"Come on, cutie," Monica smiled at Emily as the little girl yawned loudly in protest, "Get up and get dressed. Do you want me to help you pick out an outfit?"

"Uh-uh," she shook her head, and Monica had to stifle a chuckle at her daughter's inherited traits.

"Okay," she acquiesced, "but hurry up. I made you waffles."

"The Mickey Mouse ones?"

"Yup. And Chandler's going to take you to the bus stop today."

"Yay!" Emily cried, suddenly awake, and hopped out of bed. Opening her dresser, she pulled out a maroon sweater and blue jeans, and struggled to get them on. Monica started towards her to help, and then stopped as she realized her help probably would not be well-received. Smiling to herself, she watched as Emily pulled her head through the narrow neck of the fabric.

"How do I look, Mommy?"

Monica studied her daughter. "Prettier than any other little girl I know."

"Mommy! You don't know any little girls besides me!" Emily said as she put her hands on her hips dramatically.

"I don't?"

"No. You only know old people."

"Old people?" Monica asked, surprised. "Who are you talking about?"

"You're old," she replied. "Chandler and Joey are old. Phoebe and-"

"I get it, I get it," Monica held up her hand as she laughed. "Well, I'm going to take my 'old' self into the kitchen and finish breakfast." She left Emily to finish getting ready.

In the kitchen, she saw Joey still sitting at the table, sipping coffee and chuckling as he read through the morning comics.

"Joey, when you're old and gray, you'll still be coming here for food, won't you?"

"As long as you're offering," he glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the paper.

She smacked the back of his head lightly as she laughed. Grabbing a cup of coffee, she sat beside him and flipped through the morning headlines.

Emily appeared, running through the large living space and sliding into her chair at the table. "Mmm, waffles!"

"Yeah!" Joey exclaimed. Monica smiled as she put two large waffles on Joey's plate, and a small one on Emily's. It was then that she noticed Chandler's coffee cup on the table. Had he been here? She picked it up and debated on pouring it out.

The door opened and Chandler strolled in. "Good morning, children."

"Chandler!" Emily squealed.

"Emily!" he squealed back, as she catapulted into his arms and kissed his nose. "What are we having for breakfast?" he looked to Monica.

"Waffles!" Emily grinned.

"This kid is after my own heart," Chandler confirmed as he pulled up his chair. "Where did my coffee go?"

"Sorry," Monica said as she placed the cup in the sink and brought out a new one. "I didn't know if you were coming back for it."

"There are no reasons for me not to," he said seriously, looking in her eyes. She half-smiled in understanding and thanks as she poured fresh coffee in his cup and served him two waffles.

After they finished eating, Chandler looked at his watch. "Whoa! We better get you out to that bus, kiddo."

"Okay," Emily said as Monica helped her into her backpack and handed her money for lunch. "Are you coming with us, Mom?"

"C'mon, Mon," Chandler said. "Let's get some coffee after."

"All right."

"Ready, punkin?" Chandler looked down to Emily.

"Ready!" she pronounced and slipped one small hand in Chandler's and the other in Monica's. He smiled at her over the little one's head as they left.

"We'll be back later, Joe!" Chandler called back to Joey, who waved in acknowledgement.



New York was chilly that morning. Monica wrapped her coat around her, and automatically checked to make sure Emily's was buttoned up. Again she couldn't help but become nostalgic as Emily swung up in the air, using both of their hands for support. She was so proud of her daughter, who was just like her, down to the jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes.

At the bus stop, Emily had to stomp her feet to keep warm, and Monica could see her breath in cloudy vapors as it dissipated in the cold winter air.

Chandler kept shooting meaningful looks towards Monica, who purposefully avoided them. The time passed slowly, with each moment becoming more awkward, not knowing quite what to say to the other.

The loud grinding sound startled Monica as the large bus came into view and slowed to a stop. Both Monica and Chandler hugged Emily goodbye, and watched as she got on the bus. After the large vehicle pulled away, Chandler turned to Monica. "Shall we?' he gestured down the street, towards Central Perk.

She smiled in response and they walked briskly to the small coffee shop. The inside was warm and inviting, and Monica sighed contentedly as she sank into the soft orange of the couch.

Chandler went to the counter and ordered two cappuccinos, then sat down in the green chair opposite Monica. "Mon."

"Yeah."

