A/N: Thank you for the holiday wishes, and Happy New Year! :) And thank you, db, for the kind words :)

This chapter was proofread by yours truly. I apologize in advance for any errors that may still remain.

That Thing Called Love

Chapter 13

Chandler watched as Monica prepped his Thanksgiving chicken, seasoning it liberally and with expertise. The look of utter concentration on her face as her tongue peeked out a little between her lips was the most endearing sight he'd ever seen. "So," he stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Can I do this," he pressed his mouth to her nape, "while you do that?"

The rest of the gang was at her apartment. They both were in his in order to use his oven for the chicken, him with her under the pretense of helping her with the doors.

"You can," she murmured, still concentrating on the chicken but tilting her neck to the side to accommodate his mouth better. "But we forgot to preheat, and we need to do that first." She leaned down to turn on the oven before turning to face him. "Because raw chicken is how you get salmonella." She pecked his lips and grinned as he visibly shuddered.

He leaned in beside her and turned up the heat on the oven by a few more degrees before returning to her lips. He certainly didn't need more reasons to hate this godforsaken day.

When he pressed closer to her, pushing her back against the counter, she made a small, contented sound in her throat and opened her mouth to him, tasting all warm and spicy; like lemon and pepper.

Ever since he'd been ten years old, every time this day approached, he'd feel a sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, as if Thanksgiving itself was out to get him. Which it indeed had several times before. This year, though, that feeling of unease was conspicuously missing.

Ross was still living with him and Joey, but the tensions had settled down and although the process had become more cumbersome, the sneaking around itself continued unabated.

At this point, this was the longest relationship he had ever been in. Well, at least at a stretch, because the Janice-trainwreck had gone on for much longer than it should have. A better milestone that was true for this relationship was that this was the happiest he'd ever been with anyone.

She was kind, smart, and loving - which were all traits of hers that he had been aware of well before they'd started dating, but she was also several other things that he never would have imagined Monica to be when in a relationship. She was patient and understanding of his commitment issues, without even him having to voice them to her. She gave him figurative nudges when needed but never pushed him to do anything with which he was uncomfortable. And she just accepted him for who he was - wholly, unconditionally. Such total acceptance was baffling at times, especially because it was coming from a woman who, to him, was several leagues out of his ballpark. She didn't seem to feel that way, though. He could see that she was just as happy as him to be in this relationship and every smile of hers exuded that.

He didn't really believe in karma, but if he were to dabble in that theory, he figured that he must have done something extraordinarily nice in his past life because he got to be in a relationship with this wonderful, wonderful woman now.

As a result of all that, he was feeling uncharacteristically happy and cheerful today and willing to participate in all the merrymaking. He had even volunteered to help Monica with anything that she might require, without even considering the added perk of getting to make out with her like he got to now.

She pulled away from the kiss and stroked his cheek tenderly, smiling. "I know I'm not supposed to say this to you, but I hope you have a good Thanksgiving today, Chandler," she said earnestly.

Maybe this was the year that would turn things around for his rocky relationship with this day. Maybe Thanksgiving 1998 was the happy culmination for all the crap that he'd gone through on this day since he was nine.

Watching the woman that he was so head-over-heels in love with look at him now like he were her whole world, this year definitely appeared to hold that promise.

"Me, too," he nodded, smiling back.

~.~

The dinner had been devoured, and the leftovers lay scattered on the dining and coffee tables. They all simultaneously held their painfully food-distended stomachs and groaned, satiated. When Rachel commented on how this had been the best Thanksgiving dinner ever, Chandler wholeheartedly agreed. Rachel then also suggested that they should all say one thing each that they were thankful for.

Usually, he'd have declined to participate by making an inappropriate, sarcastic comment, but this year, there were things for which he was thankful.

In fact, 'thankful' couldn't even begin to suffice as a word to describe what he felt, but when you were hiding your love for a woman from the world and from the woman itself, you couldn't really divulge it to your friends as the thing that you were thankful for.

Joey's love for women's undergarments was no such secret, though, and Joey had no trouble launching on an ode to the wonder that was thong.

Chandler was pretty grateful for thongs and other kinds of women's underwear, too, but he definitely wouldn't go off on a ten-minute monologue on the subject. Actually, Monica had this red bra that was essentially just a pair of underwires. He loved it and lived for the nights she wore it. And also her black teddy with the attached stockings. And the cream nig-

Okay, now he was digressing.

"Are you aware that you're still talking?" he interrupted Joey, just as Monica added, "Is anyone thankful for anything else besides a thong?"

That's when Ross took them down the lane of talking about 'bad' Thanksgivings. They all seemed to have one of those as well, and this time, Chandler willingly inaugurated the discussion with his own, well-practiced story of Thanksgiving 1978, which was then followed by Phoebe's ludicrous tale of "past life" Thanksgiving. But in the end, they all agreed that Chandler still continued to be the undisputed King of Bad Thanksgiving in this life.

