Chapter Text
The Buddhists say, "If you meet somebody and your heart pounds, your hands shake, your knees go weak, that's not the one. When you meet your 'soul mate,' you'll feel calm. No anxiety, no agitation. You aren't swept away. You are grounded. For the first time in your life, you will be utterly yourself."
Rachel waddled out into the piercing light of the living room. It was the weekend, and she figured she could either sneak over to the bathroom and then run back to bed, or she could gamble that Chandler and Monica had exhausted each other the night before–they'd certainly been loud enough–and have one of her luxuriously long showers before they got up. It would all depend on if she managed to keep herself sleepy while she faced the sun on the trek across the living room.
Unfortunately, the sun was bright as it rose above the city and it angled just so as it pierced the horizon downtown. Reflecting off the glass windows of the buildings of the city, growing in luminosity and intensity until the orange blinded her even with her eyelids shut. Admittedly, Rachel could see that the sunrise was quite nice over the city, orange and pink as it sparked over grey. But it was too early for her to find beauty in the world around her. She didn't want to be awake this early on a weekend and Rachel didn't intend to be awake for much longer. Adamant she was going to curl back under her sheets after relieving her bladder, finding a little peace before Ross and Joey's movie day that the boys had planned for the group. She was going to need another hour if she was going to treat Ross civilly, and only civilly, while she spent the day with him. She was not allowed to flirt.
Or at least, not smile at him whenever she caught his gaze. She was only human, after all. His divorce had finally been accepted by the court but Ross had lost his job, was like he hadn't been able to catch a break. But Rachel was not going to let herself be sucked in to putting him.
That was the plan, at least. Bathroom. Bed. Breakfast while she plotted her game plan for the day.
Or it was until she heard the shower running through the bathroom door.
With her eyes still closed, Rachel turned around, so the sun wasn't blaring against her corneas from the wide window.
She rested her temple against the doorframe and sighed.
"Mon, I gotta pee. Get out," she whined. Not loud enough for Monica to hear her over the sound of the running water, but still, an assertive and frustrated exhale.
"Everything okay, Rach?" she heard Monica ask.
Rachel jolted awake. She stood ramrod straight, as though her body had been electrocuted. Wasn't Monica in the shower? If not her roommate, then wh-? Ew.
He must have been in there a while, too. It wasn't like she'd been woken up by the running water or the doors opening and closing.
Rachel glared at Monica. He stood in the golden glow of the morning sun, looking like the picture of happiness. Her hair was feathery, not tangled. Meanwhile, Rachel's was matted against her forehead and stuck to the crust in her eye. And she wasn't even the one who had spent the night with a man! Monica's robe was cinched tight around her slim waist, engulfing her arms and bare legs. And she was smiling. Yawning with half-lidded eyes like she'd only just woken up, but smiling.
Rachel had never seen Monica so content when one of her boyfriends had spent the night.
Typically, Monica would have feigned sleep until they stole to the bathroom, when she would jump, already fully clothed, into battle stations. No matter who the man was or how long they'd been together, Monica would be scrubbing every surface and scouring every dish. She'd put on makeup in the little living room mirror and clean the kitchen while the man wasn't paying attention.
But not this morning.
Monica stood there with her freckles on full display, her hair unbrushed, not wearing her tightest outfit that would distract the man from her flaws.
"Your boyfriend's hogging the bathroom," Rachel whined. It was very weird knowing that boyfriend was code for Chandler Bing, but Monica's reaction was weirder.
She smiled softly and sunk into her hip, relaxing. She wasn't flustered or frantic or trying to hide herself.
For the first time ever, Monica was calm and grounded in her own skin. Comfortable enough to stand in the living room unprimed, the living room still cluttered with a sweater and Rachel's shoes, and look like, for the first time in Rachel's memory, like Monica was completely at peace.
"He does take long showers, doesn't he?" Monica's voice was affectionate and not bolstered with rage like Rachel needed it to be. She needed the bathroom and Chandler was a guest. He shouldn't have dibs.
"I could walk in and finally pay him back from like five years ago," Rachel teased. Monica didn't even glare at her. She was that comfortable in her relationship with her boyfriend. But Rachel knew that calm also came from Monica knowing Rachel was too intimidated by Chandler to feel anything for him.
