Monica put the package of pasta noodles on the counter, then mentally ran over the list in her head. Preparing any meal started with making certain one had all the ingredients needed. Her eyes wandered around - hamburger thawing, spices near at hand, ample portions of cheese.

The sound of the key in the lock made Monica look over. The front door opened and Phoebe walked in, holding a tall brass lamp. She saw Monica, smiled, and held it out towards her. "Huh? Looks good, and I can have light any time I want!"

"Yes. Yes, that would be good." Monica briefly wondered what it would be like at night if she couldn't just flip a switch when it got dark. There were so many things she took for granted that had not been a part of Phoebe's recent life, and Monica was trying her best to understand. "I'm thinking of dinner at six. How's Beef Stroganoff sound?"

"Beef?" Phoebe frowned slightly. "I don't eat meat. I'm a vegetarian."

Monica looked at the hamburger thawing in the sink. "Oh."

"I, I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be, no need." Monica began wrapping up the hamburger again. "I'll make a cheese and pasta dish instead, is that all right?"

"Sure! Thanks Monica!"

Monica watched Phoebe carry the lamp into her room. This had been her third piece of furniture acquired so far today, the other two items being a small table and a folding chair. It wasn't much, but Monica suspected it was the largest number of possessions Phoebe had owned in years.

Well, more cheese and a different kind of sauce. Monica opened the refrigerator, pulling out some more items, her mind thinking fast. She preferred to have her menus prepared in advance but at the same time enjoyed the challenge of whipping something together on the spot.

She was deep into preparations when there was a knock at the door. A surprise, since there hadn't been much of that in the past couple of weeks. Probably a courtesy aimed at her new roommate. "It's open!" Monica yelled out.

Chandler, Ross, and Kip all entered en masse. Monica smiled at them, especially Kip. "Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Get your own drinks in the meantime, but please drink them at the table if you're going to. Ross, how about setting out the plates?"

"How about it?" But it was only a token protest, a reflex action more than likely, as Ross did in fact begin setting the table. Kip walked over to the couch, sat down, and turned on the television.

Chandler just stood there, looking around. "So where is she?"

"She's in her bedroom. She'll probably be out in a minute." Monica paused in her preparations, looked at Chandler. "Go easy on the jokes for just a bit, okay? Let her get used to you first."

"Uh, okay." Chandler looked nonplussed. "I wasn't planning on being mean to her or anything."

"I know." Monica found herself blushing slightly. She went back to fixing dinner.

This didn't go unnoticed by Chandler. He walked into the kitchen, leaned against the counter. "You're thinking about the first time we met, aren't you?"

To her dismay, the blush on Monica's cheeks deepened. She tried to hide it by keeping her head turned as she stirred the sauce.

Out of the corner of her eye, Chandler shuffled uncomfortably. "Okay, okay, I wasn't exactly nice to you. I, I kinda laughed at you."

"And did that bouncy thing when I sat on the couch," Monica said before she could stop herself.

"Oh, yeah." Chandler squirmed some more. "I was, I really hated Thanksgiving and, and I wanted everyone else to hate it too. I'm always in a terrible bad mood around the holidays, and, and I acted like a jerk because of it. I wasn't really aware of it at the time, but Ross really let me have it afterwards."

Monica looked over at the table in surprise. Ross was putting silverware around the plates. He briefly met Monica's eyes and looked away, as if embarrassed.

"Oh." Interesting. There were things she was still learning about the brother she had sometimes loved but had mostly hated during her childhood.

"Point is, it kinda opened my eyes," Chandler continued. "I'll try not to be so mean to someone's face ever again."

"Okay." Monica went back to her sauce.

Chandler bit his lip. "Especially with my friends. And with their friends, too."

"Okay," Monica repeated.

Silence for a few seconds. "Which means... I'm sorry."

Monica looked up into his face. She managed a smile and spoke in a more gentle tone of voice. "Okay."

"Okay," Chandler said with relief.

The bedroom door opened and Phoebe came out. Monica turned around and tried to take in everyone's expression at once. The guys didn't have any obviously negative reactions, which was good. Phoebe looked a little nervous but she still managed a smile. "Hello."

