A/N: This wasn't where I was going with this one originally... but since I received so many requests...


"I just... I just don't understand it," Monica sighed, shaking a packet of Sweet n' Low. "I mean, Rachel and Richard? Chandler and Joey? You and Ross kinda freak me out, too... but..."

"Yeah, you took the whole thing really badly," Phoebe sighed. "I still can't believe you didn't go to Rachel's wedding."

Monica stopped, staring at Phoebe. "I didn't *know* about Rachel's wedding."

"Yes, you did. You put your invitation through Pete's industrial shredder and cried for a week. Of course, you didn't tell *them* that... they always thought you just didn't get it."

"I *didn't* get it, Pheebs," Monica snapped. "I'd remember that."

Phoebe smiled, leaning across the table. "What *do* you remember, Monica?"

Monica didn't answer, her eyes riveted on Phoebe's coffee cup.

"Monica? Earth to Monica?"



"Your hand is... your hand is going *through* your cup."

Phoebe laughed, looking down, pulling her hand out of the saucer and through the napkin holder. Monica realized suddenly that she could see the outline of a specialty coffee rack through her friend's form.

"Pheebs... am I asleep?"

"Not exactly."

"What's wrong with you?"

"I could ask you the same question."

Monica looked down and stifled a scream. Her arm was resting halfway in the table.

"What... what is..."

"You're not here."

"Where am I?"

"You went back to the hotel. Read a magazine. Went back into denial... you told Pete they'd all moved away."

"It's getting really... it's getting really hot in here."


"Where is *here*, Monica?"

Monica tried to open her eyes and couldn't... then found she couldn't move. It was dark, the kind of dark she'd never experienced, all-encompassing. She'd never been able to picture "a formless void" before... now, she couldn't stop the phrase from repeating in her mind.

"It's so hot, Pheebs." But her lips weren't moving.

"Of course it's hot, Mon. It's always hot at the beach."


"God, you're so beautiful."

Chandler's voice. Monica smiled, snuggling deeper into her pillow.

"How in the hell did I get so lucky?" he continued.

"Ssh, honey... you'll wake up Monica."

Monica's eyes popped open, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling in the moonlight, mildew stains spreading out across it like exotic blooms.

She turned to her left. The edge of a twin bed stretched out in front of her, meeting the green plaid wallpaper. Everything smelled musty and wet.

She knew that paper, knew that smell.


And oh God, she knew that moan.

She rolled to her right.

Across the valley between the twin beds, Rachel moved rhythmically on top of Chandler, her long hair falling like a curtain around his face, their foreheads pressed together, tan skin sliding over tan skin, moving in and out of the shadows.

"This isn't... this isn't the way this happened," Monica whispered in confusion.

"Yes, it is."

Phoebe was standing in a corner of the room, holding a conch shell. She held it up to the window, admiring the colors.

"No, it *isn't*. Chandler, Joey and I played gin rummy all night... Rachel was off with *Ross*."

"No, she wasn't. Not this time."

"We are *so* gonna get caught," Rachel whispered, running her fingers down the side of Chandler's face.

"No we're not," he laughed quietly. "We haven't yet, anyway..."

"Stop it!" Monica cried.

Rachel and Chandler sped up, Chandler's eyes rolling back in his head, his hand groping out, clutching the bedspread, biting his lip to keep quiet. Rachel's breath grew shallow, her fingernails raking down Chandler's chest. Their shadows loomed on the opposite wall, one writhing creature.

"Stop it, dammit, I'm right *here*!"

"Don't stop," Chandler whispered. "Oh god, Rach... don't stop..."

"Hello?" Monica screeched, leaping to her feet and putting her face right next to Rachel's. "Hello?"

Rachel bucked wildly, collapsing on top of Chandler, who slid his arms around her and held her tightly.

"I love you," Rachel whispered.

"I love you, too," Chandler sighed.

"No you don't! No, you DON'T!!" Monica whirled to face Phoebe. "What the *hell* is going on?"

Phoebe merely pointed towards Monica's bed. Monica followed her finger.

She was lying there, still asleep, dark hair spread out on the pillow, covers bunched under her chin.

"Yeah, you sleep through the whole thing," Phoebe said. "You don't find out about them for a few more months. Right now, only Joey knows."

"Ross is gonna *kill* them!"

"Ross will be happy for them. Why would he mind? He's still happily married to Carol."