It didn't make a lot of sense out loud. No one ever accused Bing of being model handsome or a genius. But he was incredibly eloquent and the most successful man Rachel knew. He was confident in his personality and his skin and he didn't mind playing the fool or the bad guy if it meant someone else for something from it. He was too good a person and his heart always broke so openly and Rachel had always been afraid that if he ever stopped looking at Monica to look at her, he'd be disappointed or hurt by her mind games and inability to want a committed, intimate relationship.
Chandler was a great friend. He listened intently and gave great, pointed advice, mostly through sarcastic lines and confidence inspiring bets. He was like a father or a great teacher, that way, quiet and unassuming as he doled out guidance. She needed a sage guide like him in her life, and Chandler took on the role with aplomb.
He was a chameleon, changing his skin to suit whatever mood was necessary. Rachel had never met anybody like that, especially not a man. Most men got caught up in the misogyny imposed by their fathers, like Ross, or overcompensating their sexual masculinity, like Joey, or were browbeaten into one specific view of masculinity by biting comments that women like her and Monica and Phoebe made about music and fashion not being manly.
But not Chandler.
If Phoebe needed a confidence boost about the guy checking her out, Chandler would compliment him to get her back out there now that she wasn't so depressed about the triplets. Or he'd sit at the salon with her just to check in. Rachel figured that sort of comfortability with his masculinity came from his messed up childhood and his inherent diplomacy as he tried to find an even middle ground between the overtly sexual, dominant man his mother idealised and the sensitive one his father was.
Other than the unfairly neglectful and traumatising parents, her and Chandler's childhoods had been quite similar. Both were raised in the lap of luxury. Although Chandler's was far greater than Rachel had ever experienced, they understood that wealth tore people apart and made them ugly. Chandler had just learnt that lesson at a very young age. The excitement of money had drawn his hopelessly incomparable parents together and ultimately allowed them to lead extravagant lifestyles with no room for an innocent child. While Chandler learned that money ruined everything as he was shipped off to boarding school, Rachel had been pampered and spoilt with privilege. That was another way he instructed her. She was only just now learning that her affluence had left her skill-free and entitled while her privilege, or worse, her looks, not her limited intelligence or education, had prepared her for a luxuriant life as a trophy wife. She liked to think of Chandler as her role model in that regard. He'd broken free. He'd left that life behind and was thriving without it. He was her, but fifteen years ahead.
He was far more mature than anyone ever gave him credit for, and she was glad Monica had noticed. She deserved a man who would take their relationship seriously, treating it like it was the most precious of his processions, just like Chandler always did. Her oldest friend deserved a man that was level-headed and would communicate through his issues, which Chandler had proven to do with his boss and his mother and his friends. Someone who could make her laugh and encourage her to laugh at herself, to slow down instead of sprinting everywhere she went.
And most of all, Monica deserved to be happy. Especially after the way she'd been treated in her life.
Rachel was glad her friend had found a man who helped her find that happiness. But she could have kicked herself for being up in her own drama that she hadn't seen how obvious their match was, before, and after, the pair had gotten together. Everyone had always known how much Chandler had always only had eyes for Monica. Well, maybe not Ross, but everyone else. She just hadn't realised how perfect they would fit together, two best friends completing each other. For the rest of their lives.
"You really did miss your chance back then." At least Monica blushed as she said it.
Rachel scoffed and giggled, but didn't want to think about it. Chandler was her best friend. He was Ross' best friend. He'd been dating her best friend for... Rachel didn't know how long. She'd have to ask. Joey hadn't been all that forthcoming with the details and London was a long time ago. Surely they hadn't been together for five months.
They'd have to have a girl's night so she could suss out the minutia from Monica.
"You have fun on your date last night?" Rachel didn't mind what the answer was. Anything to keep her mind off the pinch in her belly.
"I'll get him out," Monica offered quickly before ducking in to the bathroom.
Rachel did not want to know what their muffled voices were saying. She heard a low rumble and a girlish giggle before the water shut off and tried to refrain from rolling her eyes. It was terribly unfair that Monica seemed to be in this well-established relationship, completely lost in her own world, while she was stuck trying to organise her feelings about Ross, his lack of relationship and the fact that the timing of her self-realisation was cruel to both him and herself.
Hand in hand, the pair exited the bathroom. The ends of Chandler's hair were wet and teased crazily, like he'd rubbed a towel but not a comb through it. Otherwise, he appeared completely ready for his day, blue jeans and striped button-down bowling shirt donned. The pair of them were wearing matching blushes that Rachel didn't want to analyse.
