It was all Joey's fault.

Deep inside Monica knew of course that this wasn't true at all. But she just couldn't help it. It was so very convenient too to be able to pin the blame on Joey, who would probably never even care, let alone notice at all. And he had created the words after all that now she just couldn't stop thinking about, not matter how hard she tried.

Wednesday? Huh? When? Whenday? When? When-when-when …?

… will he propose?

It made her wish that the whole morning could be erased from time, with everything that happened – her inability to remember the name of the weird fruit that made for such a great centerpiece on her kitchen table when Chandler asked her (of course when she did find out that it was a horned melon, nobody cared anymore), Joey's latest hitting on Chandler to get an audition which of course would involve next to no work on Joey's side and probably maximum effort and embarrassment on Chandler's – but what else was new? – and her completely unnecessary taunting Chandler about his 'movement class', and last but not least Rachel finding out about the fire in her and Phoebe's apartment. True, there were some good moments, like when she discovered the appeal of a fireman's uniform and, when it turned out that Rachel and Phoebe needed a place to stay, so that she could finally be a real host again, providing a safe and comfortable home for an indefinite period of time. So there was something good coming out of that morning too, but the fact remained that her inner struggles and worries kept gnawing at her. Thanks to Joey and his idiotic weekday names.

Okay, maybe not Joey's fault exactly. He had just happened to stick a label to the question that kept nagging at her, haunting her endlessly. Ever since her last birthday. When she had turned thirty, inexorably, inevitably, unavoidably thirty. Her getting drunk to the gills and making a spectacular fool of herself in front of colleagues, friends and parents had not changed one iota about that fact.

So whose fault was it? Her parents'? Her mother's in particular? Who by the time Monica had finally nerved herself to meet with her after her birthday had for some strange and puzzling reason behaved as if nothing had happened. And stranger still, since that day she had completely stopped her former endless needling and nagging of Monica about her plans to get engaged, just as if the whole business of getting engaged, and married and providing Judy with grandchildren was solely up to Monica's will. Until the day of her thirtieth birthday she had driven Monica bonkers with it – and since then, nothing. No complaints, no mentioning of biological clocks or her own age, not even the all too familiar enumerations of all the daughters of her friends and acquaintances who had long since gotten married - and often divorced too - and had tons of babies. It was almost eerie. As if something fundamentally had changed, just with Monica getting past that certain fateful age.

Maybe she had written her off? Given up on her?

The very thought made Monica seethe and gnash her teeth. How could she? How could her own mother not know how much she wanted all this, longed for it, never stopped dreaming about it? If it was all that simple, if all she had to do was tell Chandler it was time to get married and force the issue, she would have done so long ago. If it had really been up to her, she would have buried Judy in a heap of screaming, squalling and kicking babies and toddlers by now.

But it wasn't. It was up to Chandler, and there was nothing she could do to get him to take the step sooner without putting everything at risk. He had to arrive at that point by himself, in his own time. That he would do so – eventually – she didn't doubt. Well, not really. Not much. Maybe just a little. But if one thing was certain, he would not do so at her convenience, let alone her mother's.

All she could do was wait. And speculate endlessly about when it would be.

Whenday? When's the day?

To be honest, it was still early. They hadn't been together for much more than one and a half years – well, one year, seven months and three days – and they had been living together for less than half a year (five months and four days to be exact). Way, way too early for the next step. She was still getting used to Chandler sharing her apartment with her, her space, his things alongside hers, mingling and merging, the two of them going through the days side by side – indeed she often felt as if she could never really get used to it, get over the wonder of it all. How could she put all that happiness and harmony at risk, only to speed up something that was going to happen anyway? Sometime?

(But when, when, when …?)

So when it turned out that the fire in Phoebe's apartment left her and Rachel homeless, it felt like a true blessing in disguise for her. True, Chandler and she would no longer have their apartment to themselves anymore, which did worry her a little, until she shook it off. It was only temporary anyway, and this minor inconvenience was far outweighed by the happy prospect of realizing a long cherished dream. She could be a host again, taking care of her poor bereaved friends, foster and nourish them, making them happy again and eternally grateful for the chance to enjoy her unique hospitality. Too bad she couldn't take both of them under her wings, though if she managed to make the chosen one's stay at Monica's pure heaven for her, they would fight for it, competing against each other until she would be the one to decide who would be meritorious enough to live at Monica's. Hotel Monica, the best possible place to stay. The one they would dream about for years later, forever yearning for a chance to return.

