I do not own any of the Dirty Dancing themes or characters. I also do not own the few Friends things I have incorporated here.

The next morning Katey dressed in a white blouse and black skirt before leaving her apartment without breakfast. As she walked into the lobby downstairs, she remembered her jacket and walked up to her apartment again, now cursing herself for probably making herself late for work. She grabbed a black jacked from a chair next to her bed and left again, this time bringing an apple with her.

She ate in during the short walk to work; threw the core into a wastebasket outside and walked in.

"Ah, Miss Miller," her boss greeted her.

"Hello, Mr. Kirsch. It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?" she asked.

"That it is. Beautiful fall we've been having. I meant to ask you, have you finished your column yet? Mr. Peters wants it by lunchtime."

"Yes. I just need to proofread it."

"Excellent." he said, and walked off, probably to the senior staff room for an unneeded doughnut.

Mr. Kirsch is nice enough, Katey though to herself, just a bit fake. She walked into her office and silently closed the door behind her, grateful to be away from the noise outside her door. She had woken up with a splitting head ache.

For the last year, Katey had been working at the New York Times. Her father had gotten her the job soon after she graduated from Radcliff. At the time she had wanted to find her own job, but now she was grateful, as the pay was excellent. And as she had things to say. Lots of things.

After leaving Cuba she had been building everything up inside of her head. The only way to get everything out was writing to Javier.

Javier. The thought of him, now so unwelcome, jolted her made her bite the inside of her cheek painfully.

"Ow." she screwed up her face and rubbed her cheek, although it didn't help the pain much. She pulled her weekly column out of a folder on her desk and went at it with a pen. When she was done it was marked all over, radically different, and she was in the worst of moods. Her phone rang, jarring her head.

"This day just keeps getting better." she muttered as she picked up the phone.

"Hello?" she said with a sigh.

"Katey?" said the voice on the other end.

"Suze?"

"Yuh. I need to stay with you." said her sister, not a phone person.

"Why?"

"Can I come over?"

"What? It's 8:45 in the morning. I just got to work."

"Well, I got into a fight with my roommate and I have nowhere to go. Can I just crash at your place?"

"Yeah, sure. The spare key is--"

"Above the door. Thanks." she hung up the phone without a good-bye.

Katey stared at the phone, surprised by her sister's news and uncharacteristic abruptness. Susie usually had a reason to be at her place, and would explain in great detail, with great enthusiasm until she or Katey (usually Katey) got tired.

After work Katey went to the grocery store on the corner of her street before going home. The short walk was made difficult by the two heavy bags she was carrying in addition to her bulky purse. She leaned up against the wall of her building to straighten out the bags, when a man's voice startled her.

"May I help you with your bag, miss?"

Katey looked up, almost dropped the bags in shock.

"Oh--my god….It's you."