Clunk. The third shoe had clean sailed over the TV, missing its intended goal by less than two inches and then dropped to the floor against the wall of the hotel room. And he'd thought he'd gotten it right this time, since the first two shoes had ended up on the TV set right next to the waste basket he'd put on it to serve as goal. Well, he had still one shoe left. Maybe if he tried a little more upward boost and went a bit easier on the kick? But even as the shoe cleared his foot and took off, he could see it wouldn't go high enough, barely clearing the TV before it joined its buddy on the carpet. Chandler sighed deeply.

"Well, this is just as boring in England."

So this was it really. That whole 'going-to-London' thing. The big adventure, the change of scenery, that great fun thing. That which Chandler had sort of hoped would take him out of himself, or at least help him do that. Lose himself for a while, make him stop worrying all the time how he always ended up being too awkward, dorky, squeamish, fussy, sarcastic, uptight and unsure of himself to really relax and enjoy himself. Maybe even get him to be proud of himself, to want to pat himself on the shoulder in a self-congratulatory way. He'd even vaguely thought that all that had long since been due to him, overdue even, now that he was thirty. Okay, thirty and a half. Hell, he'd even brought a whole box of condoms with him!

Except that now, after a whole enervating day spent sightseeing with Joey, feeling ridiculously like a dumb tourist and on top of that annoyed, embarrassed, bored and downright crabby – or all of that plus angry at himself – he was starting to realize that, yeah, it was quite possible to take yourself to somewhere else, but not to take yourself out of yourself, let alone leave yourself behind. No matter where you went, you always were stuck with yourself.

So here he was, alone with himself, still mad at Joey, but even more mad at his own inability to get over himself, still embarrassed, still awkward, still dorky, still goofy, or, in a nutshell, still himself. Chandler Bing.

Best man of Ross for his romantic wedding here, his college roommate and good if not best friend of more than 10 years. Best friend and roommate plus co-best man of Joey who, he suspected, had never once in his life indulged in self-doubt and mortification the way he did almost on a regular basis. Best friend and neighbor of Monica and Rachel who, together with Phoebe, completed their closely knit gang and without whom he simply couldn't imagine his life to be, even if they often taxed his patience to breaking point, but then he liked to imagine that they felt the same about him. Holder of a rather crappy and dead boring job with mostly annoying jerks as co-workers which he only kept because it brought in enough money to not only keep him in food and accommodation but Joey too. Heading for a future where he more likely than not would end up living alone, in a dingy apartment, with maybe a snake or at least a parrot for company, where he had to bang on the ceiling or venture out in his crappy dressing gown to pester his neighbors whenever the loneliness got too much to bear.

Acquaintance or colleague of quite a lot of people. Friend of some. Close friend of a very few. Lover of no one. Currently at least, and if he was honest, that wasn't likely to change in the immediate – or even more distant - future.

Could it get any worse than that?

Sitting forlornly on his bed, Chandler realized just how moot this question had to be. Of course it could get worse. Actually it already had. Here he was, in one of the most exciting cities of the world, with all the time and money on his hands he could wish for and he found nothing better to do with it than sit around and stare at the walls. Oh, and try his hand at that old game of throwing shoes at the wastebasket that never seemed to get old for him, no matter how idiotic and futile it really was.

At least here he was on familiar ground. Yeah, a bed to slouch on and a TV with some mindless show or other that he could watch or at least pretend to watch while really indulging in glum self-pity. And if that failed, he could always work on his speech. Right, that best man speech, the one that was sure to blow them all out of the water, to have them writhe on the floor with laughter, the one that would show those snotty Brits that good ole American jokes were every bit as funny as their famous black humor. Actually he had damn near finished that speech already weeks ago, but a bit more fine-tuning and tweaking never hurt.

Except there was no way in the world he could do it now, given the mood he was in. Actually every last wisp of humor seemed to have forsaken him, leaving him feeling lonely and quite disgusted with himself. And bored. Above all bored.

But just when he wearily considered getting up and retrieving all the shoes to try again, Joey came in, still with that idiotic hat on his head, and looking a little sheepish with it – or maybe only for his benefit. There was no way to tell, but at least he took off the hat, rolling his eyes as he did though.