Monica took over. "Phoebe, I'd like you to meet my brother Ross and our neighbors across the hall, Kip and Chandler. Everyone, this is my new roommate Phoebe."

The guys all made various exclamations of greeting. Phoebe rubbed the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other as she smiled back at them.

"Dinner's ready," Monica decided to announce. "Sit down."

They came to the kitchen table, which was barely big enough for the five of them. Monica mentally noted she'd have to get a bigger one. She combined the sauce with the noodles and served it quickly. Ross sniffed at it dubiously and both Kip and Chandler poked at it with their forks, but Phoebe immediately lay to with a gusto. Monica sat down and helped herself to the salad while everyone else took cautious bites. No one complained, which from Ross especially was high praise.

"So, Phoebe," Ross said companionably. "Tell us about yourself."

"Mmm." Phoebe swallowed and took a sip of water. "My father ran out on my mother before I was born, and my stepfather was in and out of jail for years - mostly in, he's in now - and my mother decided to kill herself when I was fourteen, so I ran away and lived on the street until I moved in here!" She beamed at Ross.

Ross stared back at her for several seconds, and Monica held her breath. Ross blinked once, twice. "Anyway... what do you do now?"

"Aromatherapy!" Phoebe said happily. "I've been filling in for other therapists who are sick, or taking walk-ins. But Deborah says people like me so much she's going to start setting appointments for me!"

Monica let out her breath. Ross had more tact and poise than she'd ever given him credit for. Before.

"Does that pay well, aromatherapy?" Chandler was all polite interest, again to Monica's relief.

"Oh yeah, it's much better than mugging people." Phoebe brought herself up short. "Or so I've heard. Uh, anyway, all I need now is to save up for a bed."

"A bed?" Kip looked at her quizzically. "You don't even have a bed?"

Surreptitiously, Monica kicked Kip under the table. He winced but didn't look away from Phoebe.

"Well, no, they're kind of expensive, more expensive than I thought."

"Yeah, it's a crime what they charge for mattresses these days," Ross commented. "If you want, I'll ask around the museum to see if anyone has one for sale cheap."

"The museum?" Phoebe cocked her head at Ross. "MOMA?"

"No, it's not an art museum. I'm a paleontologist, I help set up dinosaur exhibits and the like."

"Oooh, dinosaurs. Did they really exist?"

"Uh, of course they did."

"I watched Land of the Lost as a kid. Those poor children, stuck in that place without their mother."

"That, that place didn't really exist."

"Oh. Too bad, that could have answered a lot of your questions."

"Um... yeah, I suppose it could have."

Phoebe grinned at him, then turned to Chandler. "What do you do?"

"I played Chaka on Land of the Lost."

"Really?"

"Uh, not really. But while I'm at work I sometimes wish a giant dinosaur would try to eat me."

"Wow! You too?"

Monica found herself mildly amused by the sight of Chandler rendered temporarily speechless. She was guessing this was the first time his witticisms had been taken completely seriously. "So," he finally managed to get out. "Aromatherapy, huh?"

"Yup!" Phoebe seemed to effortlessly flow in whatever direction the conversation took. "It's all about reading people's auras and finding the combination of aroma and massage to cleanse them properly."

"Auras." Kip looked skeptical. "You mean you can see little glowing fields of energy around all of us?"

"Well, there's seeing and then there's seeing." Phoebe frowned at the air above Kip. "Yours is all weird, kinda tangled up in itself. You really should come down to where I work and let me straighten it out."

"Oh really," Kip said with obvious disbelief.

"Yeah." Phoebe looked over at Chandler's. "Yours is mostly fine, kinda pulsates, you know, gets all big and diffuse, then small and dense."

"Uh huh." Chandler, to Monica's eyes, was dying to respond with a joke and was only controlling himself with great difficulty.

Phoebe turned to Ross. "Yours is a lot like Monica's, except yours is darker, murkier. Is something bothering you?"

Ross blinked back at her. "No. Not, not... I'm fine."

Phoebe's forehead furrowed slightly. "Really? I can clean it for you, really I can, but it will just get murky again unless whatever it is that's making it dark goes away."

