Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the apartment, just the DVDs. There's no profit except writing practice being made here.


"Hey," Chandler barged through the door the same way he always did. He skipped over to the fridge, stopping there, but didn't open it. His gaze didn't waver from the back of her head and he tilted his head, "Everything okay?"

Monica grimaced but didn't turn to face him. She folded her arms over her chest and stared at the crib Ross had set out earlier that morning, just in front of Rachel's room. In it, Ross' nearly three-month-old son was lying down, one foot in the air the other gripped in his hands, his toes in his mouth.

Chandler, however, was more concerned with Monica's defeated tone. He took a few small steps forward. That tone was soft and her voice cracked, signalling a mood Chandler wasn't too familiar with. He might have heard it when she had found out Phoebe was moving out, or when she broke up with Kip, but Chandler couldn't quite remember her sounding this sad before. "Come on, Mon. It's me. What's up?"

She tossed her head backwards against the back of the lounge. Chandler pursed his lips, pulling them into a tight line and frowning, his brows furrowing.

Her eyes remained closed and Chandler took one last step forward. He stretched his arms outwards, placing his hands against the hard edge of the top of the couch, careful not to touch anywhere near her head. He straightened his legs, keeping his weight in his palms, and leant his face over hers so he could read her expression more clearly.

Sometimes, Chandler would worry that he was standing or sitting too close to Monica, but she never said anything to him. Even now, she didn't even react to his closeness, his face was only a foot from hers but she didn't flinch when she opened her eyes, almost like she expected him to be there. He liked that about her. Anyone else would ask him what he was doing and he'd fumble over the words as he tried to explain, mostly with his hands, that he was trying to make them feel better or distract them. But not Monica. She always seemed to understand what he was trying to say and know what his intentions were, often she welcomed his attempts to comfort her, even if he was bumbling.

"He hates me," her blue eyes were cloudy as she looked up into his. Monica tensed her jaw, shaking her head side to side slightly and throwing her hands up in exasperation before she dropped them limply by her sides.

Chandler re-gripped the top of the lounge, frowning more deeply at Monica's dejected expression. He smiled widely down at her, "Yeah, but Ross is your brother. Deep down he loves you."

Monica groaned but Chandler watched her lips quirk into a half-smile as she tried not to laugh.

Monica couldn't help herself. That boy's antics always made her smile brightly, no matter how bad she was feeling. If anyone else had deflected or teased her the way he did, she would have scared them out of the room with a withering glare and a scowl. Rarely she would cast an annoyed look in his direction and more often than not she'd find herself laughing at whatever Chandler said. Rachel had asked her about it once but Monica had found herself struggling to explain how she knew it, but when Chandler used his patented affectionate sarcasm to tease her it wasn't hurtful, instead it took her mind off her problems and signalled that he would help her solve whatever was bothering her.

"Ben doesn't hate you," Chandler offered softly.

Monica threw up a hand but slowed her momentum to pat Chandler's cheek softly twice. He was sweet. "You're wrong."

Monica's hand fell down again, resting against her chest. All she'd ever wanted was children, or a single, perfect child, but Ben wailed every time she held him, every time, and she was starting to think that maybe all babies would cry in her proximity. Every time he cried it tore at her dreams of the future as though Ben himself was pulling at the loose stitches and unravelling everything she wanted for her future.

Chandler grinned down at Monica and hummed a little noise in the back of his throat. He bent his arms, bringing his nose close to hers in the process, and pushed himself up to stand straight.

He moved around the length of the couch and stood beside the mesh walls of the crib. He looked so tall, completely dwarfing Ben on the little mattress. He was still wearing that baggy ensemble, a mix of track pants and a sweatshirt with a white t-shirt thrown over the top, looking somehow boyish and mature as he smiled down at Ben. Monica watched as Ben let go of his chubby leg and kicked his feet up in the air excitedly.

She couldn't see much, not with Ben lying down, too young to lift his head on his own, but she watched as he opened his saliva filled mouth as if to mirror Chandler's smile and held up his hands, reaching for the man.