"Sorry!" Chandler immediately felt bad again.

"No-no-no, y'know what? I really shouldn't have said that you were embarrassing me, I mean that really wasn't cool. And if it makes you feel any better, I've had a really lousy day."

"Me too." Joey admitted. Now there was a surprise.

"Yeah?" But even as said it Chandler realized Joey was having him on. Again.

"Noo! I've had the best day ever! Dude, check this out!" Joey whipped out his camera and set it up for viewing, grinning broadly. "Now, I'm gonna fast forward past the part with you, 'cause it is boring."

Story of his life. Fortunately Monica entered just at that moment, saving Chandler a scathing reply so he just contented himself with a well-practiced eyeroll. Joey waved her over and then all three watched Joey on the screen front of Buckingham Palace and showing off his hat to someone beside him.

"Okay, so say hi to my friend and tell him that you like the hat."

Now the person next to Joey became visible and Chandler's jaw dropped. What the hell -?

"Okay, so umm, what's your friend's name?"

"Oh, Chandler."

"Hi Chahnler!"

It couldn't be. But there she was, unmistakably, red hair and horsy face and all, just as he'd seen her on thousands of tabloid pictures and appearances on TV.

"That's... That's was..."

"Oh my God!" Now Monica had caught on too.

"That's Fergie baby!" Joey enthused.

Now the Duchess of York looked Joey over good-naturedly and even appraisingly as it seemed to Chandler at least.

"Joey says you don't really like his hat, but I think it's kinda dashing." On screen Joey grinned smugly and Chandler felt like he needed to sit down. The Duchess of York! Liked Joey's hat! And that wasn't even the end of it.

"So, I hear you're single now ..." Good lord, was that a come-on? Did Joey just –

"Yeah, ummm, I don't like the hat that much." When Fergie's smile faltered a little, Chandler felt relieved enough to find his voice again. "How did you? How? How?"

"Well, I was trying to figure out how to get to Buckingham Palace, right? So, I'm in my map and-and...

The rest of the story was lost when Ross entered and immediately pounced on Monica. Almost in no time at all the Geller siblings were at each other's throats, discussing the sense or total lack of it of postponing weddings and what that did to the female half involved in weddings and stuff and the idiocy of the male half who just would never get any of that. Most of that discussion escaped Chandler's grasp though he was able to follow enough of it from the safe refuge of the bathroom he and Joey had retreated to early on to toss them a box of tissues when the need arose.

After that they only needed to hold out for a few minutes more until the storm had blown over and the Gellers had left together to tackle the problem of the ruined wedding location afresh. At last the coast was clear.

"That was pretty intense huh?" Chandler judged that Monica had to be running pretty ragged by now. Hopefully they would work something out.

Joey's thoughts though were following quite different tracks. "Hey, I hope Ross didn't think that we just went in there because we were uncomfortable being out here!"

Unbelieving, Chandler could only glare at him. "I hope he did!"

When Joey just stared, he rolled his eyes, hoping they wouldn't let go altogether before long. "Would you rather he thought we were making out in there?"

Now Joey pouted. "What's the matter with you? You're no fun in England!" With that he threw himself on the bed and grabbed for the telephone. "I'm gonna call Phoebe, see how the chick and the duck are doing."

Chandler suddenly remembered that he'd wanted to work on his speech. Preferably somewhere he didn't have to listen to Joey's arguing with the switchboard operator about which number he should try. "See, that's her number, but she isn't home right now, because she's at my friend's place and that's right across the hall from my place, and what do you mean you need the number? I told you the number!"

.

.