Ross thinned his lips, and Monica could see that he was getting irritated. But, like Chandler, he seemed to bring it under control. "I... I appreciate the offer. I think, though, for now I'll take care of my own aura."

"Okay." Phoebe seemed to take that in stride. "Just remember I live with your sister, I'm always available."

"So, Phoebe," Chandler said with a casual air, "tell us what a typical session of aromatherapy is like."

Phoebe launched into a description, and Monica took the time to eat and watch. Phoebe was a very animated talker, especially her face, which was the most expressive Monica had ever seen. Smiles were frequent, as she had already begun to notice. And the men, she noticed, were smiling in return. It was hard not to get caught up in Phoebe's effervescence. Which, Monica thought, was probably a big reason why she had picked Phoebe over Meghan.

When everyone seemed more-or-less down with eating, Monica stood up and triggered a frenzy of dish-clearing by everyone else.

Phoebe just sat and watched as everyone bussed the dishes and put away the condiments. Monica surreptitiously studied Phoebe's expression, which had drifted back towards a kind of blank interest.

Monica began filling the sink with hot soapy water. At that, Phoebe sprang to her feet and bounced to Monica's side. "Let me! Let me!"

Monica smiled slightly. "That's all right. I got this."

"But you made me dinner, I want to do my fair share."

"You can put them away after they've dried."

"But that's nothing, let me clean for you."

"You'll need to learn something about Monica right away," Ross said with a smile. "No one cleans for her. No one. There is exactly one person she trusts enough to clean her apartment, and that is Monica Geller."

"Oh? Can't, can't Phoebe Buffay be trusted to, y'know, wipe a counter or something?"

"Chandler Bing once wiped a counter," Chandler interjected. "He wiped the crumbs into his hand, then let the crumbs fall to the floor, after which Chandler Bing was nearly unmanned by Monica Geller."

"Monica Geller calls for an immediate end to the use of last names." Monica made an effort to fight off the irritation. "Look, Phoebe, I truly do appreciate the offer, but I would feel more comfortable washing the dishes. Why don't you escort our guests to the living room."

"Ooh, fun." Phoebe whirled and curtseyed. "This way, gentlemen, to the Room of the Living."

"Thank God. Before dinner I spent fifteen minutes in the Bathroom of the Mostly Dead." Chandler walked over to the couch and flopped into it. "So, who wants to watch Cop Rock? Cops breaking out into song and dance routines, what could go wrong?"

"I used to know a cop who would sing, mostly nursery rhymes though," Phoebe said as she sat in a chair. "He liked to sing Litte Miss Muffet to prostitutes and Mary Had a Little Lamb to runaways."

"Not that you would know anything about that, eh?" Kip grinned.

"I'd know nothing about prostitution, no." Phoebe looked down at her feet.

Ross shot Kip a look before speaking to Phoebe. "Can you sing?"

Phoebe met Ross's eyes and smiled widely. "Yes! I write songs and sing them, I used to play them for, uh, the people who slept near me."

"Well, give us a song then," Kip said cheerily.

"Oh, I can't, I simply can't, not without a guitar. I should buy a guitar!"

"And a bed?" Ross began sounding paternal again. "You really should prioritize your buying decisions. Get a bed first, then you can see about getting a guitar."

"Oh." Phoebe looked disappointed. "I, I suppose I should. I, I've never really had to... to manage money before."

"I can help with that." Monica wiped off her hands, glad that she could now fully concentrate on the conversation instead of peeking constantly over her shoulder. She walked into the living room and sat down on the couch next to Kip. "We can find a good used bed and good used guitar and see how much they cost. Then we can factor that in with how much your take-home pay is, factor in your living expenses, and build the rest of the spreadsheet from there."

"Monica's also very fussy about money," Ross said to Phoebe. "So she'd be perfect for helping you manage your finances."

"Th-thanks," Phoebe said uncertainly. "I... I want... so much... to..." Phoebe looked over at Chandler. "So, the cops actually sing?"

"Yup!" Chandler responded quickly, grabbing the remote control. "It's so hideous it's mesmerizing."