"Hi," Chandler laughed lightly. He dangled his right hand into the walls of the bassinet and twinkled his fingers at the baby.

Monica tilted her head to watch man and boy interact. Chandler, who she had watched struggle with making friends back when he was a teenager in college and talking to women in Central Perk and interacting with strangers in the subway, who always seemed to strangers to be too serious or too silly, was silent, smiling and so at ease with the baby looking adoringly up at him.

"You left him on a bus." She meant it as a question. The man she had known for coming up on half a dozen years wasn't capable of such absentmindedness. Moreover, Ben didn't appear to resent him or fear him in any way, despite his giant frame towering over his crib and the neglect he had shown earlier in the day.

"Yeah," his eyes never left the child. His admission was soft and terse, ashamed, so different to Joey who had made excuses and blamed the 'hot chicks' and laughed at how funny it was to see the relief on Chandler's face when the parents of the other baby had walked in and known exactly which of the two babies was theirs.

"You left him on a bus and look at him. He loves you. How is that fair?"

Chandler turned to look at her then, pulling his hand out of Ben's reach. "You know it was just this time, right?"

Monica shook her head, her short hair getting in her eyes as she did so. She hated how short it was and was still a little mad at Phoebe for making it so. "He wouldn't stop crying last time either."

Chandler rested his hand on the plastic edge of the crib and sunk his weight into his hip, tilting his head to look at her. For someone so smart and someone who had always wanted children, Monica was fairly clueless. "Monica, he had colic," Chandler reminded her. "He cried for two weeks straight."

Only his reminder didn't ease her mindset and Monica folded her arms over her chest to let him know. She stomped her feet against the edge of the coffee table, slouching into her seat, and sent one of her annoyed looks in Chandler's direction.

"It could be your perfume that he doesn't like," Chandler shrugged.

"I'm not wearing perfume," Monica countered. She'd been lounging around all day with her nephew, her brother, and her neighbours, she hadn't felt the need to dab perfume against her pulse points. Hell, she wasn't even wearing a bra.

Chandler squinted at her. "You sure?"

"What is that s'posed to mean?"

Sometimes Monica wondered if Chandler ever thought she was mean or rude. She didn't mean to be, honestly, but she likes the way he freaked out when she acted insulted, all wide-eyed and afraid. He was doing that now, taking half a step forward but pulling himself back and repeating the movement as though he wasn't sure he should comfort her or keep his distance and Monica had to bite back a laugh. She enjoyed teasing him as much as she enjoyed being teased by him, she just hoped he felt the same.

"It could be the way you hold him," Chandler tried. "Some babies don't like to sit down."

Monica pondered how she had held Ben earlier that morning. She couldn't remember sitting him down or hitching him over her hip although she had bent his legs over her forearm, maybe Chandler was right. But why?

"How do you know that?"

Chandler turned back to Ben at that, he walked to the long edge of the rectangle and reached in. The layers of fabric that he wore pulled away from him with the gravity of arch downwards and Monica found her eyes being drawn to Chandler's lower back, silently thanking his propensity for wearing clothes at least one, if not three sizes too big for his body on the weekends. The slip of skin that was uncovered at his back was smooth and the white of his shirt accentuated his summer tan. Because the clothes he chose to wear were so oversized, the downward action of scooping Ben up into his arms also exposed a strip of his abdomen to her eyes. She refused to blush as she looked at her friend. When he was standing straight he appeared to be broad-shouldered and solid but with the shirt falling out of the way he looked quite skinny; lean and muscled, with thin hips and large hands. If he wasn't such a good friend, Monica might even admit to finding him attractive.

His shirts fell back against his skin when Chandler stood back up, Ben's tiny body pressed against his torso. Monica studied the way the man held her quiet nephew, with one hand cupping his fresh nappy and the other cradling his blonde head, holding Ben's head against his chest.

A serious look descended over Chandler's blue eyes, his voice whispering and gentle. "Apparently, I hated sitting."