Except it didn't work. His beautiful speech hardly made it off the ground. Chandler glumly suspected that nothing would have worked for him on that day anyway. It seemed that everything had conspired to let that particular day be a total disaster for him from morning to evening, from dawn till dusk without a single break. He had fought with Joey, fallen into a flower stand, gotten lost on his way back to the hotel besides getting soaked in that famous British rain, embarrassed himself countless times, even failed to find a quiet place to work on his speech since Emily's rugby friends had arrived that afternoon as well and immediately seized the hotel bar and tearoom, and now his wonderful speech that he'd set so much hope in had turned out a complete failure. Fizzled out. Fallen flat. Crumpled. DOA. Not a single joke had elicited so much as a tiny twitch in his audience, let alone a smile. Even the Monty Hall joke he'd been so proud of had failed to get a reaction. It was as if they all had gone deaf and dumb all of a sudden. Just the memory of all those blank and indifferent faces made him cover his face with his hands and groan deeply.

"I was laughing." Monica said sympathetically, patting his knee. Chandler hadn't even noticed her coming over and sitting beside him.

"Out loud?" he asked wearily.

"Well I didn't want everyone to think I was stupid."

He hated to admit it, but she did have a point. If there was anyone in this room – hell, in the whole building - who had it worse than him, it had to be Monica. It seemed to him she had been taking flak from everyone in the past months – from her brother for badly advising Emily, her roommate for supporting Emily, from her mother for not being Emily, from her idiot coworkers for being herself, even from the dressmaker who had stabbed her at the fitting of the bridesmaid dress for daring to flinch. It really put things into perspective for him.

"So how are you doing?" he asked commiseratively. Monica smiled wanly and he realized that she was well on the way of getting drunk. Not quite at the stage where she would get all maudlin and bitter, but close. Close enough to get him worried already.

"My mother's driving me crazy, but Ross is getting married. I'm happy." Chandler reflected that it was a good thing her kind of happiness wasn't infectious or he would already be looking for ways to kill himself right now. "I'm not going to let anything spoil that."

Chandler remembered that she had supported Ross' and Emily's relationship practically from the start, pushed, encouraged, helped and believed in them and probably to a much higher degree than the happy couple themselves, even put her friendship with Rachel in jeopardy. If anything went wrong, Monica would be the one to bear the brunt of it, he was pretty sure about that.

And here was that weird drunk guy again who had been staggering around the room the whole evening now without anybody laying claim on him, and gently swaying came to a stop before them, as if someone had sent him to put Monica's last statement to the test.

"I just want to say that Ross is a wonderful young man," he declared with that typical earnest alcoholic conviction and Monica smiled happily. She'd always been a sucker for compliments, even by proxy.

"Well, thanks. We like him!"

The hammered guy vaguely worked on that and then made an effort to look at her more closely. "My god! You must have been a teenager when you had him!"

Chandler could practically feel her freeze in shock, as if that idiotic remark had turned her to stone on the spot, staring straight ahead with her fingers clenched so hard around the glass in her hand it was a wonder it didn't break. While the plastered guy continued to wind his laborious way to the bar, Chandler tried to come up with something to console her besides helplessly patting her on the shoulder, and failed completely, as if that fount of jokes inside him had suddenly run dry when he needed it most.

"Look …" he started lamely and stopped again when she turned her head and he saw the hopeless sorrow in her eyes. Then Monica got up.

"I need a drink" she stated matter-of-factly. "Oh, don't get up, I can still get there on my own. Just hand me my walking stick and my granny glasses, would you?"

"Monica, please-" But she was already heading determinedly for the bar and by the time he had caught up with her, she was just having her drink freshened.

"The guy was hammered, okay? There's no way you look like Ross's mother!"

"Then why would he say it?" she spat.

Chandler knew it was hopeless, but persevered nonetheless. "Because he's crazy. Okay? He came up to me earlier and thanked me for my very moving performance in Titanic!"

Now she looked close to tears. "Oh, my mother's right. I'm never going to get married."

Oh sweet lord, please not that old song and dance again. That heartbreaking wail of 'I'm never going to get married, I'll never have kids, I'll die an old maid' … how many times had he been forced to listen to that never-ending lament already in the past? And why did it always have to be him? Him of all people who would never have a chance in hell to really help her to get over her endless tale of woe? But who else was there?

"Ahh, you know what? That is... Who wouldn't want you?"