"But Carol's a..."

"Carol never met Susan. She was too pregnant to go to the gym."

"Pregnant with..."

"Oh, his name's not Ben," Phoebe smiled. "His name's *Darwin*."


"Remember the night you and Kip broke up? How you showed up on Ross' doorstep crying, kind of ruined a romantic evening he had planned?"

"Um... yeah... vaguely..."

"You got a cold. You and Kip didn't go on your date that night. You didn't break up for another week."

"Rachel and Chandler are *screwing* two feet away from me... because I got a *cold*?"

"Don't feel bad," Phoebe smiled. "They make you the baby's Godmother."

"What are you?" Monica demanded. "The Ghost of Christmas Past or something?"

"Yoooooou will be visited by threeeeee..." Phoebe intoned, then burst into giggles. "Nah, I can't even do it with a straight face. I'm not a ghost, Mon. I'm you."

Phoebe considered. "Sort of."

"You are *so* cute," Rachel breathed, tracing Chandler's jawline. "How did you get to be so cute?"

"Well," Chandler grinned. "My Grandfather was Swedish... and my Grand-*mother*... was actually a tiny little bunny." He held up fingers to demonstrate.

"Oh, god... now you're even cuter...!" Rachel moaned, dropping her face into the hollow of his neck.

Monica whirled, glaring at Phoebe accusingly.

"Whatcha lookin' at me for?" Phoebe smiled. "Something ring a bell?"

The anger slid off Monica's face, replaced by confusion. "No... I don't... I don't *know* why that made me so mad..."

"Maybe you're having a hard time... concentrating?" Phoebe smiled, as Chandler and Rachel began kissing again.

"Yes. Yes, dammit!"

"We could talk somewhere else."

"Could it *not* include Chandler playing tonsil hockey?"

"Oh... I think that could be arranged."


"Awww," Phoebe said. "Isn't he *cute*."

Chandler was cuddled up in the middle of his bed in boxers, reading a book, tapping ashes into a tray he'd propped on his stomach.

"He's not *cute*. He's *smoking*," Monica said in disgust. "Where am I? I'll kick his ass."

"You're in New York... of course."

"Where... where is he?"

"Winter Park, Florida."

"What's he doing there?"

"He landed a job after he graduated from Rollins."

"Chandler didn't go to *Rollins*," Monica sighed. "He *went* to NYU."

"Sure, sure... he did. For two years. Then he transferred."

"Why? Why? What, did I neglect to buy *gum* one Thursday?"

Phoebe laid down on the bed next to Chandler, peering over his shoulder at his book. "Look at his feet."

"He has... he has all his toes."

"Yup. You didn't drop the knife... but you *did* get him naked and leave him out in the front yard."

"Oh my god," Monica breathed.

"It wasn't so bad, really," Phoebe smiled. "At least, until you and Rachel had hundreds of copies made of the photos and posted them all around campus."

Monica sat on the edge of Chandler's bed. "He moved... he moved away? We never became friends?"

"No... but you *totally* got him back for calling you fat. You still tell the story at parties."

"Is he... is he always alone like this?"

"Pretty much. But hey, you wanted to talk, go ahead..."

"I... I don't want to talk here," Monica stuttered, reaching out her hand to touch Chandler's face.

Her fingers went right through him.

"It's too sad," Monica sighed.

Monica stood, crossing her arms. "Somewhere *happy*. Somewhere *fun*. And if anybody's having sex, it had by-god better be *me*."


"Not with Joey!" Monica screeched, shielding her eyes from the bed. "Did I have to specify 'not with Joey'?"

"What's wrong with this?" Phoebe asked, circling the bed. "It's what you came here for."

Monica glanced around the room, carefully avoiding the two enthusiastic figures on the bed. "London."

"He really does have just the most amazing ass," Phoebe marveled longingly.

"But... where's Chandler?"

Phoebe grinned, turned, and walked through the bathroom door. Monica gingerly followed.

Chandler was leaning against the sink, eyes bulged out, biting his nails. From inside the bathroom, Monica could hear clearly... and watch Chandler wince in sync to... the sounds of her and Joey's passion.

"We trapped him in here?"

"You don't know he's here. But you won't believe the laughs he'll get when he tells this story during his best man's toast."

"I marry Joey?"




"Which... um. Which one of these is real?"

"That... is a very interesting question."