Monica inhaled deeply. The sauce smelled all right. Maybe. Her hand twitched as she thought of a dozen different spices she could add to get it just right. But she also knew that too many ingredients would distract the palate, leading to a sense of blandness. She stirred once more and decided that this would be good enough.

She looked over into the living room, where Kip and Chandler were lounging on the couch, watching some stupid show. Monica was well out of the loop on prime time television, but whatever this was looked particularly insipid.

"See, watch, he runs so fast you can't see him!" Chandler pointed at the screen.

Kip gestured with the bottle of beer he was holding. "I see a red streak."

"Yes, but that's all you see! Unless you're on a motorcycle like this guy."

"So he can run as fast as a motorcycle?"

"And even faster! I bet he could run faster than light if he wanted!"

"Light can go, what, around the world a dozen times in a second? How could he do that?"

"Well, okay, he'd have to stand in line at immigrations, but other than that, swoosh!"

Monica decided to bring it all to a halt. "Dinner's ready."

They both stood up instantly. Chandler turned off the television and asked, "Is Ross coming?"

"Said he was." Monica shrugged. "His fault for being late."

"Maybe not, he could so have been waylaid by a triceratops on the way home." Chandler sat at the table. "Spaghetti?"

"And salad, yeah." Monica indicated the pot on the stove. "Serve the sauce yourself but be very careful not to spill. Very careful."

"Or you'll make us lick the floor clean?" Kip said with an easy smile.

Monica couldn't help shuddering. "Not unless your saliva is made of ammonia."

The door opened. Ross came in, and to Monica's surprise Carol was right behind him. They both greeted Monica warmly. Monica was both pleased to see Carol and irritated that Ross hadn't given her more of a warning. Hastily she prepared an extra place at the table while Ross introduced his wife to Kip.

Monica waited until everyone had served themselves, then got her own share of spaghetti and sauce. Fortunately there seemed to be plenty. She sat down, eyeing the generous amount of parmesan cheese Chandler was putting on his spaghetti. Used to be, she'd apply similar amounts, if not more. Nowadays she exercised a bit more restraint, but it didn't stop her from occasionally hungering for the indulgences of old.

Shaking herself, she looked over at Carol and smiled. "It's good to see you again. How's work?"

"Work? Work is great, I'm finally developing an actual practice." Carol smiled. "I'm actually beginning to make an income."

"We may even pay off our college loans early," Ross said.

Carol rolled her eyes. "He means pay off my college loans, of course. Your parents paid for most of yours, didn't they?"

"Not... not everything." But Ross looked chagrined, with good reason. Over the years their parents had put together a sizeable college fund for Ross and Monica. Monica had only taken two years of college to get an Associate's Degree in Culinary Arts (to the never-ending dismay of her mother). That had simply meant more money for Ross to finish his Master's in Paleontology (to the never-ending delight of his mother).

Monica shoved those thoughts out of her head. "That's good to hear, Carol. And it keeps you busy."

"Yes," Carol said with feeling. "I feel so... so alive again. Like I'm a useful member of society now."

"You, you were useful before," Ross said plaintively.

"Yes, I was a useful interior decorator and would-be baby incubator," Carol said testily. "Not much more, though, was I?"

Monica leaped in before Ross could answer. "So what brings you down here tonight?"

Carol didn't immediately say anything and took a bite of spaghetti. It was Ross who answered. "We, we've been spending so much time apart, I, I thought it would be good if she could, y'know, join us. Get to know the people I spend my evenings with."

Carol swallowed and smiled around. "He seems to enjoy being with you all, I wanted to see what it was like."

"It's a never-ending fun-o-rama," Chandler said with alacrity. "We while away lo the many hours swapping stories and debating deeply philosophical questions like which of the Golden Girls would win a no-holds-barred wrestling match between them."

"Dorothy," Kip said confidently. "She's got weight, height, and reach on all of the others."

"You're overlooking Sophia's innate toughness, though. She may be small, but she's got grit."

"Anyway," Monica said before the conversation got out of hand, "you're welcome to come over any time, you know. I love cooking dinner."

"Do you?" Carol peered at Monica. "You look tired."

The observation made Monica want to yawn. With an effort, she suppressed it. "Well, I've been putting in a lot of hours at work."

"Oh?" Carol leaned forwards toward Monica. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I need the money."

"You do?"

"Yes. This place is kind of expensive."

"Oh." Carol's eyes wandered over the apartment before coming to rest on Monica again. "And you still don't want to get a roommate?"

"No." Monica shrugged. "I kind of... I want to see if I can make it by myself for a while."

"I'm certain you can, and I'm certain you'll hurt yourself proving it," Carol said gently. "There's no need to keep forcing yourself to do something just because you think you ought to. If having someone help you with expenses would allow you more time to relax and enjoy life, don't you think it's worth it?"

Monica fidgeted uncomfortably. Chandler she could dismiss, Ross she could insult, and her mother she could simply simmer without listening. But Carol's soft persistence was hard to ignore. "Maybe. Maybe. But I want to... to keep trying. For now."

"Of course." Carol touched Monica's hand briefly. "I admire your courage. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Thanks." Monica took a large forkful of spaghetti to keep from having to say more.

Fortunately Chandler filled the gap by launching a debate about which of the Wonder Twins had the cooler power. Kip and, eventually, Ross joined in, although Ross at first gave Monica a curious look. Almost like he was jealous, although that made no sense at all to Monica.