Monica settled in to watch. There was much jeering at the show, and Phoebe effortlessly joined in with the banter. Monica felt herself relaxing more and more. She'd been worried that no one would be able to deal with her roommate, and to see that they all seemed to get along meant that her life was going to be just a tad easier now.

She looked at Kip out of the corner of her eye and smiled. Perhaps, with a little persuasion, life could become even more pleasant.

Monica took a deep breath. The wind was strong today, blowing away much of the urban smell from the city. She could almost imagine she was on top of a mountain somewhere, instead of walking down a Manhattan side street.

She paused at one window to look at the dresses displayed. This was another relatively new experience for her; before, she'd avoided looking at mannequins because they clothing they wore ended up looking vastly different when she tried them on. Now, however, they were practically identical, and Monica felt a perverse sort of pride in being able to favorably compare herself to a mannequin.

A couple walked up behind her. The woman spoke in a friendly tone of voice. "The red one would look fabulous on you, Monica."

Monica turned her head. "Thanks, Carol. But when would I wear it? The restaurant frowns on its chefs wearing strapless gowns."

Ross chuckled. "Yeah, but that's never stopped you from buying clothes before. Honey, you should have seen the buying binge she and her friend went on after she lost all her weight."

"Oh, that must have been fun." Carol grinned. "I wish I had been there."

Monica smiled. It had been a heady experience. Rachel had dragged her through dozens of stores and they had tried on hundreds of different kinds of clothes. She had never power-shopped like that before, and it had been exhilarating. It remained one of her fondest memories of her friendship with Rachel, despite the fact that they had begun drifting apart soon afterwards.

"Want to go try it on?" Carol asked.

"Nah." Monica turned away from the window. "I don't have a lot of money to waste right now."

"I thought that after you got a roommate you'd have more money." Ross sounded surprised.

"If I were still working eleven hours a day, five days a week, then yeah. But I've cut back on my hours. I rotate between working three and four days a week, which is nice because I have more time to myself. But it also means I'm not making as much."

Carol looked at Monica curiously. "I thought chefs - real chefs - were salaried, not hourly."

"Real chefs are, yeah. But I'm just an assistant chef, and there's life a dozen of us at the restaurant. If I ever make head chef, then yeah, I'll get a salary."

"Will that be soon?" Ross asked.

"Not for years. But I'm on track, I got a compliment on a Caesar salad I made last week."

"Great." Carol squeezed Monica's shoulder briefly. "You're going to be a fabulous head chef one day, I just know it."

Monica felt a foolish smile grow on her lips. And it wasn't just Carol's words of encouragement. Ross and Carol had joined her on this shopping trip, ostensibly to help her find a coffee table for the apartment. But when Ross had volunteered to come along and bring Carol, Monica had sensed that he was desperate for opportunities to spend time with his wife. It seemed to be working, because Ross and Carol were walking hand in hand and seemed perfectly relaxed, which Monica had not seen in them for a long time.

All was good and right with the world, or as good and right as it could be.

"So, do you have any male prospects, Monica?" Carol grinned at her. "I bet they'd like to see you in that dress."

Monica chuckled. "Maybe. There's this guy across the hall. Kip, you met him."

"Kip." Ross shook his head. "Are you sure? He seems like... like kind of a nothing to me."

"Don't say things like that," Carol said crossly. "It's a guy Monica's interested in, don't rush to judgment."

"I'm not. I've hung out with the guy for a couple of months now. He's okay, but he never really has anything interesting to say."

"To you, maybe. But Monica may see things differently."

"Hey, I grew up with her, I know what Monica finds interesting."

"Oh, do you? How can you possibly know what a woman thinks and feels?"

Monica felt a real panic rising. Ross and Carol were both snapping at each other, and the good mood of a few seconds ago had vanished. She had to put a stop to this somehow. "Hey, c'mon you two, let me be worried about Kip. Look, Ross, that sweater would look great on you. You should try it on!"

Ross broke eye contact with Carol and followed Monica's pointed finger to a display in a men's store across the street. "I, I don't need a sweater."