"I know Monica's worst Thanksgiving." Rachel's eyes twinkled with childlike mischief.

"Oh, let's not tell this story," Monica immediately tried to nip it in the bud.

He touched her hair lightly in order to encourage her to tell it, and she glanced at him with what looked to him like apprehension.

She had her hair in an intricate updo, and she still had it curly. Words like 'pretty' and 'gorgeous' did no justice to her. She was beautiful – inside and out.

"Oh, I know! I know!" Phoebe piped up suddenly. "It's the one where Joey got Monica's turkey stuck on his head!"

Oh. That would make sense. Watching a grown man dance around with a turkey stuck on his head certainly wasn't a pretty sight. It could easily be anyone's worst Thanksgiving.

But once Phoebe had finished recounting the incident, she realized that that couldn't have been the day that Rachel was talking about since this particular episode was news to Rachel. Rachel just gave a knowing smirk.

"I-I really don't want to tell this story," Monica laughed a little, nervously.

Now he could see that she looked tense, on edge. That got him very, very curious. She and he had spent most of their adult Thanksgivings together, so he suspected that this particular Thanksgiving that Rachel was referring to had taken place well in the past.

"Oh, come on, Monica. Reliving past pain and getting depressed is what Thanksgiving is all about," was his pep-talk to get her going.

"Look, um." She smiled at him hesitantly and then patted his hand. "Of all people, you do not want me to tell this story," she said in a warning tone.

That made no sense at all. Before they'd become friends, there had only been two other Thanksgivings during which he had been with her. One of those occasions had turned out to be disastrous for him. He just couldn't see what could possibly have gone wrong for her then. Was she insinuating that her cutting his toe off had somehow ruined her day?

"What is that supposed to mean?" he countered.

~.~

~.~Thanksgiving 1987~.~

When Ross had told her on the phone earlier that week that he was bringing a friend over for Thanksgiving, she had assumed he'd be bringing one of his dorky college mates.

Chandler Bing was by no means undorky, but he was also cute. And funny. And older (which she hadn't realized would be such a huge turn-on). Granted, he had a ridiculous hairstyle, but that was totally negated by everything else that he was.

It would be safe to say that she had an enormous crush on him.

He seemed a bit aloof, though, which she attributed to him being a guest in a new household and his hatred for Thanksgiving. When he offhandedly commented that she should be a chef, it felt as if he had looked into her heart and spoken those words. It was something that she had been contemplating for quite a while now, and she took his statement as the final sign to pursue her culinary passion.

As Rachel hopped over to her, happily telling her about the fifth time that she and Chip had made up that month, Monica leaned forward, interested, and at once felt the familiar sting of her pants' elastic cutting into her skin.

Maybe it was time to size up again, she didn't know. A shopping trip would involve talking to her mother and revealing the reason for the trip, which would only earn her a withering 'Again?' from her mother. She did not want to deal with that now.

She could worry about all of that later. Today, she just wanted to focus on and spend time with Chandler. She heard him and Ross talking in the kitchen and headed in just as her brother was telling Chandler that it would be cool for him to stay the night at the Geller residence. Maybe her wish to spend more time with him would come true, after all. She smiled, wide and happy.

"I don't want to be stuck here all night with your fat sister," was Chandler's swift response to Ross's offer.

The moment felt surreal, like someone had splashed ice-cold water on her face. Tears stung instantly, and she hated herself for it, for letting some stranger do this to her.

She had been under no illusion about her weight, but the thought that a person would not want to spend some time with her – not date her or even be her friend – just spend time with her, based solely on one physical attribute was... She didn't know what it was.

He had reduced her entire existence, her whole being, to a single, ugly word – fat.

She turned to hurry off to her room, not wanting to cry here, in front of him, only to be stopped by her parents. Her mother thrust a couple of pies in her face, requesting that she finish them off since there was no more room in the fridge.

She reached for them instinctively, and the welt mark from the elastic on her abdomen burned again.

She shoved the pies away and didn't ignore the sting this time.

~.~

After a moment of stunned silence, he abruptly turned around to face her. "I called you fat?" he asked, astonished.

Suddenly, she was the eighteen-year-old na?ve girl, and he was the nineteen-year-old boy with that godawful haircut.

Once they'd become friends post the unfortunate toe-cutting incident, he had told her that the Flock of Seagulls haircut was extremely hard to maintain and took a lot of effort and that he'd gotten rid of it once he realized that people were making fun of him for it behind his back, even more than they did of Ross for his Afro. He had also told her about how his parents' divorce had ruined Thanksgiving for him.