She actually had to take time off work to prepare the room in time which hurt a lot – how could she trust her hapless coworkers to get everything right if she wasn't there? – but adding that final touch to the room, all the things that would make it irresistible, absolutely perfect, was just too important. It wasn't enough to provide a mere place to stay. It had to be a haven. A paradise they would never want to leave.

So she worked ceaselessly on the room, never satisfied until the last moment when Phoebe and Rachel arrived with the meager belongings they'd been able to salvage from the fire. The whole business had the additional advantage in that it stopped her from worrying about the fact that Chandler was actually having coffee with another woman. She knew very well it didn't mean anything, that he was only doing Joey a favor and very reluctantly at that too. Joey had also assured her that this movie director wasn't all that attractive (why else would she work behind the camera?) and terribly busy too. Although Chandler had managed to get her to have coffee with him rather quickly. Too quickly? And he had admittedly gone out with her in college… No. She couldn't go there. Couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't. It was all just for Joey who desperately needed a job – who knew that better than her and Chandler who had been feeding and supporting him these last three months? – and as usual preferred to let Chandler do all the work. Joey who was responsible for that awful word that kept running around in her head … but no matter. Now it was time for Hotel Monica to open its doors.

"Now, this is last minute so I want to apologize for the mess. Okay?"

They went into the room, the wonderful new room she had furnished and crammed full of wonderful things that spelled old-fashioned comfort and coziness with a hundred little details that added up to an overall atmosphere of dreamy carefreeness. There were quaint pictures, vintage postcards and bright little posies and bouquets in cute holders on the walls. Every piece of furniture seemed to invite you to curl up and relax, especially the bed with the lacy covers and numerous soft cushions where she had placed half a dozen teddy bears to give it that final touch of nostalgic homeliness. She was especially proud of the flower border placed at the foot of the bed, so that the last thing at night and the first thing in the morning her guest would look at would be those beautiful blooms. Artificial of course – couldn't risk germs and crummies from the dirt and moisture destroying the perfect ambience of her wonderful room, could she? – but so realistic everybody just had to prefer them over the real things.

"Oh my God! It sure didn't look this way when I lived here." Rachel seemed positively stunned.

"I know! Now look, there's only one problem though. There's only room for one, so I guess one of you will have to stay at Joey's." She already pitied whoever it would turn out to be. It had been almost a week since she'd last inspected the apartment for potential biohazards and infection sources and the situation over there had to be near critical if she was any judge.

To her surprise it was Phoebe who surrendered without any effort at discussion. "Well, since the fire was kinda my fault I guess you should get to stay here."

"Hey! Now this was no one's fault Pheebs. Okay? It was an accident."

Monica didn't see it that way but let the two of them sort it out among themselves. Secretly she agreed with Phoebe though for once. She still remembered vividly how Phoebe's incense sticks set her ridiculous dollhouse on fire, and still cringed at the horrible memory of Ross storming the bathroom to extinguish the fire, unfortunately just as she was taking a shower. But still, it could have been worse, with the fire destroying her apartment and she being forced to choose between living with Phoebe or the boys.

"Well no, it was my fault so you should get the nice room." Phoebe had made her decision and Rachel didn't argue any longer and jumped happily on the bed. "Okay!"

"So Rach! You're the first guest at Hotel Monica!" Oh, it felt so good to finally put it into words. It made her feel so good, she had to let it out. "Umm, you'll just have to tell me how you like your eggs in the morning. And I thought I would bring them to you, you know, in bed." Normally she didn't approve of breakfast in bed, but what the hell. "Because, oh, you have been through so much!"

"I have." Rachel whined, fishing for sympathy and Monica's heart melted even more. It made her want to cuddle Rachel, soothe and comfort her, put her into bed and tuck her in, spoil her with hot toddies and cookies, take care of her all night long …

Except that Rachel briskly got up again, collected her handbag and jacket and left in a hurry for work. And Phoebe headed for Joey's, with slumped shoulders and dragging her bag and guitar case. It was only then that Monica realized she was late for work too. In fact there was just enough time to unpack Rachel's meagre belongings and put them straight into the hamper since nothing was really fit for wearing.