Monica pulled a face at him, scrunching her nose and tilting her head to the right, nodding a little so that he'd continue. He didn't talk about his childhood often, just vague snippets about sports, an all-boys boarding school, what she and Ross deduced to be a very messy divorce, and of course, his infamous Thanksgiving story. But Monica knew he adored his mother, despised her for neglecting him, yes, but loved her dearly, tried to protect her even, although he didn't talk about her much. Chandler especially never discussed his earliest year but that could have been because no one ever asked him about it. She wasn't about to waste an opportunity to learn more about he'd friend when he was offering the information voluntarily.

The fingers on Chandler's left hand, the one that was cupping Ben's neck, stroked the baby's straight blonde hair down the back of his head. "Mum likes to tell the story, so it's a little exaggerated. She says I learnt to walk before I learnt to sit. Apparently, I always cried when she and Dad held me, but I'd be completely silent for my nanny. She says it took almost a whole year for her to understand how to carry me so I wasn't uncomfortable and by then I was crawling."

Chandler kissed Ben's crown and Monica closed her eyes, amazed and oddly, not surprised, by the completely natural paternal instincts Chandler was displaying.

"Let's go get a hug from Aunt Monica," he told Ben in an excited whisper. Monica removed her feet from the coffee table, planting them firmly on the floor and straightening her posture, expecting Chandler to take a single step forward and sit beside her. Instead, he moved the long way around the living room, pacing slowly and swaying side to side a little.

He lowered himself onto the cushion to her left gently, holding the baby against his chest. Chandler adjusted himself in the stead, leaning his shoulder against hers and stepped his feet up onto the edge of the coffee table.

"You hold him," Monica exhaled, watching Chandler. He was all wild gesticulations and clumsy dancing whenever he was in their apartments, awkward but polite and chivalrous when they went out to dinner. Monica had never seen Chandler in his office, but Monica had always assumed he'd always wear that apologetic expression and behave as though he couldn't quite control his long limbs. So seeing him hold Ben was so incongruous with the man she thought she knew. He was still, statuesque even, and completely confident and content that he was holding the boy correctly.

"He's not crying, let's keep it that way," she relinquished.

Chandler cast a look in her direction, rolling his head sideways to face her. "Are you sure?"

Monica hummed, nodding. She lay her left ear against the floral cushion behind her and stroked a crooked finger along the apple of Ben's warm cheek. "He's gorgeous, isn't he?"

"Phoebe's right, he looks just like Susan."

Monica snorted, shaking her head. Chandler hooked a foot under the lip of the edge of the wooden coffee table and pulled it across the rug. Or tried too, he ended up having to slip both feet to pull the heavy table. Monica held her breath as she watched him do it, unsure why he was doing it but refraining from asking. Chandler never intentionally riled her up with malicious intentions, so whatever he was doing, she was certain he had a plan that didn't involve making her life harder by ensuring the carpet was worn in permanent parallel lines. He sunk deeper into the couch so that he was almost lying down and put his foot back up on the table's edge. The changed position of the table meant that his knees bent drastically at what was surely an uncomfortable angle.

Chandler held Ben up by his sides, his feet pressing against Chandler's hips, and he leant the boy back so that he was mimicking standing. He was so small, but in his khaki trousers and his little red jersey, Monica couldn't help thinking he looks like a miniature Chandler. She'd seen pictures of Chandler in his yearbooks, none from when he was younger, but she'd definitely seen pictures of him from as young as five, decked out in his private school uniform with a stiff blue collar and a big maroon tie. He had the same straight blonde locks, a little darker than Ben's, running the same length all the way around his head. Chandler paused for a moment, shifting his legs a little and making a noise in the back of his throat, "Maybe not."

Chandler lifted Ben and swung his feet forward, lowering him until he was sitting against his stomach, his feet pressed together and his back supported by Chandler's thighs.

"There we go," Chandler moved his left hand to straighten the three-month-old's crimson shirt. "That's better."

"He does not have a problem with sitting down," Monica observed, scowling deep lines into her forehead her mother would reprimand her for. "Look at him."

