Something loud woke up Monica. Fighting off both fuzziness and a sense of deja-vu, she eyed the alarm clock. Seven-thirty. In the morning.

Someone knocked on the door again. With a groan, Monica climbed out of bed and put on her robe. She checked her face and hair in the mirror, and they both looked terrible.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Wearily she almost staggered to the front door and opened it.

Kip stood there, also in a robe, a newspaper under his arm and a smile on his face. "You mentioned breakfast?"

"That I did. Come in." Monica walked into the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Please." Kip sat at the table. Monica heard the sound of the newspaper being opened.

She opened the coffee can and stared inside, hoping the smell would kick her brain into gear. "Is Chandler coming?"

"Don't think so. He didn't want me to come."

Monica snorted. She used a full scoop and started the coffee machine. Monica got a frying pan from the cupboard, put it on the stove, turned on the heat, then trudged over to the front door. She walked across the hall to thump twice on the apartment door opposite.

A few seconds later Chandler opened it. He was mostly dressed although his tie was loose. "Hey, you should be asleep," was how he greeted her.

"Humph," was all she could manage in reply. Then, a little more clearly, "Come on over. I have coffee brewing."

"You don't need to-"

"Shut up and let me fix you an omelet," Monica said without heat. She turned and shuffled back inside her apartment, leaving the door open.

By the time she was done gathering the ingredients she would use, the coffee was done and Chandler was sticking his head inside the apartment. She motioned him impatiently to the kitchen table. "Cream or sugar?"

"Neither, thanks," Chandler said reluctantly. He sat at the table, looking guilty.

Kip looked up from the paper. "Two sugars for me."

Monica soon had coffee and food in front of the men. For herself she poured a glass of orange juice and sat with her head propped up by her hand. Anyone else she'd yell at for having elbows on the table, but just this once she was going to forgive herself.

She spent the time looking at Kip, who was intent on the sports section. She tried to remember what sport was in season. Basketball, wasn't it? And hockey. "Think the Knicks have a chance?"

"If they can get by the Bulls, yeah." Kip shook his head while still studying the paper. "If only Jordan would get a knee injury or something."

"Guy deserves at least one championship, though," Chandler said with a curious lack of enthusiasm. "You a sports fan, Monica?"

"Not really," Monica admitted. "You?"

"Eh. Sometimes. Rangers mostly." Chandler finished his omelet. "This was great. As usual. I only wish you'd screw up one dish so I wouldn't feel like I'm living across from Donna Reed."

"Hah." Monica shook her head. "What makes you think my goal in life is to be a fifties housewife?"

Chandler widened his eyes. "I didn't, I mean, you, you... feminism! Feminism is good, burn all the bras!"

Monica laughed. Somehow Chandler looking panicked was at once hilarious and touching. "Think I'll hang on to mine, thanks all the same."

"Well, that's good news," Kip said as he folded the paper. His crooked smile made Monica suddenly very self-conscious. If only she'd had time to wash her face or something.

Feeling slightly flustered, she took their plates away. Chandler took one more sip of coffee and stood. "Well, it's off to work. Mind if I store my brain in your freezer, Monica? I won't need it for the next nine hours."

Monica tsked. "Use your own freezer."

"Right." He grinned and left.

That left Kip, who was now reading the comics. Monica put the dishes in the sink and, with no small amount of effort, decided to wash them later. Instead she sat back at the table. "So, when do you start work?"

Kip glanced up at the clock. "In an hour or so. I don't need to punch in so I can fudge by a few minutes."

"Oh?" The concept was alien to Monica. She frowned and tried another tack. "What do you do exactly?"

"Lab Tech. I analyze medical samples, blood tests, that sort of stuff." He looked up with a confident smile. "I help doctors diagnose illnesses and save lives."

"Wow. Are you going to become a doctor?"

"Maybe someday." He looked back at the comics. "For now I make good money and I don't have to be on call or nothing. That gives me time to do my own thing."

"And what thing is that?"

"I'll let you know." Kip folded up the paper and stood up. "There's a bar down the street. Want to meet there after work?"

"I get off work at two in the morning," Monica said reluctantly. "How about tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow it is." Kip lifted the paper in a kind of salute and left the apartment.

Monica rose after a minute and closed the door. She stumbled back to her room and collapsed into bed. After a few minutes she got up again and went back into the kitchen to clean the dishes. Honestly, she thought grumpily, she should have known better.

The bar was small and, Monica noticed, not very crowded. It was only a Wednesday night, she supposed, but still she expected more activity. A pool table took up much of the floor space, and Monica eyed it speculatively. She looked around the room and didn't see Kip.

She went to the bar and ordered a beer. A middle-aged man also at the bar eyed her quite frankly. Monica resisted an urge to strike a pose. Men had almost never looked at her in high school. They'd either quickly avert their eyes or sneer. After she'd gone through her weight-loss regimen, men had suddenly started paying attention to her, and she still found it a heady experience. Rachel had complained about men always leering at her, but Monica could never understand that. Having someone want you, want to be with you, was a wonderful feeling. Why Rachel thought it irksome Monica would never know.