Later tonight she would lend her a nightie and put her to bed after a wholesome meal so she could get a good night's sleep.

.

However, when Monica came back from work, Rachel had still not returned, and Chandler was sitting at the kitchen table devouring the casserole she had put in the oven for her #1 guest.

"Chandler! I left that for Rachel!" At least he was using napkins she noted approvingly.

Chandler indicated the phone. "She left a message she'd go out with a friend and would be in late."

"Oh." Monica's shoulders slumped at that. She'd imagined taking care of Rachel all the time at work and now felt completely at a loss. But then she rallied again. There was still so much she could do. Put out a nightie for her, and some slippers, a new toothbrush, and oh yes, a mint on her pillow to make her feel right at home –

"Wow ..!" Chandler had gotten up and now took in Rachel's new room. "A mint on the pillow? You do think of everything!"

"I know!"

"You know, I was thinking … if Rachel's your #1 guest, what does that make me? The porter?"

"No! Well, I don't know …"

"Obviously I'm not the manager. Or the chef. Maybe the sleeping partner ..?"

"I know! You're the permanent resident!"

"I see. You mean the type of guest that doesn't get mints on their pillow."

She frowned at him. "You don't even like mints." When Chandler's expression fell she added hastily "But of course you can have mints too. Or something…!" She cuddled up to him and relaxed when that made him smile.

"Hmm, something other than mint. I wonder what there could be that's as good as mint?" He held her close and nuzzled at her neck which made her realize that she was still in her work clothes and positively reeking of Allessandro's kitchen. He had told her over and over that he didn't mind that, that in fact he loved it when she was all sweaty and dirty, but she could still not bring herself to believe it. Though she had to admit Chandler did a very good job of convincing her each and every time. Maybe that was one of the reasons she refused to believe it, because it was always so much fun to struggle – or pretend to struggle – against his advances, like now when he tried to steer her first to the nearest bed, which was Rachel's in the wonderful new room and therefore an absolute no-no, then towards the couch in the living-room which was slightly better but still too dangerous in case someone entering unexpectedly would catch them at it, and finally toward their bedroom which was thoroughly acceptable, especially since he made sure the door was locked behind them. It wasn't until she was lying on the bed with her legs wrapped around Chandler's shoulders while he lovingly and yet urgently removed her clothes that she remembered all the things she'd left undone. But then Chandler started making love to her, slowly but surely arousing her while holding her down and not permitting her to do anything in return which was even more exciting. That and the fact that he was still in his shirt and pants – somehow having sex while she was buck naked and spread out all over the bed while he was doing her still fully clothed always heightened her pleasure even more. Maybe because it seemed naughty somehow, giving it the air of secrecy and dark fantasies. By the time she was so wild with desire she grabbed and clawed at him so urgently he almost couldn't get out of his pants in time, everything else was forgotten, didn't matter anymore. There would be still time enough for all that later. Or tomorrow.

Or whenday.

.

When it turned out next day that it had been Rachel's hair straightener that caused the fire rather than Phoebe's incense, Monica couldn't believe her luck. Yesterday she had wished that both girls would have the chance of enjoying her special new guest room and already now her wish had been granted! Yes, it hurt a little to see Rachel clear out, looking so sad and also apprehensive of her new quarters at Joey's, but at least she had made sure her suitcase was neatly packed with all her remaining clothes and some of her own too, all freshly laundered and ironed. And having Phoebe installed in her haven after the unspeakable horrors of Joey's smelly den and getting the chance to spoil her rotten more than made up for it. The more she thought about it, the more Monica felt that there really hadn't been much more that she could do for Rachel. Phoebe on the other hand meant she could start all over again, and much better than before. Unlike Rachel Phoebe opted to stay put instead of rushing out to work, thus allowing Monica to pamper and cuddle her to her heart's content all day, making her as comfortable as possible while showering her with homemade pies and chips, never even letting her out of her sight.