Monica reached for Ben, his tiny fingers curling around her forefinger. She shook her finger, making his little arm vibrate with the movement. She smiled at the boy and his mouth opened beatifically back at her. He'd only really learnt how to smile a few weeks ago, and the way his lips spread to reveal his toothless gums was exactly how Ross had described. Gorgeous.

Chandler stayed quiet as he watched Monica interact with her nephew. She was a natural with children but she worried too much. She was so caught up in being the best at babysitting, the best at comforting the infant, that she didn't stop to enjoy the time she had with Ben. Or she hadn't until this moment. She couldn't take her eyes off the three-month-old and her lips were pulled so wide that he could count every single one of her pearly white teeth. Chandler couldn't help but stop and watch Monica. She was born to be a mother, always concerned for Ben's wellbeing and knowing instinctively what would cause Ben to gurgle happily. He cried for hours on end when she had held him that morning and Chandler couldn't fathom why. She had done everything right. Besides, any man would kill to be held in Monica's arms. He'd teased her a little about it, trying to make her see that babies cry, it was normal and had nothing to do with her, but at always his brain had planned the words and his tongue refused to wrap around them and he'd ended up insulting her when he'd tried to remind her Ben's completely natural reaction to her wasn't even something she had to worry about and would not be indicative of how her own children reacted to her.

And she had nothing to worry about now either. Ben was completely enamoured by the woman who was smiling down at him. His eyes were wide and unblinking, and he babbled every time Monica blew a raspberry or made a nonsensical noise to entertain him. Hell, he couldn't take his eyes off her either.

"It doesn't look like he has a problem with you either, Mon."

Chandler stroked his palm down the back of Ben's head, making sure his head was supported. He'd had heard enough of Ross reciting baby books at him as he'd prattled off facts and statistics and milestones during Carol's pregnancy and he was sure Monica had too. Ross had been so excited and told everyone he could hold down all about the size of the foetus and what organ was being developed that week of Carol's pregnancy. More recently, the facts had involved which muscles and gross motor skills were being worked with simple little exercises like rolling over and Chandler hadn't been able to escape them. As annoying as it was, it meant that Chandler knew Ben couldn't quite hold his head up on his own but was working towards it, so he shifted his leg a little so that the boy could lean his head there if he needed to.

Chandler moved his hand, letting his fingers smooth down the boy's soft blonde fringe. He smelt good, like talcum powder and sweet milk, and Chandler found himself continuously running his cupped hand over the baby's soft head. It didn't even bother him that Ben wasn't looking at him anymore, he was babbling and clapping his hands together and smiling toothlessly at Monica's antics. Chandler's hand kept stroking Ben's hair, but his eyes were drawn to Monica. She so overtly adored the little boy and seemed to have completed a full revolution, absolutely charmed by the boy who only a few hours before she had been afraid hated her.

"You're really good with him," her fully formed words broke through the garbled elephant noises she was directing at Ben.

Chandler squinted at Monica, "I left him on a bus, Mon."

She looked at him then, tearing her eyes away from the child. "And then you ran all over the city trying to get him back."

Chandler pulled a face, unsure what Monica was driving for. He had lost Ross' son, left him with strangers and almost had a heart attack in the half-hour it had taken them to track Ben down as he had tried not to think about what would happen if someone other than the bus driver had taken the boy to someplace other than the Department of Human Services.

"That doesn't erase the fact that I left him on the bus in the first place," he countered petulantly, turning his gaze back to Ben. Ben who was real and solid and there in his arms safe and sound. The child looked at him then. Chandler pressed his head towards the baby and grinned, running his nose across the little button of the child's nose a few times. "Sorry about that buddy."

The boy, as though understanding what the adults had been discussing, slapped a hand against Chandler's chin and bounced on his nappy, his heel kicking against the man's chest as Chandler laughed. Monica bit down on her bottom lip, trying to fight the sudden wave of light-headedness and the twinge at her sternum as she watched Ben consider the older man and his apology.

