Hey guys, this is my first story on this website; a quick one-shot of one of my favorite couples, Monica and Chandler. It's not my best work, but I thought it would serve alright as a little 'welcoming' piece- you know, so you guys get used to my style and stuff if you want to read my work, lol. Thanks so much for reading if you do, hope to get to know you in the future! ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own any character in this story, nor am I affiliated in any way with FRIENDS or NBC. I just like to imagine scenarios with them, 'cause they're so endearable; please don't sue me. I really don't have any money.

"I am the master of stealth," Chandler's boss said to a somewhat anxious Chandler as he returned to the Greenwich village apartment with his wife. He was very confident, given the fact that he was, well, just gut-wrenchingly amusing. Chandler always seemed to think so, and Chandler was the comic genius of the office. Anything he said would have him in stitches. "Well. Given that my stealth is comparable to that of a giraffe stalking a tree, but hey! Whatever works, eh?" He pointed at his employee, Chandler, who, on cue, pointed back at him, and gave a hearty laugh.

"Yes, sir, you are hilarious," came Chandler's forced, yet convincing, reply. "And not to mention a scientific phenomenon. You've got seven neck bones like me, too, I mean. . ." he brought his hand slowly up and down, demonstrating the length of a giraffe's neck. "How you doin' that?"

They broke off into another chorus of overdone laughs. Chandler's boss's wife watched her witty husband fondly; beaming.

"Well, Chandler, it's been a pleasure, but I've got to get going. I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow morning; eight o' clock sharp."

"Oh don't worry sir, I'll be up long before that, and I'll arrive at work right spot on time."

"Ah-hah-hah!" They both pointed at each other, and then began to part. "That's the Chandler I know! Always makin' a good pun! Alright, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," Chandler said happily. He turned away, and just as he did so, his face changed drastically from that of a pleased, amused, fun-loving guy to that of a terrified one. He opened the door as quickly as he could and then threw himself inside, dramatically locking the door behind him and leaning against it, so as to bar it from any intruders.

"Honey, please help me, please don't let them take me away again," he said in a thin voice, wildly scanning the dark apartment. Relaxing his body and becoming more serious after receiving no reply, he walked into the living room. Damn, she wasn't right there waiting for him. She was probably asleep. He had wanted to see her all night; hadn't even wanted to leave her in the first place. "Monica?" He asked.

"In here," came a soft, sultry voice. Completely interested at the tone, and somewhat turned on, Chandler strode through the living room to the bedroom, where he was greeted by a rather naughty-looking Monica; dressed in a tight, curvaceous black dress, leaning against the nightstand.

"Hey babe, what's up?" He asked curiously, losing his fight; his smile now appearing on his features from cheek to cheek. "Wait a second, don't tell me. Did you watch that old cleaning tape again and clean the bedroom; is that why you're so turned on?" He inquired, still grinning and pointing his finger at her knowingly. Monica gave a short, mischievous laugh and shook her head, moving toward him.

"Nope."

Chandler grinned down at her, hugged her petite frame and then pulled apart gently so he could place his hands on her waist while still maintaining eye contact. "You read 'Organization for Dummies' and corrected all of the little grammar mistakes with a red pen again?"

"Nope."

"You. . . are still so happy that I waxed the kitchen floor?"

Monica looked up at him; her expression fading a little into a questioning one. "That was two months ago, and you didn't wax the floor; you tried to skate across it with furniture polish and failed."

"Hey," Chandler said defensively. "That floor was still shinier than Gorbachev's head."

She couldn't suppress her amused smile and leaned into him, placing her cheek against his. "Nope."

"Okay, then what, Mon, what? Something to do with cleaning? Anything to do with cleaning? Give me something to work with here, because if it's not, I swear to God you must be branching out, and that leads me to-"

"I found this in your work folder," she interrupted, holding up two pieces of paper. "Which, um, needs to be alphabetized, by the way. And arranged by measurements, density and color. And category."

"Which you already did, didn't you?"

"Well enough about what I did, look at it!" Monica said over enthusiastically, pushing the papers into his field of view again.

Chandler unfolded the papers slowly; brought them a few feet in front of him, squinted, and then read to himself.

"Honey, this is my emergency work info," he said unsurely after a few moments.

"Yeah, but look here," Monica smiled softly, pointing to his contact numbers.