Who indeed. He certainly would. He'd long since realized that on some deep and obscure level he had always wanted her and probably always would. So much indeed that he could never understand why any male with a pulse could not be attracted to her. Granted, she was pretty intense, and passionate, and bordering on crazy often enough, compulsive, scathing, stubborn – okay, but also so unbelievable hot with it that by any right it should even out all her faults. If you could call them faults. It seemed to him they were more like personality traits that made her what she was. Maybe she wouldn't even be as hot and stunning if she didn't have them. Or at least too hot to handle.

And for a split second he actually feared she would challenge that question and turn it around, ask him if he wanted her. Would he be able to admit it and without dying from embarrassment on the spot too? And if he did, would it help her? Or just embarrass her too, make things awkward between them and ultimately add to her burden?

But when she turned away from him resignedly, he immediately felt guilt mixed into his relief. "Oohh, please! I'm a single mom, with a thirty year old son!"

"Not single," he found himself correcting her. "That guy obviously took us for Ross' parents. In fact, he said you looked too young. Not me. So obviously I'm the one who looks old enough –"

But it was no use, she wasn't even listening anymore to his babbling, but knocked back her drink instead with a grimace as if it was cough medicine, and then let the bartender replenish it again. Chandler racked his befuddled brain for something to shake her out of her black mood and couldn't come up with anything. Except for the obvious that he had to get her away before she got to that stage where she would become defiant and reckless – and loud, too - and after that, completely crazy. If nobody stopped her, she was bound to do something she would regret in the morning, if not spoil everything for her for good. And it looked like it was on him again. Her parents were still hotly contesting the wedding bill with Emily's parents while Ross and Emily tried to act as puffers and looking quite fed up already, and he couldn't see Joey anywhere. He probably had left for greener pastures already with that bridesmaid, not that he could blame him. At least she would help him get over that sudden bout of homesickness. Chandler sighed and pulled himself together.

"Listen" he said earnestly. "I don't know about you, but I've had enough of this place. All those drunks saying these crazy things – I really think we should leave."

"Oh, but I can't leave now. The reception's not over yet. What if Ross needs us?"

"He has Emily. And a thirty-year-old should know how to take care of himself." Chandler managed to take the glass from her without her noticing. "If you ask me, the reception is pretty much finished. But if you want to stay and watch your father and Mr. Waltham bashing their heads in over that bill -"

Monica grimaced. "You really think we're done here?"

"Yes!" he said firmly. "And we've both had a long day. Come on."

.

.

Later – not so much later actually, certainly not as much as he'd thought it would take – as he trotted back to his hotel room, Chandler kept debating with himself if it wouldn't have been better if he'd kept Monica company instead of leaving her at the door her hotel room and saying goodnight, along with a few meaningless phrases about how she would surely feel better in the morning and just needed a good night's rest. But something had held him back. Maybe he was feeling a little tired himself, though it wasn't all that late yet, but he told himself that he was definitely too tired to face some more hours of Monica's obsessive ranting about how she couldn't get a boyfriend and wonder at the inexplicability of it all himself. Why couldn't she get a boyfriend? By any right there should be tons of eligible guys standing in line along three blocks for the chance to take a shot at it. Hell, he himself still felt tempted to give it a try, even though he had already asked her once and been shot down. But even before that he'd been in two minds about it. On the one hand he still wanted to give it a try, to see if it could work after all. Yes, she was quirky, and obsessive, and exacting – being her boyfriend would probably prove to be quite exhausting over time if nothing else – but more often than not he felt that this was a challenge he could quite possibly be able to take. That if put to the test he would be able to handle her. And that it would so worth the trouble. Or at the very least it would never be boring.

But on the other hand he felt that he had no right to push himself on her, even if he thought he'd be up to the challenge and though she still was single and kept bewailing the fact. After all, he had enough problems of his own and it would be grossly unfair to burden her with them when she already had such a heavy load to bear. How could he really let anyone share his problems, especially someone who had so many problems of her own already? Even if he could ever be good enough for her – which he could never be, he was quite sure of that - she really didn't need that in her life.

And right now wasn't the right time anyway. She was depressed and maudlin, and therefore much too vulnerable. If he made a move now she might just give in just to gain some comfort from it, and afterwards feel bad about it. This so wasn't worth it.