"He loves you anyway," she observed.

Chandler glanced at her, an indescribable look on his face. His blue eyes were wide and his lips were quirked lopsidedly, somehow both a smile and a disbelieving frown. Monica wasn't sure how to promise him that whatever he was doing with Ben was right, the kid adored his funny uncle and she'd witnessed Chandler in moments alone with the boy, scared of doing the wrong thing but turning everything into a game and talking to him like a little adult even as he changed his diapers. But Chandler had the lowest self-belief of anyone Monica had ever met, he needed encouragement every so often. Monica ached to give it to him, except Chandler was the one who was good with words. More often than not he resorted to sarcastically letting her know she was hyper-fixating on the problem, not the solution, and if that didn't work, he'd lower his voice and gently coax her back into a social situation. He had a way of consistently saying the exact right thing to encourage her, to build her up, to support her, and Monica was completely envious of it. Monica could cook him comfort food and make sure he came home to a clean apartment and ensure he didn't need to worry about coming home to Joey's dirty dishes before he collapsed into bed, she could tease him and banter with him in a way she was certain he understood she meant to be supportive. But she had never been able to put into words exactly how important he was to her, exactly how much he had influenced her. She wanted to let him know that the endless way he seemed to care for her was reciprocated but she didn't know how to express that in the genuine way he always managed.

Monica swallowed, about to reiterate that Ben seemed to love Chandler and that was enough, but the boy moved. Simultaneously, Chandler and Monica cast their eyes on Ben. Chandler moved, his hands ready to catch Ben if he rolled, unsure of what he was doing. Ben leant forward onto his hands and kicked his legs out and backwards until he was lying across Chandler's chest. The man chuckled lowly as the boy lay his head against his collar, looking up at him with those dark blue eyes of his. Chandler lay his palms on Ben's back, pressing his lips to his head for a moment.

They stayed like that for a few minutes and Monica felt like an intruder on the pair's familial moment. She wanted to reach out and place her hand against Ben's head just so that she could touch him as he blinked up at Chandler. She was a little jealous of how implicitly Ben wanted to spend time with Chandler, she assumed it was probably because of his deep breathing and soft sweatshirts. She also wanted to lay her head against Chandler's shoulder so she could be the recipient of the baby's intense gaze.

Ben fidgeted, pressing his hands against Chandler's chest and lifting his head to look at Chandler better. Both boys smiled at each other. Chandler smoothed his hands up the baby's spine once, twice. And then the worst thing happened.

Ben overbalanced.

His head wobbled and his right arm bent but the other didn't. Monica shut her eyes with a gasp envisioning what was about to happen. She knew that Chandler had a grip on Ben's body, but she also knew that it wasn't all that tight. If Ben decided he wanted to move he was strong enough to move, and Chandler was skinny enough that his abdomen didn't give Ben much of a playground if he decided he wanted to move. She held her breath and tried not to focus on the images playing like a nightmare in her mind, of all the things that could go wrong if Ben wanted up and Chandler wasn't paying attention. So, instead, Monica listened for the baritone vibrations of Chandler's voice.

"Whoops. Where're you going, little man?" he chuckled. "Don't want to cuddle with me anymore, huh? That's fine, we'll just get Aunt Monica to hold you instead. She gives good hugs, doesn't she?"

Monica un-scrunched her eyelids, opening her eyes one at a time and letting out a breath. Chandler and Ben were lying in almost the same position they had been before she'd closed her eyes, one of Chandler's large palms caressing Ben's head and the other holding his diaper-covered rear.

He appeared to be the picture of coolness and his voice was level and lilting the way it always did, betraying nothing so that Monica almost thought she had overreacted for nothing. But then she saw the pale, stricken pallor of his face and the way his fingers shook. He appeared to be pressing Ben tight to his chest as he caught his breath, relieved.