Kip and the beer arrived almost at the same time. Kip ordered his own beer while Monica appraised him. He was wearing a casual short-sleeved shirt and some slacks, and had clearly groomed himself well. The overall effect was aesthetically pleasing, and Monica found herself smiling again. "So, how was work?"

Kip shrugged. "Same as always. They're trying to force some of us to work second shift but I'm not going to do it. That's a terrible time to have to work, it destroys your whole social life."

"Yeah." Monica sipped her beer. It hadn't really destroyed her social life, though, working second shift. Okay, she hadn't had much of a social life, but she'd still managed to see Ross and Carol every once in a while. And now she had Kip and Chandler coming over in the morning for breakfast. She'd found ways to adjust, but she had a feeling lecturing Kip on the subject wasn't going to help her cause.

Her eyes fell on the pool table. "Hey, wanna play a game?"

"Uh, sure. You know how to play?"

"Of course." Monica got some change from the bartender and used it to force the pool table to release its balls. She began placing them into the triangle. "Drag for break?"

"You go ahead." Kip took two cue sticks from a nearby rack and handed one to her.

She took it, lined up the cue ball, and gave it all she had. The balls bounced around the table with satisfying energy. Two dropped, and Monica studied the position for a second.

"Wow. You have a sledgehammer break."

Monica smiled while still keeping her eyes on the table. "It comes from the exercise. I work out just about every day if you ever want to join me?"

"Well, we'll discuss workouts at some later date," Kip said with a hint of teasing.

Monica filed that flirtation away for later consideration as she picked her shot. She slammed the seven ball home and grimaced as the cue ball rebounded with more force than she had intended. She could just about get the two ball if she banked her shot just right. Monica lined up the shot but missed it pretty badly. Delicate shots were just not her forte.

With a grunt of annoyance, Monica yielded the table to Kip. He took a long sip of beer, then set the glass down and took a stab at the one ball. To Monica's dismay, he missed but the cue ball hit the fourteen on the uncontrolled rebound and knocked it into the side. She should have specified at the beginning that junk didn't count.

She shook her head and tried to focus on Kip. "So, any family in the city?"

"Two brothers in Kansas City, mother in New Brunswick." Clearly not a subject he was interested in. Kip managed an easy shot of the ten ball. "Father died of cancer, that's what got me interested in medical technology."

"Oh." Monica felt a deep wave of sympathy. Poor guy.

Kip missed his next shot and straightened. "I make do. I miss him, of course. But I do what I can to make sure people get diagnosed correctly, so no one else has to face what I went through."

Monica squeezed his arm, looking up at him. She then turned towards the table, feeling mildly wretched. The nine ball was begging to be dropped so she accommodated it.

The rest of the table was clear and she finished the game quickly. She looked at Kip. "Another game?"

"Sure," he said uncertainly.

"I'll let you break." Monica dropped more coins into the slot. She set up the table quickly and efficiently. Kip lounged with his beer and didn't seem in an especial hurry.

Monica shifted her weight back and forth between her legs before finally blurting out, "It's your break."

Kip nodded, took another swig, stepped forward, and tried to hit the cue ball as hard as he could. It flew off the table without actually touching any of the other balls.

Monica quickly retrieved it and put it back in place. In an exceptional display of generosity, she said, "You can do it over."

Kip sighed. "Let's not play any more."

"No! I'll spot you a ball!" The words were out of her mouth before she realized how they sounded.

"Thanks all the same." Kip put the cue stick on the table and finished up his beer. "Thanks for the game, Monica. I'm going to get to bed, I have an early day tomorrow."

"You... you sure?"

"Yeah. See you at breakfast." Kip turned and left the bar.

Monica sat on a bar stool, feeling her eyes begin to water. Why'd she have to suggest a game of pool? Why'd she have to show him up like that? She should have gracefully lost. And yet, the phrase "gracefully lost" wasn't in her vocabulary. She just couldn't lose. Not deliberately. Not ever. She needed to win. She almost always won.

Except when it came to men. Then she could lose all the time.

"Don't look so down." This from the middle-aged man next to her. "Want me to buy you a drink?"

Monica looked up at him. Then she grabbed him and kissed him, hard and forcibly. He tasted of alcohol but she didn't care. He seemed surprised but responded eventually.

"Guys, guys, take it outside."

Monica broke off the kiss and looked at the bartender. He was looking back with an expression of professional disdain. Suddenly, impossibly, Monica managed to feel even worse about herself.

She shoved the man next to her away and practically fled to the door. Her eyes stung horribly. Getting thinner was supposed to make all her boy problems go away, but she'd started by cutting off the toe of someone she found mildly attractive and had ended up passionately kissing a stranger in a bar. Nowhere along the way had she found anything like... like Ross had found with Carol.

Monica fumbled with the door to her apartment building and managed to get it open after a couple of tries. She sprinted up the stairs, quickly unlocked her door, slammed it shut behind her, and ran towards her bedroom. She quickly changed into her workout clothes.

She began exercising vigorously, trying to create as much sweat as possible. Perhaps if she tried long enough and hard enough she'd disappear altogether and never again have to worry about the Kips of the world.

(to be continued)