, thefour friends leaned their ears against the door and waited.

-

"So, why did you put the ping-pong table in Ross's apartment again?" Chandler asked as he and Monica came to his door and pushed inside; she threw the keys on the coffee table and took off her jacket.

"Well, I figured if I told him it was in his apartment he would freak out, so I lied." She picked up one of the rackets and faced him. "I just wanted to, you know, see it from my window whenever I wanted to. Also, the delivery guy was giving me these weird vibes, like he didn't want to move it all the way up to my apartment."

"Devious and sort of screwy. Nice."

"Yeah, I know," Monica said, sounding proud of herself. "Get your racket, Bing, and let's do this. I hope you're not sore when I'm done with you."

Chandler strolled confidently to his side of the table, picked up the racket and grinned. "You're in for one hell of a ride."

"I'm sure. Hurry up, I'm waiting."

Chandler feigned a hurt look. "Give me a minute. I need to position my shot."

Monica slapped her hand against the racket impatiently. "You're such a loser. Just do it already."

"Fine, fine." Chandler served the ball easily and Monica smashed it back. He ducked just in time to hear it hit the wall behind him and zing back towards her side of the table. She scooped it up off the floor and gave him a shit-eating grin.

"That was so unfair," Chandler protested. "You can't do that to me! I was just warming up."

Monica swaggered back to her position. "You wanted to play dirty, didn't you? So I'm playing dirty."

"You naughty, naughty girl."

Monica twirled her racket and tossed her head boastfully. "Enough with the complaining. My serve. One-zero, me!"

She hit the ball across the table maliciously.

Ping.

"What do you say about my so-called extreme competitiveness now?"

Pong.

"I think you're proving my point."

Ping.

"Ha! Not by a long shot, mister! I'm proving to you that," – pong – "I am not overly competitive by winning this," – ping – "game."

"Okay, either I'm losing my sanity or that made no sense."

Pong.

"Well, even if it doesn't, you'll have to agree with me because," – ping – "I'll be the winner and you'll just have to."

Pong.

"You'll be the winner? I don't," – ping – "think so."

"Oh, I do."

Pong.

"Really. That's interesting."

Ping.

Chandler smashed the ball across the table; it skimmed the edge of the table and ricocheted out of Monica's reach. He laughed triumphantly. "Ha HA! In your face, Geller!"

Monica put her hands on her hips and pointed a threatening finger at him. "Did you just guffaw at me?"

Chandler just grinned at her. "Pass the ball, loser."

Monica chucked it at him.

"You can't stand it, can you?" Chandler teased her. "You can't stand –"

"Serve the fucking ball or I'll do it myself!" Monica shouted. Chandler complied.

After two hours of hardcore ping-pong, Monica and Chandler seemed evenly matched. Both were dripping with sweat; their hair was haphazard, their clothes were rumpled, and their eyes shone with a strange and furious light. Neither of them showed any signs of wanting to quit.

"It's my serve! It's my serve!" cried Monica, whose voice had risen octaves higher and seemed miraculously stuck there. Her eyes were bloodshot from staring at the table so long.

"You wish!" Chandler said loudly, whose voice was starting to get hoarse. "My shot hit the table and you missed it! Again!"

"It didn't hit the table!" she yelled back.

"Yes, it did!" he cried passionately. "It hit the table and you didn't even go after it!"

"That's because it didn't hit the table!"

Chandler stormed over to her side of the table. He jabbed at the corner. "It hit right here. Right here. It hit here and ricocheted over there."

"No, it didn't!"

For one heated moment, they stared wildly at each other, breathing raggedly.

Then Chandler yelled, "Redo!" and returned to his side. Monica readied herself for his serve, shifting back and forth edgily on the balls of her feet.

"You know what?" Chandler said suddenly, lowering his voice and racket. "I don't think we should do this. It's getting out of hand."

Monica stopped moving and considered this. "Yeah . . . okay . . . I guess so."

"I mean, think of what Ross would say if he came in here. I wouldn't want him to see us like this. It'd be weird."

"Yeah."

"It's for the best, you know."

"Yeah . . ."

Chandler glanced at her briefly. "One more round?"

Monica lit up. "Okay!"

They rallied furiously for a few more minutes. Finally –

"I win, I win, I win!" yelled Monica, pumping her fist in the air victoriously. "I am totally the queen of everything! I rule!"

"Nuh-uh!" Chandler protested, moving to her side of the table and causing her to approach him threateningly. "That was such an unfair shot – it hit off your wrist!"

Monica jabbed her finger into his chest. "Don't start with me, Chandler Bing, I've won this game fair and square and I deserve –"

Before Monica could continue, Chandler grabbed her hand, pulled her against him, and kissed her fervently. "Oh," she murmured in surprise, but pulled him closer; and encouraged, he moved his hands to the sides of her face, grinning against her lips and thanking the Lord for such forgivable stupidity.

Monica ran her hands through Chandler's hair and kissed the side of his lips tantalizingly. "You really are a good ping-pong player, Chandler," she purred.

He shivered. "Yeah, lots of practice, you know –"

Monica grinned and melted against him comfortably. "I win, you silly man."

"Yeah, I think you do."

"Couch?"

"Couch."

"Hope Ross doesn't mind."