And then, just as quickly as it all happened, Chandler stood Ben up against his stomach. Keeping Ben's feet pressed against his ribs, Chandler moved Ben's torso side to side to face Monica and then the window and back again, swaying him in a mirror of what Monica liked to call 'Chandler's Dance.' On the man, it was a silly, often excited, release of pent-up energy but on the young boy, who wasn't doing it of his own accord, his face shining happily, it was something akin to adorable. Not for the first time, Monica wondered what Chandler had been like as a child. Who held him when he cried? Who turned on his night light and cuddled with him when he got a big-boy bed? Which of his parents did he pull into the living room so he could put on a show for them? She was almost certain dancing was involved in Chandler's childhood living room, but did he learn it from a parent or perform for an empty audience?

Ben babbled as Chandler adjusted his hands one by one to better grip him under his armpits, laughing along with him. And then he leant up, his nose touching Ben's chest, blowing a raspberry against his exposed belly where his shirt had ridden up. He inhaled loudly and blew another.

Chandler couldn't remember having ever heard a sound as wonderful as the one Ben made. It wasn't quite a laugh and more of a squeal followed by three audible snorts of air, bookended by another high-pitched squeak until he pressed his lips to the little round stomach again.

Satisfied that the boy was happy and alert and not at all tired yet, Chandler lifted his head to run his nose along Ben's. "Now," Chandler lowered his voice seriously. "Do you promise to be good to Monica?"

Monica's head jerked from where it lay to watch Ben to look, wide-eyed at Chandler beside her. She wanted to tell him no, that she wasn't ready to hold Ben yet, that Chandler was doing such a good job there was no point to disturb the baby needlessly. But Chandler was busy looking at Ben for an answer.

Obviously, Ben was too young for anything but incoherent babbling, but Chandler seemed to think the spit bubble he blew was answer enough.

"Good," and then he turned to look at her finally. "Ben's promised to not cry this time. Alright, kiddo. Here we go."

Monica watched warily as Chandler passed Ben over to her. Her fingers brushed against Chandler's as she held Ben under his arms, his little pink toes pressed against her thighs as she brought Ben's face in line with hers. Blue eyes blinked at her curiously and Monica held her breath for a beat.

Two.

Three.

Ben wasn't crying. He wasn't making a sound of any kind, just staring at her, probably wondering what she was thinking as she looked right back at him. Monica jostled him a little, leaning ben backwards to swing his feet forward so that his feet planted firmly on her thighs and bounced him slightly. Ben gurgled, a happy sound that was paired with a rivulet of dribble running out the side of his lips.

Monica felt her giggle bubble up from deep within her and she glanced at Chandler to find him already watching her. He was holding his head up to get a better view of aunt and nephew, turned toward her. His breath was warm and smelt like the foamy coffee he liked as it filled the limited space between them. If he sneezed or nodded his head like he often did when he was entertained, the tip of Chandler's Patrician nose would touch hers. His bright blue eyes were shining proudly, his dimples showing. He didn't smile so widely often and it was a gift whenever he did. Monica's toes curled and she grinned at the man.

"Look at you," his voice was soft, smiling.

"He's not crying," Monica laughed. "He's really not crying!"

She was completely giddy and Chandler had been right, it was all to do with the way she held him. Chandler smiled at her, his lips pressed together in a thin pink line. She couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, he appeared to be considering how proud he was, but which of them he was proud of was unclear.

She turned her attention back to Ben, "Hi there."

She could feel Chandler shaking beside her, doing that quiet, shoulder shaking laugh he did. For someone who found humour and joy in almost everything he did, Chandler very rarely laughed out loud for a good long minute. He chuckled and snorted, he exhaled quickly and shook his shoulders, sometimes he would even bark out a single beat or scoff but he rarely ever cackled with laughter and never until his eyes watered. It was a little unfair, she thought, he worked so hard to make sure everyone around him was laughing but he himself didn't experience the same emotion. Monica was sure she'd heard him laugh properly less than a handful of times, the sound bubbling up from his diaphragm and barking out of his throat a little more high pitched than she expected. He'd definitely laughed from his belly at that movie they rented while Ross was on his honeymoon with Carol and Phoebe had been out on a date with Duncan. She didn't remember the movie anymore but she would never forget the joyous sound he'd made. And there had definitely been an off the cuff comment Phoebe had made that made her brother's eye twitch in a way that had the whole group in hysterics. Joey loved telling the story of making Chandler laugh so hard he vomited that time they'd eaten too much in Atlantic City, except Monica hadn't been there for that so it didn't count. She desperately wanted to have her turn making Chandler's sides split and tears leak from his eyes as he smiled so wide, short of breath from laughter, doing it twice would be even better because then she'd be one up on everyone. One day she was going to make Chandler laugh.