He didn't feel good about leaving her alone though. Maybe if he checked on her later? But no, she could be asleep by then. Maybe he should turn back now and just look in, see if she was alright? But what reason could he give that would convince her? Maybe if he told her that he couldn't go to his room, because Joey was there with his bridesmaid?

He just couldn't decide.

Did she need him?

Did he need her?

Would they both be better off with or without each other?

Was she really too vulnerable right now?

What if he went back and just kept her company, as a friend, trying to cheer her up? But wouldn't she have said something along those lines? Maybe she just wanted to be left alone, sleep off the whisky and her troubles?

He had arrived at his room and was hesitating in front of it with the key in his hand and unable to come to a decision, when the door opened so suddenly he almost fell into it. And here was Joey who had been about to leave, hand in hand with his latest conquest and carrying a bucket of strawberries before him like a trophy.

"Whoa, buddy! Had a bit too much, huh? Hey, we're going to hit the bar again, wanna come? We could find a bridesmaid for you too, eh!"

Chandler declined with a forced smile which he knew looked fake, and felt relieved when Joey dismissed him right away and headed for the elevator with a cheerful wave. And all of a sudden Chandler did feel tired. Yes, a good night's rest, that was the ticket. Put on his PJs – the blue ones he'd never worn before but packed just to spite Joey who'd claimed they looked ridiculous, so what better time to put them on but now that he got the room to himself all night?

All night. Why there were so many things he could do that night. Take a shower, watch TV, or a movie, read a little. Why, he could even work out a little without fear of anyone watching and make fun of him! Although when he put that last idea into practice, he realized right away that a workout just didn't work out for him. Much too strenuous. So he aborted the half-assed attempt at a push-up again and got into bed. And right away got out again, when somebody knocked on the door.

And there she was. Monica, much as he'd left her earlier – still with that aura of weariness, frustration, belligerence, wounded pride and vulnerability all wrapped in one. Maybe a little more wasted than before, judging by the whisky glass in her hand. But still so stunningly hot, especially since she hadn't changed yet and was still in that low cut red dress that looked so good on her.

"Hey!" he greeted her, trying to sound as friendly and pleasantly surprised as possible and hoping she wouldn't feel that she had cut in on his beauty sleep or something. Actually her turning up so unexpectedly was saving him a lot of worry.

"Hey," she replied as she looked him over quizzically. "Cute PJs! You're really living it up here in London, huh?"

Chandler belatedly realized he'd totally forgotten about his pajamas and that she hadn't seen them before.

"Well I was… I wasn't exactly expecting company after …" he looked pointedly at his watch and then did a double take. Could it really be, um - "9:15 ..." Feeling a bit dismayed he held the door open for Monica to wander in and look around vaguely. "Is Joey here?"

Years later that casual question would come back to haunt him, but now he didn't attach any importance to it and simply shrugged it off. "Well, last time I saw him he was heading out the door with the bridesmaid and a bucket of strawberries." Something in her expression changed at that, but for all he knew it was just amusement at Joey's ways. But more important he sensed that she seemed a bit at a loss, a little uncomfortable even – probably because she didn't want to explain why she had come, so he readily took it on himself to keep the conversation going.

"So uh, you're not still upset about what that guy told you, are ya?"

She tried to glare, but only succeeded to look tired and maudlin, though maybe a little less than before, down at the reception. "Wouldn't you be?"

Chandler realized he had to cheer her up at all costs, just so she wouldn't end up crying all over his nice blue pajamas. But how? "Well, look, it's been a really emotional time, you know, and you've had a lot to drink. And you've just got to let that go okay?" Suddenly inspiration struck. "I mean you were the most beautiful woman in the room tonight!"

"Really?" She seemed genuinely incredulous, as amazing that seemed. How could she not know how attractive she was, how incredibly hot? Well, if it made her this happy, he was perfectly willing to all but bury her under compliments. Especially since it was no less than true.