"Listen," he said, then hesitated as he tried to find the words to say. "What are you going to do about Paul?"

She was silent as she looked down at her hands that were nervously playing with the fabric of her long wool skirt. "Nothing," she finally said. "I'm not going to do anything."

"Monica-" Chandler objected.

"No, Chandler," she interrupted him. "I just can't put Emily through this kind of shit, okay?"

"Monica," he said gently. "Emily is the reason that you need to do something."

A stray tear fell quietly as she nodded slowly. "I know," she whispered as her eyes searched his pleadingly, "but I just can't." She offered no explanation, and he felt his eyes brimming with tears as he saw the pain in her features. Anger flooded him, and he had the overwhelming urge once again to find Paul, and to kick his sorry ass for hurting one of the most beautiful people he knew. If only things had been different. If only he had the courage to make a commitment for once in his life, then maybe he could have told Monica exactly how he felt.

He shook his head violently, scolding himself for even thinking that, and turned his attention back to Monica, who had stopped crying and was sipping coffee.

"Listen, Mon," he said softly. "I'm sorry if I'm being a pain in the ass. I just hate to see this happen to you."



She smiled gratefully as she spoke. "Thanks."

He took her hand in his as he said earnestly, "Anytime."







"Emily Renee Grayston," Monica said sternly, putting her hands on her hips. "How many times today have I told you to clean up your room? It's nearly bedtime."

"Aw!" Emily protested loudly. "It's not even that messy."

"Not that messy?" Monica repeated incredulously, scanning the floor littered with Barbies and stuffed animals. "Sweetheart, you have no idea how tame I've become," she mumbled under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing," Monica replied. "Clean."

"Okay," Emily whined as she bent over to pick up a stuffed zebra.

"Thank you, cutie," Monica winked as she walked out the door and into the living room to see Paul sitting on the couch, looking frustrated. "Hi," Monica said uncertainly, shutting Emily's door.

"Hey," he replied softy.

"Paul-" she started.

"Monica-" he said at the same time, and they both smiled awkwardly.

"Listen," he continued, "I want you to know that I feel awful about last night. I love you so much, and I never want to hurt you."

He kept talking, but Monica was still considering his previous words. Never hurt me, she thought. Desperately she struggled to grasp his promise and believe it. She couldn't quite make herself accept his assurances. Feeling as though she would faint, she dropped down into the large armchair and listened.

When he finished, she nodded with tears brimming. "Okay, Paul."

He looked up from his lap hopefully. "Monica, you mean the world to me. You know that." It was a statement, not a question.

As her mind desperately tried to prevent it, her head nodded again with a mechanical motion. "I know." It came out as a whisper. She allowed it out; just as she allowed herself to be drawn into his arms, allowed his lips to whisper in her ears, allowed her body to be led into the bedroom, and wept silently as she allowed him to make love to her.





There is an interim, a time between sleep and waking, that the sleeper is content, satisfied. Monica, for just one glorious instant, enjoyed the torrent of peace that she had been starving for.

The harsh reality of morning shattered her happiness to jagged pieces. Her eyes opened, forcing her to confront the day ahead. Protesting silently, she rolled over on her stomach and buried her head among the pillows. The alarm clock chose that precise moment to ring, piercing her ears as she flipped over and slammed the snooze button.

Her body moaned with exhaustion as she stood slowly. In the bathroom, she took her pajamas off to shower and gasped at her reflection.

Violent red marks slashed across her abdomen. Rounded imprints, some through the skin, were scattered across her breasts. Bruises of differing shapes and sizes marked her legs and arms, mostly on the thighs and above a sleeve's length on the arms.

As her eyes spilled crystal tears, she remembered the previous night. Recalled how he lay her down, crushing her with his weight as his body rested on hers. Whispering words of adoration, he first caressed her, his hand growing more possessive and rough by the minute. Soothing touch soon turned to abusive assault. When she struggled, he would hit her. When she cried out in pain, he would tear at her with his teeth to cause more. And when he took her, his nails ravaged her back and stomach without mercy.

Stepping into the shower, Monica screamed in agony. A sharp, stabbing pain tore through her pelvis like hot iron. Her head swam with darkness as she clutched the air in aimless attempts of grasping support. Sliding down the slick wall of the shower, her body came to rest in the corner, the pressure of the water still beating down upon her.