"Morning, Rachel," Chandler grinned. "Bathroom's all yours."
"Thanks," she hoped she sounded as sarcastic as she intended. Rachel was used to boyfriends using the bathroom - they had a monopoly in the mornings and evenings. And she was used to Chandler using her bathroom, always spending his afternoons in apartment twenty. But she wasn't sure if she was going to like the same man in all three time slots - using the bathroom all the time - early morning, midday, just before bed. She was never going to get a moment without him hogging the bathroom, the couch, Monica's attention when she needed to rant about her boss. Him and Monica constantly rubbing her nose in their love while Rachel was stuck without a love life at all.
Grumbling at how her life seemed to be upside down, Rachel stumbled into the bathroom and let the lovebirds start their morning without her gagging in the background and wishing she was a little more excited for them and less jealous of how close they were.
When she exited the shower half an hour later, makeup on, hair curled, but her pyjamas back on, Monica was sitting at the kitchen table facing the stove where Chandler was standing.
"You let him in your kitchen?" Rachel asked Monica as she sat beside her at the breakfast table. That was a huge step for Monica, she was still banned after the banana smoothie with no lid on the blender incident three years ago, Joey was banned with no excuse and Rachel couldn't remember the last time Ross or Phoebe had used anything more technical than the kitchen tap or the kettle.
Monica's eyes didn't even flick to Rachel. The woman beside her leant on her elbows, not even hiding where on her boyfriend's body her gaze was.
Rachel popped a grape from the fruit bowl into her mouth while she waited for Monica to depart from la la land. She smiled as she watched Monica's eyes glaze as she watched Chandler move around the kitchen. She didn't even flinch or freak out when Rachel saw butter sizzle out of the skillet or batter dribble on the counter from the ladle.
Rachel glanced over at her best friend and caught a fond smile pass over Monica's face. The likes that Rachel had never seen before. Monica definitely saw Chandler reach across for napkins and duck beneath the counter for the cleaning supplies. He cleaned up in the most Monica-esque manner Rachel had ever seen, quick and efficient, like he'd learnt from Monica, but there was a natural organisational skill there too.
"Yes! Chandler's making breakfast," Joey cheered as he rushed in and took a seat with the girls.
"Glad to be of service," Chandler chuckled, holding out a plate of toast for his roommate. "Don't fill up on toast, Joe. Monica made sweet scones, but they'll be in the oven for another couple of minutes."
"Awesome." Joey rubbed his hands together and Chandler turned back to flip the cakes onto a large serving plate and bent down to the oven.
"I suppose you're used to feasts like this?" Rachel asked Joey, indicating to the feast the not-so-new couple had prepared.
Joey nodded, chewing. "Oh, yeah. Chandler's always made great pancakes, but when he joy-cooks?" his fingers pinched and his lips pursed. "The best ones are when Monica adds things to the recipe when he's not looking."
"Oh, you mean the honey and the lemon zest?" Chandler asked sagely, presenting a share plate of pancakes to the table.
"You knew?" Monica scoffed, her hands falling to the table like she was disappointed while her eyes ignited with something Rachel couldn't place.
Chandler laughed, "Oh, yeah. You're not very subtle, babe." It wasn't even weird to see them like this. It didn't seem odd or new or foreign, even though the term of endearment had never fallen from Chandler's lips before.
He donned an oven mitt and pulled out Monica's scones from the oven, and then turned around to pull the jam and cream from the fridge.
"You are going to love me so much…."
"I already love you so much."
Chandler hummed as he presented the table with a plate of scones.
"I'm eating." Joey whinged. He didn't even look up from his food, like he was used to seeing Chandler's arm sling around Monica casually and Monica lean forward to tease his lips with a soft kiss.
Rachel rolled her eyes as Chandler explained he'd made savoury pancakes, not blueberry ones, like they had all expected. Something Rachel didn't understand about needing complementary opposites for the meal to be cohesive that Monica seemed very receptive to, muttering that she found him very hot.
Chandler didn't balk or flinch in surprise, but smiled softly and Rachel couldn't help but think she might have misunderstood love her whole life. As far as she'd experienced, love was a competitive Telenovela of trying to garner jealousy and proof of affection in front of as many witnesses as possible. But Chandler and Monica seemed to have a different approach. Quiet moments stolen while no one was looking and the sort of implicit trust that smoothed out their jitters and ironed out their eccentricities, grounded them in a calmness they had never experienced before.
Maybe that was what love was.