"Oh, you never think you need new clothes. C'mon, give it a try." Monica walked across the street, forcing the others to follow her. By the time she had made her way to the back of the store where the sweaters were, Ross and Carol had caught up. They weren't holding hands any more, Monica was dismayed to notice.

Ross poked disinterestedly through the folded sweaters on the table, and Monica quickly grabbed three different one. "Here, go try these on."

Ross frowned. "I, I really don't-"

"Shut up and do it now!" Monica tried to keep her tone playful, but to her ears it sounded strained. Ross hesitated, then with a sigh took the sweaters and headed off towards the dressing room.

Monica looked after him, feeling strange. She wanted him to be happy, to love his life as much as she sometimes envied it. There was a time - and not too long ago - that she would have felt a kind of satisfaction and vindication out of seeing him miserable. Now, however, she felt terrible for him.

"I'm sorry."

Monica turned to look at Carol.

She was idly flipping through shirts on a rack. "You, you shouldn't have been exposed to that. I didn't mean for us to spoil your day off."

Monica chewed her lip for a second, then dared to ask a question. "What's happening? You guys seemed so happy at the wedding."

A pained look crossed Carol's face. "I was happy. I can't explain what... it's just... there's something missing. I don't know what it is, I don't know where it came from, but I think it's always been lacking. I just ignored it, thinking I was just nervous about getting married so young. But we've been married for a while and... and it's still missing. I really wish I could understand it."

Monica felt her heart dropping even further into the pit of her stomach. "Is, is there anything I can do?"

Carol looked at her and smiled slightly. "I appreciate the offer, but... but you're his sister. You're too close to him. I need, I need perspective."

"Oh." A harsh but fair assessment. "I just want to help."

"I know. Ross's family is one of the things I love about him. You care for each other so much." Carol looked over towards the dressing room. "I wanted that in my life, too. I wanted people who cared for me and loved me. And I have that with Ross, he loves me dearly, and I love him too. But it's not enough."

Carol looked back at Monica, and there were tears in her eyes. "I'm such a lousy selfish woman, aren't I? He's everything I asked for in a husband, but I want something more and I can't even tell him what that is. So I make our lives miserable as a result. He deserves better."

Monica swallowed, then reached out to grab Carol's hands. "Hey, don't say that. I always thought that he was lucky to have you. I have faith in you. I know that in time you'll work things out with Ross. Just... just be patient with him. And, and yourself, too."

Carol blinked and extracted her hands to wipe her eyes. "I, I hope you're right. Sometimes, though..."

Monica waited, but Carol didn't finish the thought. Ross came back, wearing one of the sweaters. He had a half-smile on his face. "Y'know, this really doesn't look bad. Think I should get the blue or the gray?"

With an effort, Monica looked at the sweater. "They're both good, but the gray would be go with most of your slacks."

"Hmm." Ross looked at Carol. "Sweetie, what you do you think?"

Carol managed a good smile. "It looks quite handsome on you. Maybe you should get both."

"Now there's an idea." Ross leaned in, kissed Carol on the cheek, then went back towards the dressing room.

Carol sighed, the smile deflating but not quite going away. She met Monica's eyes. "Thank you for caring. I've felt so alone sometimes. I'll try, I'll really try, for Ross and for you."

Monica pursed her lips. "Do it for yourself. That's more important."

Carol nodded. "I'm going to get some coffee. Want some?"

"No thank you." Monica watched Carol turn and leave the store.

Wow. Monica stood by the sweaters and once again felt adrift in the world. Nothing good seemed sustainable. It almost seemed like every good thing around her was doomed to failure. She just knew that she'd come home one day to find her roommate had swallowed a bunch of pills, or that Chandler and Kip had moved to Texas, or that the building had burned to the ground.

Or to find out that Ross and Carol had gotten divorced.

Her chest tightened suddenly at the sight of Ross emerging from the dressing room again. Monica made a vow, on the spot, to do whatever she could to help Ross.

Ross took two sweaters to the counter and Monica followed behind and thought of weddings and family and joy and happiness. She fervently hoped that all of those things could find a way to coexist.
(to be continued)