Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Author's note: Takes place season 6, around January/February, after Janine has moved out of Joey's place but before Valentine's Day. This is the first of, most likely, five chapters.
The apples poking out of the bags of groceries Monica was balancing on her hips threatened to tumble to the floor as she reached her apartment and fumbled with the doorknob. She had just barely caught one of the pieces of fruit under her chin when the door suddenly swung open, and she saw Chandler smile broadly at her then reach out to grab the bag closest to him, which was sliding out of Monica's hands. He caught it just in time, but the sudden movement caused Monica to lose her grip on the apples, and five of them spilled to the floor and rolled away.
"And they're off!" Chandler announced as the apples wobbled down the slightly sloping hallway floor. At the sharp look from Monica, he stepped aside so she could bring the other two bags she carried inside. He set his own bag on the floor, picked up the fruit basket on the kitchen table, and then kneeled down to catch the five apples. With all of them safely tucked in the basket, he grabbed the top one, polished it on his shirt and took a bite.
"That'll teach you to run away again," he scolded, his mouth full of apple. Monica shot him another frown as she pulled off her coat, and he put down the apple.
"Well, someone's not having a good day," Chandler said. He stepped over to Monica, who now was putting the groceries away, and took her hands so she had to face him.
"Nice to see you, sweetie," he said, kissing her on the lips then backing a half step away to study her face. "Wanna talk about it?"
"I'm just cranky. Maybe I'm about to start my period or something." At Chandler's grimace, she added, "Look, we live together now and I bleed every month _ get used to it."
"No problem," he said, turning his face to mouth a quick "eewww" that she couldn't see before going on. "So work was OK?"
"No, work was not OK," Monica said, resuming her grocery unpacking and brutally stuffing vegetables into the drawers in the refrigerator. "The dinner crew gets a big kick out of the fact that I organize my kitchen supplies alphabetically, so last night they moved everything."
"I'm sure they didn't do it on purpose," said Chandler, who had sat at the kitchen table and was back at his apple. "I still don't know where everything goes here. Why do you think I'm not helping you now?"
"They totally did it on purpose," Monica said. "And you're just lazy."
"Hey, that hurts," Chandler said through another bit of apple.
"I know they did it on purpose," Monica went on, ignoring Chandler, "because they labeled almost all of the appliances with the wrong names. Somebody had actually written 'flap-jack flipper' on all the spatulas and 'murder weapon' on my butcher knives. So, naturally, they were filed in the 'F' and 'M' drawers."
Chandler burst out laughing, little bits of apple flying out of his mouth.
"Oh, you think that's really funny, funny man, do you?" she said. "Well maybe 'murder weapon' isn't a totally inaccurate label after all."
"You're right, I'm sorry," Chandler said, his eyes watery from laughter as he got up from the table to wrap Monica in a hug, somewhat against her will. "But that's the dinner crew, right? At least you don't have to work with those people all the time. I mean, you said the lunch crew is starting to warm up to you."
"That's the thing," Monica said, pushing away from Chandler and flopping into a chair. "I'm going to be working with them for the next month."
"What?" Chandler asked, sitting next to her. "You're working nights?"
"Yes," Monica moaned. "You know, we've always been more of a lunch spot, with all the office buildings nearby, so the owners want to pick up the dinner crowd now. Since I'm the head chef, they said I have to work dinners for the next month, totally rework the menu and all that. Any other time and this would be a great opportunity, but the dinner crew is just, well, they're just evil."
"Hey, Mon, it'll be OK," Chandler said, leaning over in his chair so he could hold Monica, who had let out a frustrated sob with that last sentence. "It's only for a month, right? And you hated the lunch crew at first, so maybe now this is a chance to turn the dinner crew to your side. You know, turn on your charm, maybe even flirt a little."
At this Monica poked her head up.
"I thought I wasn't allowed to flirt," she said, a small smile turning up her mouth. "You know, I'm too sexy and all that."
"In times of crisis, I think I can make an exception," Chandler said. "Besides, if they really hate you that much, a little flirting probably isn't going to do a hell of a lot of good."
Monica gave him a shallow laugh, and then turned serious again.
