Disclaimer: I do not own Friends or any characters therein - I'm just playing with them.

Author Note: After the, quite frankly astonishing, success of my first story for this fandom, we're back with more. This is not a sequel, just another variation on the possibilities of a Chandler-'n-Rachel courtship dance. We pick up after The One With All The Rugby; as always, I hope that you enjoy it and feedback is appreciated.

Good Medicine

Act One: The One With The Airport Pick-up

Scene One: The Short Straw

Chandler used his shoulder as a battering-ram, edging his way around the group of wildly-gesticulating people and headed towards the concourse. Beads of sweat rolled down his back, shirt sticking to him; he was fairly sure that they deliberately sucked all the oxygen out of the interminable grey corridors; nothing else could explain the stuffiness, the way every breath felt like taking syrup into his lungs. He shook his head sharply, clearing it, hitched up his bag again and pushed forwards. The doors slid open and a wisp of cooler air played teasingly across his face.

Home again. He felt like kneeling down and kissing the ground. That would probably not make him popular with the people behind him trying to get past, though. Chandler scrubbed at his eyes, peered blearily at the crowds, trying to find Joey. He scanned the unfamiliar faces, the expectant expressions, the pretty girl waving in his direction- His eyes came back to her. The pretty girl waving at him and actually calling his name, her voice barely discernible over the hubbub. He moved towards her.

'Joey, you've changed.'

Rachel rolled her eyes. 'You haven't.'

He grinned at her. 'What are you doing here?'

'Joey had an audition, so I-'

'Drew the short straw.'

She breathed heavily down her nose. 'Volunteered.'

Chandler scrubbed at his face again, offered her a conciliatory smile. 'Sorry. It was the flight from hell.' His entire body still felt cramped, too many hours spent squashed into the stupidly tiny seats. Rachel's face softened as she looked at him.

'You look tired. Come on, I've got Phoebe's cab.'

His eyebrows went up. 'She's letting you drive?'

'She-' Rachel bit her lip. 'Okay, she doesn't actually know; I mean, she did lend it to Joey and he...'

'Leant it to you. Eh.' Chandler shrugged, took her arm. 'You can't be any worse a driver than Phoebe.'

'Hey!'

ooOoo

Rachel navigated the streams of traffic, squinting at the signposts over the bridge and settling into a lane. She glanced, briefly, at the figure slumped in the passenger seat, all rumpled clothes and long limbs.

'So, how was Yemen?'

He sighed. 'Yemen... Yemen sucks.'

She laughed lightly. 'That's a great description there.'

'There's really not much to describe, y'know? It's like someone took a pile of rubble and said, "Hey, let's build another pile of rubble on top of that and people can live in it!" '

'It can't be that bad.'

He turned to her. 'Have you ever been to Yemen?'

'Uh...'

'Didn't think so. When you go to Yemen, you get to comment.'

She shifted gears, slowing. 'What did you do there?'

'It's been less than forty-eight hours, Rach, this wasn't exactly what we'd call a long-term thing.'

'Man, you are cranky when you've been flying.'

He propped his cheek against hand. 'Again - sorry. I'm just tired. The very nice lady sitting next to me on the flight out, who didn't speak any English, by the way, took me home with her, her family slaughtered a goat and I think, I think, I'm now married to one of her daughters.'

Rachel started laughing, helplessly, forcing her eyes wide. Beside her, Chandler let out a strangled yelp, grabbed the wheel, holding them steady.

'Oh my God, we are going to die on this bridge.'

'I'm sorry,' she gasped, 'I'm sorry, it's just-' She blinked rapidly, took a few breaths. 'I'm sorry, but, honestly, this could only happen to you.'

Chandler released the wheel, folded himself back into his seat and said conversationally, 'I'm glad that the train-wreck I like to refer to as my life is a source of amusement for you.'

'Oh, sweetie...'

She glanced at him; he had his eyes narrowed at her. She glanced again: still narrow. Another glance and he couldn't do it anymore: he smiled at her.

'See? I knew I'd get you in the end.'

'Well, you don't play fair,' he said, 'plus, y'know, I'm really easy.'

'Gee, you sure know how to sweet-talk, Chandler Bing.'

'It takes years of practice. Uh, Rach?'

'Yuh?'

'You know where the brakes are in this thing, right?'

'Yes.'

'Then will you please use them?'

'Wh- Oh!' She stopped abruptly, throwing them both forward. Rachel tossed the hair out of her face. 'Sorry about that. Chandler, you can open your eyes now.'

He shook his head vehemently. 'No, nu-uh, no way. They are staying closed until we get home.'

'Baby.'

'No, just a man who has suddenly found religion.' His eyes were still screwed tight.

Muttering under her breath, Rachel put the cab into gear, eased them on their way.