In fact, he had shared with her almost all of his past and told her many things, many things except apologizing for being a jerk to her on their first meeting.

"I don't even remember that..." he murmured, still looking shocked.

That probably explained why an apology had never come. He hadn't seen his behavior as anything out of the norm – just a teenage boy being a teenage boy. She didn't really blame him now. Once she'd gotten to know him better, she had pretty much come to the same conclusion.

"I'm so sorry. I really am," he pleaded, placing his hand on her knee and then her thigh.

As he spoke about the idiot that his younger self had been, she felt the warmth of his hand permeate through to her skin. She was acutely aware of their friends' presence in the room, and a strange worry flitted through her mind that he might accidentally out them as a couple by being more intimate in public than they ideally ought to.

No one batted an eye, and his hand stayed on her leg, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him.

"I'm really sorry. That is so terrible. I'm so, so sorry," he told her softly, sincerely. She got the feeling that he'd have held her or kissed her had they been alone.

Until now, she hadn't realized just how much she'd wanted to hear those words from his mouth for that incident, even after all these years. Like a ghost appeased with a peace offering, the inner fat girl smiled as she finally got the apology that she had so desperately yearned for.

That joy vanished in a second.

"Actually, y'know that's not the Thanksgiving I was talking about..." Rachel frowned.

Oh, God, why was Rachel doing this?

Her relationship with Chandler was in a perfect place - she was not the one to use that word lightly. It really was in the perfect place, and it could really do without the truth about that incident being out in the open.

"Yes, it was," Monica asserted, firm.

"No, it wasn't. It was actually the-" Rachel continued relentlessly down the path of Monica-destruction.

She quickly interrupted her friend. "Okay, now Thanksgiving's over, let's get ready for Christmas! Who wants to go get a Christmas tree?" she asked with fake cheerfulness. The other five just stared at her, confused. The diversionary tactic did not work. It just made them all more curious to know what really had happened.

And thus began the retelling of the events of Thanksgiving 1988. She watched helplessly as Rachel regaled forbidden tales like a bit of juicy gossip.

He sat mere inches from her, rapt with attention, his body radiating heat and tensing discernibly as the story approached its grisly climax. From the corner of her eye, she could see his face flushing with anger.

"So then, we took Chandler to the hospital..." Rachel pushed forward with the story, well past the necessary point.

She couldn't listen to this anymore. She got up from the couch and went to stand behind it, clutching the backrest tightly, watching her knuckles turn white.

They'd had their fair share of fights since London, but in all those instances, either he had been in the wrong or they both had been. This time, it would all be her fault – her own stupid, humongous fault. And he was going to be mad at her, rightfully so. She didn't know how to deal with that.

"So because of the carrot-toe mix-up, they had to..." Rachel trailed off awkwardly, noticing the look on Chandler's face. "Well, you know how it ends," she finally finished.

This time, there was no stunned silence. He was seething already. "That's why I lost my toe?" he spat, standing up to face her. "Because I called you fat?"

"I didn't mean to cut it off, it was an accident." That was the truth. Of course, that was the truth.

After coming back home from the hospital that day, Ross had commented that he just couldn't fathom how a chef-in-training could be so clumsy with a knife. It had indeed just been an unfortunate accident. With grievous results.

"I'm sorry! It wasn't your whole toe..." The moment those words left her lips, she regretted them. That certainly wasn't going to help either of them now. She wasn't surprised when he stormed off. She hurried after him, calling out for him. "Chandler."

He reached his apartment door and stopped abruptly in front of it to rest his hands on the doorway and leaned down, exhaling. "I can't believe this," he shook his head, facing away from her.

"Chandler, I said I was sorry." The apology sounded feeble and ineffectual even to her own ears, but she didn't know what else to say.

How do you apologize to a person that you cared about the most in the world for something incredibly foolish that you'd done to them a decade ago? What was she supposed to do here?

He resorted to nursery-rhyme sarcasm. "Yeah, well, 'sorry' doesn't bring back the little piggy that cried all the way home!" he snapped, turning around. "You know, it just figures that something like this would happen today." His fingers curling with frustration, he gritted through his teeth, "I hate this stupid day and everything about it." Suddenly, he looked like he'd lost steam. "I'll see you later," he said quietly and turned around to leave. He had gone from anger and then frustration to disappointment and dejection, in that heartbreaking order.

"Wait, Chandler..." She caught him by the arm, making him turn back. "Come here." She pulled him closer and held him by the shoulders. "Is there anything I can do? Anything?"

"Yeah, just leave me alone for a while." He pulled himself from her grasp, opened his door, and walked into his apartment, shutting the door behind him before she could say anything else.

She stared at the closed door before stroking her now throbbing forehead, feeling like the eighteen-year-old girl who had wanted to cry in the kitchen that day, all those years ago.

~.~.~