"Are you kidding? You're the most beautiful woman in most roo–"

Right then it happened, the miracle, that unbelievable, unimaginable thing, as if out of the blue, and so suddenly he never got a chance to finish his sentence. Monica threw herself at him and pressed her mouth on his, so sudden too that he staggered back with surprise before catching himself enough to steady himself, and her too. Her. Monica. Who had thrown herself at him and was kissing him – KISSING him! - and before he realized what he was doing, or what she was doing for that matter – he put his arms around her and kissed her back. The kiss lasted long enough for him to register that her mouth tasted like whisky and maybe a little mouthwash, and that she smelled incredibly good, and the skin of her arms and shoulders under his hands was so hot and smooth, and that she was kissing him with a wild abandon that was so typical of her and as frightening as it was exciting. When they broke apart and faced each other, Chandler felt like caught in a dream. How could this be real? Monica had kissed him! Monica had – she actually had – how could that be?

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! What's going on?" He just couldn't read her expression. Could it really be that she looked eager, urgent even, rather than shocked at herself? "You and I just made out! You and I are making out?!"

"Well, not anymore." That definitely sounded disappointed. Slightly annoyed even at the interruption. Did she actually want more? Chandler's head was whirling.

"But we don't do that." He tried lamely, mostly to gain some time. He still couldn't believe what was happening.

"I know, I just thought it would be fun." That sounded light, almost dismissive, but the expression in her eyes told him she was serious. And as he stared at her, he finally realized that she was actually trying to show him how vulnerable she felt and how great her need was. Dear sweet lord, Monica was pleading with him. Pleading! What was he waiting for? Except –

"How drunk are you?" he asked abruptly, almost hating himself for it, but knowing he had to give her this chance to reconsider and bow out before committing herself to something she might yet regret. But she held her ground. "Drunk enough to know that I want to do this. Not so drunk that you should feel guilty about taking advantage."

No way she could have reeled that off so effortlessly if she had been too far gone to know what she was doing, so try as he might, he could find no further ground for refusal. Quite on the contrary.

"That's the perfect amount!"

The way her face lit up at this and she held out her arms to him somehow sealed matter for good. And before he knew it they were already sitting on the bed and making out again, grabbing at each other and kissing hungrily, as if there was no tomorrow. It felt surreal and crazy and utterly amazing, and yet –

"You know what's weird?" she exclaimed suddenly while he stared at her dazedly.

"What?"

"This doesn't feel weird!"

"I know ..." he said wondrously. Already it felt completely natural that they should cling to each other and make out, with ever increasing desire. It just – fitted. As if both suddenly had found something in the other that neither had known they'd missed out on before.

She stared at him searchingly. "You're a really good kisser!"

Chandler automatically reacted to the compliment as he always did, with a self-depreciatory joke. "Well, I have kissed over four women." When that got him a reproachful look, he hurriedly tried to distract her. "Do you wanna get under the covers?"

"Uh-huh!" Her open enthusiasm made his head swim. They raced each other to the head of the bed and slipped under the covers, and he realized right away that they needed to keep the whole thing very light, almost like a game, if they wanted to avoid any awkwardness to spoil everything before it could even happen. Like those birds did it in a documentary he suddenly remembered (and marveled at the same time how he could still think of things like that at times like these) who went through all these funny looking mating dances and rituals only to get used again to each other and ensure their partnership would work out and hold through the time they would raise their young together. If he got too serious now, the bubble would burst and Monica would never forgive him.

But when had he ever managed to be serious for long?

There was one thing to be said for those silly pajamas, they were admirably suited to make a big show of getting out of them. He tore at the sleeves, kicked at the pant legs and shoved them over his head, and finally flung them away so they landed in a heap somewhere on the floor between his and Joey's bed. When he turned to Monica he was gratified to see that she was staring at him open-mouthed. And intensely glad he'd showered and brushed his teeth.

"Wow! You are really fast!"

"It bodes well for me that speed impresses you," he replied dryly. Deep inside a small part of him was punching the air with a victory yell.

Now Monica's eyes gleamed. "We could see each other naked...!"

"Yep!"

"Do you wanna do it at the same time?"

Exactly what he had been thinking, and how amazing was it that they were so in tune? "Count of three?"