And never letting herself think about Chandler still failing to propose to her and when-when-when that would be. Well, almost never. Actually, all the time, but the constant nagging had seemed to fade into the back of her mind by now. Almost unnoticeable… almost.

In the afternoon while Phoebe was napping on the couch – still with her shoes on, but she'd made doubly sure they were clean and anyway, it was her first day at Hotel Monica - she nipped over to Joey's to fill up his fridge again and got caught up with Ross who was still on cloud nine with his new flame. And deeply worried if the age difference meant he wouldn't be able to date her.

"We had such a great time! She's-she's incredible! I thought the-the age difference might be a problem, but it wasn't. It wasn't at all. Elizabeth is very mature for her age." Ross looked daggers at Joey who seemed determined to picture Elizabeth only as over-endowed with big breasts. "A concept lost on some people!"

"So it's okay to date a student?" Monica wasn't really worried. What counted most of all to her was that Ross was finally getting over last year's crises. Even if it meant he was doing it with a minor.

"Well, not really. I mean technically it's not against the rules or anything, but it is frowned upon. Especially by that professor we ran into last night, Judgey von Holierthanthou."

She couldn't resist. "Well Ross, you be careful now. You don't want to get a reputation as, you know, Professor McNails-His-Students."

When his face fell she felt immediately contrite. What had gotten into her, why did she have to poke fun at everybody so relentlessly?

"Yeah. What-what should I do?"

"Well Ross, it seems pretty clear." Joey cut in. "I mean what's more important? What people think or how you feel, huh? Ross, you gotta follow your heart."

For a moment Monica was really touched. This from the 'giant boobies guy'? "Joey that is so sweet!"

But of course Joey's idea of following one's heart meant same heart enclosed by big boobies. She should have known. And was Ross too now going dreamy-eyed at the idea?

Then Chandler came in and all at once her worries and suspicions returned to haunt her. Had this Dana managed to ensnare him? Fortunately Joey immediately pounced on him saving her the trouble to find out without appearing suspicious. Or god help her, jealous.

"Hey-hey-hey! So, how did it go with Dana? Any reason I should leave a block of time open saayy - Thursday?"

"I couldn't do it."

"You couldn't do it?!" Joey looked almost insulted while Monica rejoiced inside.

"Hey, relax, I just need more time. We're going to dinner tonight."

Monica couldn't believe her ears. "What?! You're going out with her again!" Only when all three guys stared at her quizzically she realized how shrill her voice had sounded. How reproachful.

How jealous.

"Going out with who?" Ross asked, thus diverting everyone's attention from her, bless him, and dismissing her at the same time, curse him.

"Uh, Dana Keystone from college."

"Oh yeah! Wasn't she, uh…" Monica couldn't help roll her eyes as Ross gestured to indicate the well-endowed state of the Dana in question. Which didn't sound at all like the person she'd pictured from Chandler's description –

"No, that was Dana Caplin." Thank god for small favors. But why on earth did all three guys now seem to fall in a trance, sharing a long moment of reflection on the merits of well-endowed ladies? Even -

"Joey! You didn't even know her!"

"Ah whatever!" Of course such minor matters didn't count for Joey. Really, guys. It just was so unfair, how could she even hope to compete with such a deeply rooted primordial male fantasy?

The answer was of course that she couldn't. Except counter it with something primordial female maybe? Like wedding dresses? Except that would definitively scare Chandler off.

Maybe if she suggested a wedding with a bunch of very well-endowed bridesmaids in very short low-cut dresses? Did they even exist outside porn movies?

.

.

After Phoebe had stormed out without even an explanation, let alone any warning when she was going to be back so her next batch of cookies could be scheduled accordingly, Monica sat at her kitchen table, trying hard to resist her first impulse to rush after Phoebe and reel her back in, and wondering glumly if something she had done – but what? What? – had caused her to leave. Again. Just like the last time she had lived here. But that was impossible, wasn't it? That last time the room hadn't nearly been as nice and snug, and she had to work too hard to have much free time to spoil and look after her the way she had done all day today. And yet Phoebe had stayed on, even paid her rent. Why?