Monica's contributions were usually dry observations about the silliness of the topic, but this time she kept quiet. Because, suddenly, she was feeling an absence, one she hadn't felt until Carol had joined them for dinner. She needed a female friend, someone to balance the presence of Kip, Ross, and Chandler. And she had the feeling that Carol wasn't going to be the answer, however much she enjoyed her presence.

She ate her spaghetti thoughtfully and thought about the empty room next to hers.

By this time the knock on the door was almost expected. Blearily Monica got up, put on her robe, and wandered over to the door. She opened it to the sight of Kip and Chandler. She smiled at Kip, who still was able to make her tingle slightly even when she was asleep on her feet. "Come in you guys."

They came in. Chandler rushed to make coffee over Monica's half-hearted protests. She caved in and began making French toast instead. Kip, as usual, sat and read the paper. He did give her a big smile and thank-you when she put the plate in front of him. She sat down, sipping orange juice with her eyes half-closed as the men ate. It was all very normal and routine by this point, and while Monica sometimes felt frustrated that she couldn't initiate witty conversations with Kip, at the same time she was almost always too tired to care anyway.

Chandler poured syrup on top of his French toast, then put the bottle on the table with more force than was necessary. "We have got to stop."

Monica looked at him for a couple of seconds, trying to figure out what it was that had him so worked up. "Stop what?"

"This." Chandler waved around the table. "Waking you up in the middle of your night. You're already working sixty hours a week, you don't need us barging in and freeloading off of you."

Monica sighed. "I don't consider it freeloading. I enjoy your company."

"You're too tired to enjoy anything!" Chandler was uncharacteristically angry. Kip looked up from his paper in surprise but didn't say anything. "Look, I like hanging out with you, Monica. But I don't want to turn you into the living dead while doing it."

His exhortations managed to get enough adrenaline flowing in Monica's veins to wake her up a bit more. "Don't turn into another Ross, I have one too many of those already. If I want to get up and fix you breakfast every morning, then just let me and don't complain. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, I know you can." Chandler thinned his lips. "But, dammit woman... you're killing yourself trying to be nice to us and I don't want to be a part of it."

"Then don't come over," Monica snapped. "Kip, you'll still over for breakfast, won't you?"

Kip looked back and forth between Chandler and Monica before giving her an easy grin. "Of course I will."

"Good. Then I'll be up anyway, and you may as well come over, too."

Chandler shot an angry glance at Kip, who had gone back to his paper. With a defeated sigh he attacked his French toast. Monica took another long drink of her orange juice while watching Chandler closely. He was clearly dissatisfied, and she guessed he'd be having a talk and possible fight with Kip very soon on this subject. Which she didn't need. She wanted Kip and Chandler to be friendly to each other and friendly to her. Especially Kip.

After polishing off his French toast, Chandler took his plate to the sink and washed it along with the rest of the dishes. Monica sighed but let him have his little self-inflicted penance. He took Kip's plate away as well even though the French toast was only half-eaten. Kip began to protest but the look on Chandler's face was enough to stop him. Kip stood up, took one last sip of coffee, and lifted his folded paper with a smile, his way of saying goodbye. Chandler stayed behind, still scrubbing the breakfast dishes.

When he was done, Chandler looked at the kitchen clock and muttered. He dried off his hands and began to head towards the door.

Monica stopped him by grabbing his arm. "Wait."

He looked down at her, still clearly a little angry. "What?"

"I, I want you to know... I'm going to get a roommate. Carol's right and you're right; I can't keep doing this to myself."

"Ross said the same thing, too, don't forget." The expression on Chandler's face softened a bit. "But that doesn't change the fact that on days that you work, we're still barging in while you should be sleeping."

"Yeah. Well, how about this." Monica stood up and walked over to the utility drawer. She opened it up and pulled out a key. With a small smile, she wondered how often she'd be repeating this scene. She turned and held the key out towards him. "Take this."

Chandler took the key gently. "What is it?"

"The key to my apartment."

Chandler held the key as far away from himself as possible, as if afraid of it. "Why, why, why would you give this to me?"

"So that you and Kip can let yourselves in. You can make your own coffee and I can leave behind stuff that will allow you to quickly make your own breakfasts."

"Oh?" Chandler was now staring at Monica. "So we can stuff ourselves with your food while you sleep?"

"Yes. If I do all that for you, will you not get angry with me if I decide to get up early once in a while and join you?"

Chandler looked down at his feet, looking quite ashamed. "Of, of course. I'm sorry I was being such a twit."

"You're not a twit. Well, not always."

Chandler looked back up at her and smiled briefly. "Why not give Kip the key? He's the one you really want to come over."

Monica thinned her lips. "I... I don't want to give Kip the wrong idea. He might think I... well, he might interpret it in a slightly different way that what I mean."

"Meaning, I'm perfectly safe and harmless and won't come bounding into your bedroom at half-past three wearing nothing but spurs and a cowboy hat?"

Monica laughed. "Meaning... I trust you."

Chandler just looked at her for a few seconds. Then he put the key in his pocket. "All right. I hope you realize every single man in Manhattan will have a copy of this by noon."

"Oh, shut up." She pushed him towards the door. "Get to work, you're late."

"Yes sir!" Chandler bounded through the door with an exaggerated gait that had Monica smiling.

She closed the door and looked at the dishes and decided her trust didn't quite extend to his dishwashing abilities. Monica cleaned everything again while composing a roommate-wanted advertisement in her head.

(to be continued)