"One!"

"Two!" Overlapping now.

"Three!"

And up went the covers. Although the sight of her body, her nakedness – Monica naked! – was thrilling beyond compare, the way she stared at him, checking him out and failing to get turned off by what she saw, but on the contrary quite obviously approving and, moreover, desirous, even hungry, proved even more arousing. Her look didn't lie, she really wanted him. She was naked and lying in bed with him and wanted to do it with him … It was almost too much.

When they let the covers go and came up again, Monica had a big silly grin plastered on her face and Chandler for once had to fumble for an ironical comment that would dispel the last remnant of awkwardness.

"Well I think it's safe to say that our friendship is effectively ruined."

Monica dismissed this right away. "Eh, we weren't that close anyway!" And she reached out for him to pull him close and press herself against him, kissing him and when he kissed her back she started to slide a leg across his waist, making him moan, or maybe she was moaning or they both were, and then he heard someone at the door struggling with the unfamiliar lock - - Oh dear god, why now?!

"Joey! Joey!" he gasped, drawing away from her. "Joey! J-J-Joey-Joey-J-Joey!" And Monica quickly scooted under the cover until nothing of her remained visible, or so he hoped. If Joey saw her, saw them naked together, he would surely burst into flames.

After he'd finally got the door open, Joey came in. Chandler pulled himself together and tried to act cool with one arm casually lying on the covers a bit over Monica's head. She was keeping admirably still, he couldn't even feel her breathing. Maybe they still had a chance? To have everything spoiled now that they'd come so far would be unbearable.

"Hey!

"Hey Joe! I was just watching a movie-e-e…" Except of course the TV was quite obviously off and when Joey's puzzled expression turned into a half-disgusted, half-amused one, Chandler winced.

"Oh, dude I'm so sorry!"

"No! No! No!"

Joey waved his protests aside. "Hey, no! No, it's cool! It's cool! I'll only be a second, I'm still with my bridesmaid. I just — where are those condoms you brought?"

Chandler resignedly pointed to the dresser next to the TV. "They're in my bag over there." When Joey headed for the dresser while giving his bed a wide berth, the mention of the condoms suddenly triggered something in Chandler's brain. The condoms! Just when he finally had a use for them, they were as good as gone. Unless -

"Uh, could you leave me one?" he asked as casually as possible. Please let this work, please …

Joey paused, raising his brows again and Chandler positively cringed. "For just you?"

Chandler confined himself to a lame "Yeah," and a pathetic shrug. Joey shrugged and tore off one of the little squares, then to Chandler's horror came over and sat on the other bed.

"Hey listen, why don't you come downstairs with me? There's some really nice girls down there."

"No I – I'm fine…" Chandler managed. Everything inside him wanted to scream at Joey to finally beat it, get out of here before Monica suffocated under the covers, or worse, would be turned off enough to run out on him and never speak to him or even look at him again all her life.

Finally Joey relented and tossed him the condom. "All right, here you go buddy." Then he got up to leave, throwing him a final "Go nuts!" over the shoulder before he shut the door behind him.

Leaving them alone. Alone, lying in bed together naked, and maybe all was lost now, but if not –

"Is he gone?" Monica asked muffled from under the covers and Chandler hurriedly pushed them away from her head. As she emerged, blinking and with tousled hair, he held out the condom like a peace offering, quite sure now that she would dash out of the room right away.

But instead she smiled at him and Chandler's heart almost gave out.

"Wow! That was good thinking!" She took the condom from his hand and looked at it, then put it back on the nighttable before reaching out for him again.

"But we don't need it" she told him while they embraced again. "I put in my – well, it's safe. Yes, I'm sure ... mmmh … um – mmmh …"

As they pressed together, her scent enveloping him, her hands grabbing at him, urging him closer yet, against her, over her, her moans mingling with his, and he felt her body writhing under him, cradling and receiving him, Chandler realized that what was happening was nothing less than a miracle. A miracle he hadn't expected, hadn't even thought of looking for, especially not on this day when everything had let him down so badly, but a miracle nonetheless.