A/N: Okay, I admit it, I've had writer's block (GASP, I know). I know where to go and what to do to get there, but I couldn't seem to write it. I apologize for my utter lack of updating – it wasn't on purpose, I swear. Anywho, I think this story has about 2 or 3 chapters left (unless a brilliant subplot kicks in), and I swear on my guinea pig's grave that I will finish it. Let me repeat that for the record. This story will be completed eventually.

-

"Are you sure you don't want to back out?" Chandler asked Monica for the umpteenth time (she had lost count up around twenty-seven). Her patience, unsurprisingly, was wearing thin.

"Yes, I'm sure. Just knock on the door."

Chandler rubbed his forehead in irritation. "Because, listen, we can still get out of it. We don't have to do this . . ."

She could feel a migraine coming on. "Chandler, I swear to God –"

He knocked. Once, twice, a third time. Even Monica was starting to grow nervous now.

"Maybe he's not home," Chandler said hopefully. Monica glared at him.

Just as both of them were about to depart, Ross opened the door and dashed Chandler's hopes of survival. He beamed at Monica. "Hey guys, c'mon in! I know it's a mess, but I've been setting up for Howard's awesome par-tay tomorrow – doesn't it look awesome?"

Chandler said in a low voice, so only Monica could hear, "We have to leave, now. There are sharp objects everywhere."

Monica shushed him.

Ross set down the plastic plates (thank goodness for plastic, Chandler thought briefly). "So, what have you decided?"

Monica looked lost. "Ross, that's not why –"

"The plans, for Chandler's wedding!" Ross looked a bit misty-eyed as he patted Chandler on the shoulder. "Dude!"

"Dude!" Chandler replied.

"So what are the plans?"

Monica looked him in the eye. "Ross, listen. That's not why we're here. Chandler needs to tell you something."

She pushed him forward. English failed him.

"Don't tell me Janice said no," said Ross in concern.

"No, it's – it's not about – okay," he breathed. "This may sound insane, and you might not really understand – but, I feel like . . . I'm right here, and I just need to tell you something."

"Sure, what's up?" Ross asked, setting down some party favors on the coffee table.

"It's like –" Chandler began awkwardly. He gestured vainly. "It's like – like a door. And . . . and from one side of the door, you know things – secret things – and on the other side, you're – left in the dark. And sometimes we just have to learn to – unlock that door and share. Because sharing makes the world go 'round."

"Sure, that makes sense," said Ross understandingly.

"It does?" Monica hissed.

"Listen," said Chandler, "I may be a total idiot sometimes, but I know – I know when I have something good. And –" Chandler watched Ross's face carefully. "And – and – Janice? She's gonna make me real happy, man. So, so, so happy."

"Dude, that was amazing," said Ross in awe.

"Well, happiness is a warm puppy – or at least a nasal-y brunette," Chandler said, as he was pulled to his feet by Monica. "So I guess we're going to skedaddle."

"Yes, we are," Monica said through gritted teeth. Ross beamed at them.

As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, "I knew we were screwed when you started on the proverbs."

-

"This is getting so stupid," Chandler told Phoebe and Rachel later that day, after reciting the failure that was that afternoon. "You guys are secret-keepers, Ross is in the dark, Monica is more stressed and shrill than usual, and Joey either thinks I'm marrying Janice, or is harboring a soul-consuming love for me!"

"Yeah, let's talk about that," Phoebe said excitedly.

"Oh, okay, sure, Pheebs, let's talk about my imaginary gay relationship with Joey when my one with Monica is teetering on the line!" Chandler replied acidly. Phoebe and Rachel looked down at their hands. "No, seriously, let's keep talking about senseless things, it's so much more productive and routine!"

"Honey," Rachel cooed softly, putting her arm around him; she played affectionately with his hair.

"God, I've screwed up so much," he told them. "I've screwed up more than everybody else combined, and I don't know what to do any more. I mean, I bought a wedding ring! How chemically imbalanced can I be?"

Phoebe patted his hand. "Richard Simmons called for you. He wants his sanity back."

"Great. Thank you."

"I really mean it," she replied.

"What do I do?" he asked, turning helplessly from Phoebe to Rachel.

"Well, considering how helpful I was the last time you asked me, I'd say you should talk to Monica," she said. "Seriously. Just sit down, make a pot of coffee, and talk about everything that's happened. And maybe afterwards, you could help her clean or something."

Chandler sighed. "I guess I could do that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, if she hasn't burned all traces of my existence yet."

"We don't do that until you cheat on us," Phoebe said solemnly.

"She can't be too mad, Chandler, she probably felt the same way about telling Ross," Rachel said, as Chandler glanced fearfully at Phoebe.

"But I failed her," he said. "I'm her man, and I failed her. We agreed to do this, to get it out in the open, and I started talking about doors, and warm puppies, and sharing. I was like a psychotic do-all kindergarten teacher!"

"Chandler, that's so sweet," Rachel said.

Phoebe added, smiling, "That's so cute, you're trying to be manly!"

"Funny, Pheebs," Chandler told her resentfully.

"You should really cherish my compliments, Chandler," Phoebe told him. "I rarely ever give you any credit."

He stood up. "Okay, I'm going, I need to talk to Mon," he said. "But if she breaks the couch, I'm blaming it on you and your terrible advice."

"Fair enough."

As soon as Chandler left the apartment, Phoebe turned to Rachel.

"We should totally start a good deed business. We're putting out fires everywhere."

-

Monica was cleaning when he found her. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I'm really sorry."

Monica tossed her washcloth on the kitchen counter. "About what?"

Chandler crossed his arms uncomfortably. "About what? About letting you down, chickening out in front of Ross, the works." He looked around – the apartment was pristine. "That's why you're cleaning, right? Because you're pissed?"

"I don't know who you think I am," Monica said, "but I realized the apartment was a mess. That's why I'm cleaning. And I'm not pissed – maybe a little frustrated, but you understand, right?"

Chandler leaned against the counter. "So you're not avoiding me?"

"No," Monica replied good-naturedly. "Not yet. Listen, I got out of Ross's place, and I just thought, you know what, I couldn't have done it either. So I don't blame you. I wish it was over, but I don't blame you. So are you okay now?"

"It's a welcome relief, I assure you."

"Good. I'm assured."

They smiled at each other for a moment before Chandler said, "So do we have any other 'Tell Ross' plans doomed to fail?"

"We'll just take it as it comes," Monica responded, shrugging. "If we're sitting in the coffeehouse one day and we decide, hey, this'll be the time, then that'll be the time."

"That would be nice – a public place, unassuming witnesses –"

"There is no way you're that afraid of my brother."

"I'm not afraid," Chandler said defensively. "I just want to make sure you live to write my eulogy."

Monica rolled her eyes. "What about Joey?"

"Are you kidding? If I die, he's a goner too. Apparently you have some competition."

"Sounds like Shakespearean drama, Romeo."

Chandler grinned at her. "As long as you're my Juliet."

"Oh God, spare me," she replied. "I know who truly occupies your heart."

Chandler flung the washcloth at her.