Because she had no alternative, that quiet voice in her head spoke up. She had been living on the street, remember? And now –

But her apartment burnt down! She has no place to go! Even when that thought had fully formed, the counter argument already presented itself to her. Joey still had a couch. If Ross could sleep there, Phoebe could too… It made her shudder. Joey's place? With that horrible smell? The birds that Phoebe hated? The moldy shower curtain? And yet it suddenly all made sense. When she'd met Rachel earlier today, she'd looked quite relaxed and happy, anything but depressed and sad after having to yield her paradise room to Phoebe. What if she was enjoying staying at Joey's now?

Oh god, what if Phoebe now wanted to live there too? What would become of the room? The wonderful room that she'd worked on so hard and which would reproach her now forever for its desolate emptiness?

When Chandler burst through the door, wild-eyed and out of breath, he found Monica rocking in place and moaning, with her hands clapped over her face.

"Nononono! Not crummies!" he shouted and then pulled up. "What's going on?"

"Phoebe left! She hates it here!" Monica wailed as she threw herself into his arms, taking comfort in the thought that just like the last time Chandler was there again for her, and unlike the last time there was no awkwardness between them. It felt so good to have his arms wrapped around her as he sat her down again and patted her back soothingly.

"Oh? But why? Is it because of our sex noise?"

"What? No!" Monica stared at him. "She hasn't even heard us yet."

"Ok. Then why?"

"I don't know! I gave her everything!"

"Everything? You're sure there's nothing she wants from you that you haven't given her?"

"Yes!" she shouted defiantly. "What more could she want that I haven't given her?"

Chandler shrugged. "Maybe – that's just from the top of my head – maybe … some privacy?"

Monica's mouth fell open. "Privacy?" And just when she wanted to retort quite heatedly that of course Phoebe could have all the privacy she could ever want, she remembered how Phoebe had tried to lock the door and failed because that little bolt didn't work, and she slumped in her seat.

After a slight pause during which she felt Chandler squirming and wincing like he always did when he tried to tell her something she didn't want to hear, he finally said:

"Maybe you should give her a key?"

"A key? But she has a key –"

"To the room."

"Oh. I don't think there is one. Why would she need one?"

"Didn't Rachel have one?"

"No."

Chandler frowned. "So what did Rachel do when she wanted privacy?"

"But she never really needed -" Monica put her hand over her mouth in sudden realization. "Oh my god! The tie!"

Chandler frowned. "A tie? What tie?"

Just as Monica jumped up to hunt up the tie, the door was opened and Phoebe came in with a bowl in her hands that she immediately tried to hide behind her back. Monica almost pounced on her in her relief.

"Phoebe! There you are! Listen, I forgot to give you something. Here, it's in the cupboard ... wait, wait! Ah! Here it is!"

And triumphantly she held out a slightly battered red and yellow striped tie to Phoebe who eyed it bewilderedly.

"What's that? A tie?"

"Nonono. Not a tie. THE tie."

"The Tie of Privacy" Chandler added helpfully and then frowned at it suddenly. "I say, it looks familiar somehow. Where did Rachel get it from?"

Monica looked blank. "I don't know. From Ross maybe?"

Chandler picked up the tie to look at it more closely. "Ah yes, it looks just like the one I lent Ross once. Figures."

"Oh, is that the 'Keep-Monica-out-tie'? – I mean, um, yes, thank you, that's just what I needed!" Phoebe eagerly grabbed the tie while still keeping one hand behind her back. Monica chose to ignore what she'd said and pounced on the bowl instead.

"Oh, you brought my bowl back! That's so sweet of you!"

"Your bowl ..?" But Phoebe instantly recovered. "Um, yes, I thought you had to be missing it!"

"I did!" Monica peered at the soggy paper towels and frowned. "Oh no, is Joey throwing wet paper towels again?"

"Uh-huh", Phoebe confirmed sternly. "It was so rude and inconsiderate. They wanted to rope me in too!"

Monica stirred the bowl with the tip of one finger. "He took the wrong kind of towels again. See? They're already dissolving. I told him which towels are best, but he never listens!"

"What kind of towels are that?" Phoebe asked, genuinely curious now and Monica beamed while she fetched her paper towel roll and tore off a sheet.