"The other thing that sucks about this," she said, "is that I'll hardly get to see you at all. Working the night shift, I probably won't get home until 11 or 12."
"So, I'll wait up for you," Chandler said, taking her hands in his. "And we can still have breakfast before I leave in the morning. And we can meet for lunch a few times a week. Plus, we'll have weekends."
"No weekends," Monica said. "I'll have to work Friday and Saturday nights."
"OK, so no weekends," Chandler said, clearly rethinking just how bad this situation was sounding.
"And no lunches, either. I'm going to have to get started pretty early, you know, go shopping for fresh produce. And putting together a new dinner menu is going to take a lot of time."
"OK, so no lunches," Chandler said, his voice decidedly dark now. "But breakfasts, right? And you're off Sundays?"
"Yes, we'll do breakfasts. And Sundays," Monica said, forcing herself to look bright as she caught the scowl on Chandler's face. "And since I start Tuesday, for all the rest of this week I'm making you spectacular dinners every night."
"But it's already Thursday," Chandler whined. "This sucks."
"Macaroni and cheese," Monica sang, standing up to pull a bag of pasta off a shelf. "Homemade. With little hot dogs."
"I guess we can do this for a month," Chandler said, perking up a bit. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, kissing her ear and her neck. "But I'm going to miss you."
"Me too," she said.
"I mean, what am I going to eat for a month?"
+++++
The weekend flew by for Monica, which came as no surprise, considering how much she was dreading going back to work on Tuesday. She showed up at the restaurant at about 11 to get started before the busy lunchtime. She had drawn up a list the day before of fresh fruits, vegetables and meats to pick up from the local grocers that day, but first she wanted to see what was already in stock at the restaurant. That afternoon, during the lull between the lunch and dinner crowds, she intended to practice a few dishes she'd dreamed up over the weekend.
Monica had a good time shopping, so she was in high spirits when she returned to the restaurant at about 3, her arms loaded with bags of meat and produce. As she reached for the knob on the backdoor that opened directly into the kitchen, a sack of red potatoes on the top of one bag opened and the vegetables teetered at the edge of her bag.
"Why do I keep doing this to myself?" Monica muttered, as she shook the doorknob and shifted her bags to keep the potatoes from rolling out. And then the door opened.
"Oh, wow, let me help you with that," said the man who opened the door. He grabbed the bag with the potatoes in it and quickly set it on the floor so he could help her with the rest of the groceries. "That was a close call."
"Thanks," Monica said, stepping inside the empty kitchen. She looked up at the man who'd helped her. He was tall and had a thin but well-defined face, with longish blond hair that hung into his eyes. A quick scowl crossed Monica's face as she recognized him as one of the dinner waiters, but then she made a conscious effort to be kind and keep an open mind. She smiled instead.
"I don't think we've met," Monica said after setting down the bags she still held. "I'm Monica."
"Yeah, I know," the man said, wiping his hands on the half apron he had tied around his waist. "They told us you'd be working dinners for awhile."
"For a month," she said quickly.
"Right. Well, anyway, I'm Ted."
"It's nice to meet you," Monica said, and then shuffled her feet in the awkward silence that followed. "Well, I guess I'd better get to work. Thanks again for your help."
"Oh, no problem," Ted said. They stood facing each other for another few seconds, and then Monica smiled shyly and turned to unpack her bags.
The afternoon passed remarkably well. Monica was left to herself for about two hours, and by the time the first dinner customers came in, she was actually humming softly and smiling, pleased with her work. She'd run into a small crisis at about 5, when she met with the waiters to discuss changes in the dinner menu. Two teenage busboys in the back of the kitchen kept giggling and gossiping through her announcements, even after she asked them to be quiet. But then Ted had actually gone to the back of the room, whispered something quickly to them, and there had been no further interruptions.
For the rest of the evening, Monica found that she was too busy to worry about the dinner crew and what mean stunts they might try with her. It wasn't until 10:30, after she had made the last salmon soufflé, that Monica realized how smoothly the night had gone. Sure, most of the waiters hadn't exactly been friendly to her, clearly frowning at her when they picked up their food, and she'd caught more than one of them making faces at her when they thought she wasn't looking. And OK, she was pretty sure that one of the busboys had deliberately tried to trip her when she had to run to a large pot of pasta that she thought she'd overcooked. But all in all, the night had gone pretty well.