Chandler squinted harder, focusing now on the small section that Monica's finger rested next to. "… Yes, that would be your name," He said, still quite confused by his wife's sudden engagement. "Oh," he lowered the paper and shot her a knowing glance. Writing names on paper. "Honey, if we're going to play school again, I get to be the teacher this time, and you get to be the naughty student. Because I don't really think we can do anything sexy with my Spiderman boxers that will scream education and foreplay at the same time. Your panties, yes, my boxers… not so much."

Monica laughed and shook her head. "Nooooo Chandler, you wrote my name down. You listed me. You checked the little box that said spouse and everything!"

Chandler smiled, but he wasn't sure what for. "Eh. . . so?"

"So, do you know what this means? It means that I came to your mind first, because I'm the first listed, and the only listed. It means that before Rachel, Ross. . . your mom, even Joey, you thought of me."

"Well yeah, you're my wife," Chandler said, giving her a suspicious, inquiring look; his head tilted to one side as he eyed her. "Mon, I know you love being first and all, but really, this isn't that big of a thing-"

"Chandler," Monica warned, her tone becoming more strained. "I am squeezed into a dress two times smaller than my normal size, I've done my hair, and I drank some cheap red wine that was in our attic. Don't ruin things, hm?"

"I'm sorry. Please continue to make an effort for your clueless husband," Chandler mused in a apologetic voice that was also suspiciously laced with sarcasm.

Deciding to ignore this small interruption, Monica reverted back to her original demeanor. She smiled again, and leaned in toward him; relaxing her body against his. "It means that we're official, you know?" She looked up at him, a hint of adoration in her eyes. "You marked me down as your spouse. We're. . . a family now."

Chandler's smile returned- the genuine one that was seen only on rare occasions;(and yet, had made an appearance twice this evening) slowly growing from cheek to cheek once more. "Yeah," he replied softly, and then leaned down to kiss her. She tasted like cherries and air freshener- the usual. Well, minus the hint of wine.

When they pulled apart, she held him by the shoulders and raised a brow. "And that doesn't freak you out?"

"Nah. I mean, not really. In a small sense, it does, but-"

Monica's mouth opened; Chandler immediately made a quick detour.

"B-but hey, you're freaked in a little way too, don't tell me you're not! You won't even change your last name to Bing!"

Monica looked away, said nothing, and then looked back. "But Bing's weird," she whined.

"Yeah, well, Geller isn't the sexiest name in the box either."

"In the box?" Monica screwed up her nose.

"Yeah, it's an expression," Chandler said, shrugging.

"Maybe, if you're talking about sharp crayons," Monica quipped, and Chandler threw his hands to his side.

"Whatever! The point is, commitment is, was, and always will be a foreign thing to me. It will always freak me out, no matter what happens. We could have five kids, move to Atlanta and then retire onto the Gulf of Mexico together; disgustingly happy, but commitment is always going to be like. . . like. . . that one foreign guy in the office that you're unsure of. You get more comfortable with him over the years, yes, but the suspicion is always there. Not to sound racist or anything like that. You know what I'm saying, right?"

Monica was standing apart from him now, crossing her arms and looking less willing to jump him at any given time. She had no answer to his statement.

"But hey, it doesn't mean that I don't love you," Chandler finished in an insisting tone. He then slowly walked toward her and took her by the hands. At first, she only shot him an irritated leer, but after a few moments she relaxed again and leaned in toward him.

"I know, I know. Alright, I'm sorry. I'm happy," she said, with a small sigh; but Chandler could tell she was genuine by the way she wrapped her arms around his body and laid against his chest.

"I'm happy too, alright?" Chandler said, kissing the top of her head.

Monica smiled to herself, pulled apart, and then walked over to sit down on the bed. She began kicking off her shoes. "Alright, come on, enough foreplay; let me show you how an official marriage works," she said slyly.

Chandler grinned. "Won't argue with that."

"And. . . I will also think about hyphenating my last name to Geller-Bing," Monica said, crossing her legs.

"Wow, it's like we're REALLY married!" Chandler sarcastically replied. He walked over to the bed, leaned down, and started kissing her. After a moment, however, he pulled apart.

"Mon?"

"Hm?" She purred.

"You said you had some red wine. . . you wanna, you know, move things to the balcony-"

"Not that much red wine, big guy," she said quickly, cutting him off by taking his face in her hands and kissing him deeply. Chandler sighed in his head. Worth a shot. But he would take what he could get, and, grinning mischievously, he gently rolled over; getting on top of her.