"That's the line you're going with?"

Monica rolled her eyes. Ben was a baby, it didn't matter if what she said to him was eloquent or not. "It's a classic."

"It certainly seems to have won this little guy over," he nodded towards the smiling Ben.

Monica grinned. She was really holding Ben and he wasn't crying. She couldn't believe it!

Chandler watched as Monica held Ben's long body. To keep him straight and standing she had to extend her arms all the way above her chest. And then tilted her arms towards her head. Ben's feet lifted off the dark fabric of her shirt and she made an aeroplane noise as she swayed him above her chest. Four hours ago, Monica had been crying that Ben wouldn't let her hold him and now she was flying him over her body, unprompted. He shook his head, amazed and a little jealous of how quickly she learnt and how rapidly she gained confidence.

They stayed like that for a while, Chandler watching over Monica and Ben as the woman entertained him. This woman knew exactly what she was doing.

"Alright," Chandler announced after a time. "I'm going to head off."

"What?"

Chandler glanced back at Monica to find her pretty blue eyes panicked and wild.

"You can't go," She hissed. "He's calm because you're sitting right there."

Chandler scoffed. He leant forward and pressed a kiss to Ben's temple, "See you, Benny. Tell your aunt that's not true." Then he twisted and turned to face her, his face large and angular as it pressed against Ben's small, round one, both men looking at her, "You're doing great. That's all you. I stink like that bus, Monica, I need a shower."

"You need to sit down," she demanded. Something in her voice made him stay, sitting back against the lounge slowly, defiantly, pressing his shoulder solidly against her own. Smiling at her amusedly with his arms folded petulantly over his oversized sweatshirt. And then she caught a whiff of something, thankful she was holding Ben at arm's length.

She smiled sweetly at Chandler and he sent the same smile back to her, squinting at her in query.

"You need to stay, just in case he starts crying again," although she was fairly certain she had gotten the hang of caring for the infant and he hadn't once whimpered in all the time she'd been holding him. Before she could say anything further, Chandler pulled his lips tightly together and nodded his head slowly, preparing himself for what Monica was about to say, moving his feet to the floor again so he could stand and reaching out to take Ben from her. "Ooh. And you need to change someone's nappy."


"You know, I taught your mother how to do this," Chandler said quietly as he rearranged the baby's legs in his daughter's arms. They were sitting on the edge of the hospital bed with his left arm around Erica's shoulders, his right forearm rested against under hers to help her cradle the baby properly. "She didn't know what she was doing until I taught her how to hold your cousin, Ben."

Erica didn't take her eyes away from the baby in her arms. It was so tiny and pink and beautiful, blowing a little bubble of saliva onto its pillowy bottom lip. "That doesn't sound true."

Confident Erica had a proper grip on the newborn, Chandler removed his right arm from under hers and passed his fingers over the baby's tufts of soft, curly hair. His thumb stroked the perfect tiny temple and his fingers touched Erica's elbow encouragingly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"I did!" his indignation was whispered. "Your mum had no idea what she was doing until I came along. Ask her."

Erica bent over and kissed the baby's tiny forehead. Then she lay her temple against the ball of his shoulder, his arm curling tightly around her, and she looked up at her father. "Even if that was true, Dad," she sounded disbelieving. "Mum would never admit it."

Chandler grinned down at his daughter; she spoke just like he did, pausing unceremoniously and sarcastic, but in every other way she was so like Monica it amazed him. "I know."