"That wasn't so bad," Monica said softly to herself as she prepared to dump what was left of a creamy mushroom soup.
"What wasn't so bad?" a voice from behind her asked. Monica turned abruptly, and saw Ted leaning in the doorway. He was smiling at her, apparently thinking it was funny to find her talking to herself.
"Um, the soup," Monica stammered. "I was afraid it might have been a little too salty."
"No, the soup was great," Ted said. "I've never seen so many people opt for soup over salad."
"We didn't have a salad tonight," Monica said, catching the coy grin on Ted's face.
"Oh, well then, it's a good thing they wanted the soup," he said. "I probably shouldn't have offered the salad, eh?"
"Ha ha," Monica said. And then she asked, forcing herself to sound casual and breezy, "So, how do you think it went tonight?"
"Pretty well," Ted said, moving into the kitchen to lean against the cool steel counter. "I mean, considering."
"Considering what?" Monica asked, her head jolting up from the pot of soup.
"Well, considering all the plans the dinner crew had for you," Ted said.
"Plans?" Monica asked.
"Oh yeah. There were lots of plans," Ted said, picking up a spatula with the "flap-jack" label still attached to it and pretending to flip pancakes. "Man, were we going to mess with you."
Monica didn't know how to take what he was saying. Most of the waiting staff hadn't exactly been nice to her tonight. And compared to everyone else, Ted had been downright charming, telling her whenever customers complemented the food and smiling every time he caught her eye. Why was he telling her all of this?
At her confused look, Ted stopped playing with the spatula and looked straight at her.
"Don't worry," he said. "I took care of everything."
"What do you mean?"
"I told them not to mess with you."
"That's it?" Monica asked, a little too loudly. When he looked offended, she added, "No, I mean, thanks. But that's all it took? They hate me."
"Well, yeah, they do," Ted said. "But they like me a lot. I mean, I'm fun to hang out with, I'm nice to everyone, and look how cute I am." He spread his arms out wide and turned around slowly for her. Monica laughed.
"I can't believe it. I've been so worried about working this shift, and now you're telling me you've fixed everything?"
"It doesn't come without a price," Ted said, turning serious.
"What do you mean?" Monica asked, her throat tight.
"Well," Ted said, walking slowly around the counter toward Monica, never taking his eyes off her. "I could really go for some of that soup."
+++++
Monica got home at about 11:30 to find Chandler waiting up for her. He was sitting in a bathrobe on the couch, reading. He jumped up and pulled her into a hug before she had a chance to take off her coat or put down her purse.
"Hey, sweetie, how'd it go?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice.
"You know, it wasn't so bad," Monica said, kissing him and then pulling away to hang up her coat. "They weren't exactly nice, but no one was exactly mean either."
"That's great," Chandler said, clearly sounding relieved. To be honest, he was mostly grateful that he wouldn't have to spend the next month listening to Monica bitch about her job. He already supplied plenty of job bitching for one house, thank you very much. "Now come to bed and tell me everything."
Monica followed him into the bedroom, telling him about the menu she had prepared and how crowded the restaurant already was. Clearly the owners had done a fantastic job promoting their restaurant for dinner.
"So how come the dinner crew let you off?" Chandler asked as Monica slid under the covers with him. "Do a little flirting there, babe? It's OK, you can tell me all about it."
"Um, you know, I'm not sure," Monica said, turning off the light on her side of the bed. "Maybe they just figured they were going to have to work with me for the next month, so they might as well make the best of it?"
Chandler seemed to accept her answer, or maybe he was too tired to press her, because he turned off his light and gathered her into his arms. He was asleep a few minutes later. Monica could feel his warm breath in her hair as she lay on his chest, thinking over her day at work and what she had just said to him.
Monica wasn't sure why she didn't want to tell Chandler about Ted. She didn't think it would make him jealous, as Chandler seemed to feel secure about her feelings for him. But for some reason, she couldn't help but feel a bit guilty about what Ted had done, almost as if she had asked him to do her this favor. It didn't make any sense, but she figured it wouldn't hurt to not mention Ted. It wasn't like she had anything to hide.