"This kind! See? Now its wet, but still firm and holding together." Then she sent the towel lump spinning away with a casual looking flick of the wrist and felt immensely gratified when it landed just where she'd wanted it to, right under the frame around the spyhole in the apartment door. Phoebe looked enthralled.

"Wow! Oh, do it again!"

Basking in her victory Monica tore off another sheet and dunked it in the bowl, letting it soak just long enough to give it the required consistency. When she threw it, she didn't even aim, just let her instinct guide her – which resulted in the soggy lump hitting Joey squarely in the chest when he barged into the apartment.

"Pheebs, you – what the hell?" He stared at the wet paper lump on his shirt, his expression suddenly wounded. "What are you doing?!" Then he turned on Phoebe accusingly. "You can't let Monica throw wet paper towels!"

"Why not? She's great at it!" Monica couldn't help preening herself at that.

"That's why! She's too good!" Joey looked thunderous. "It's no fun when she's playing!"

"I told you you're using the wrong kind!" Monica interjected. "If you used my kind –"

Joey only winced and clapped his hands over his ears. "I'm not listening! You're ruining the game!"

"Joey, that's ridiculous – " but he was already storming out. Phoebe suddenly looked pensive.

"Okay. Monica, I think I like it better here after all." When Monica's face lit up at that she held up a warning finger. "But only if I can use the tie."

Monica winced a little at that, but put on a brave face. "Of course Phoebe. Anytime you want. Or, you could just tell me when you want to be left alone."

Phoebe's eyebrows rose. "And will you leave me alone when I want it?" When Monica found herself struggling with her reply she nodded sagely. "Thought so."

With that she turned on her heel and headed for her room, leaving Monica feeling rather deflated. Even morose. Was that all the thanks she would get, after investing so much effort and care? To get a tie shoved into her face whenever she wanted to look after her valued guest properly?

Then Chandler at her back wrapped his arms around her and put his mouth to her ear.

"Guess what …!"

"Huh?" And then she remembered. "Oh, did you …?"

"Get Joey that audition? I so did! And I didn't even have to pay for that dinner." Chandler's self-satisfied grin threatened to split his face. When she stared him down, he got defensive again. "Don't worry! Nothing happened. She just felt guilty because I'd gone to so much trouble."

"Trouble? A coffee and a dinner you didn't even pay for?"

Chandler shrugged. "Apparently she doesn't get taken out often."

"Aw. Well, let's hope it was worth it for Joey. You'd better make sure he doesn't forget to go."

"What? No way. He really wants that part!"

Monica just smiled. She knew Joey. She'd been there after all when he'd explained his days of the week system to Chandler. "Monday – One Day. Tuesday – Two Day. Wednesday – when? Huh? What day? Thursday, the third day!"

Of course he would forget. Just like she would never be able to forget about that Whenday, once it had gotten stuck in her mind.

When? When? When?

Then Chandler shook his head as if to clear it from the sudden doubt of Joey's memory capacities. "And … there's more!"

"Really? What is it?"

He went to the door, grinning at her over his shoulder as he opened it and fetched a large shopping bag from the hallway, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as he held it out to her.

"I got one!"

"What is it? Oh – its clothes … it's –"

"A fireman's uniform!" When she jumped with joy and threw her arms around him, he laughed delightedly. "That's more like it! Shall we try it out tonight? There's also a gas mask – and an almost authentic axe. I could be the brave firefighter who hacks down your bedroom door to rescue you from the fire!"

"Ooooohh!" Monica's eyes sparkled, then she checked herself. "But – Phoebe's here, won't it get too loud …?"

Chandler's face fell, making him look like a bedraggled dog as he looked pleadingly at her and suddenly Monica couldn't find it in herself to give a damn. After all Phoebe was well able to cope with something like that, well, and if not, there was always Joey's couch.

And, unlike the guest room, Monica did have a key to her and Chandler's bedroom.

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What can I say? I'm truly sorry for the long delay, but there's nothing I can do about it. If the words aren't there and won't come either, there's nothing I can do to bring myself to write. This chapter alone almost took me nine months of false starts and wasted effort, and I can only hope all that work was worth it. I can't make any promises for the future except that I'll try my best to finish this series at some point, even if it means jumping some episodes. Thank you all for your patience and goodwill!